Demorralic atc
Belletonte, Pa., July 13, 1917.
THROUGH THE YEAR.
January, cold and grim,
Makes the sun look pale and dim;
February, longer days,
Pouring rain and snowy ways;
March, the trees begin to sprout,
Violets are coming out.
April, bursts of shower and sun—
Springtime really has begun;
May, with sunlight bright and fair,
Blossoms hanging everywhere;
June, with hardly any night,
Happy season, warm and bright.
July, with the storm clouds gray,
Often hides the sun away.
August comes with burning heat,
Scorching ground beneath our feet.
September, with her yellow fields,
Shows how earth her increase yields.
October chills bring on the rime,
Make us think of winter time;
November, dark, dull and drear,
Foggiest month of all the year.
December brings us Christmas day,
Every heart is blithe and gay.
—Selected.
“LITTLE FELLER.”
The fugitive breathed his horse on
the summit of the Little Ten Pins.
Through the heat-dance of the tenu-
ous Arizona atmosphere his spy-glass
revealed the five flat-roofed adobes of
Escovedo, forty miles to the south.
He had breakfasted there that morn-
ing.
No pursuers were yet in sight. But
“Kentucky” Harrod had no illusions
on this score. The four Tollivers were
human bloodhounds when aroused,
and they had sworn not to cut their
hair or shave their cheeks or sleep in
a bed or sit down to a table for meat
until their murdered brother Larkin
was avenged.
“A fool oath, too, as 1 look at it,”
soliloquized Kentucky. “Whiskers
won’t help ’em none to ketch me.”
He nibbled a cracker and took a
swallow or two of tepid water from a
bottle labeled “Old Bluegrass Pride.”
He then drew from its holster a revol-
ver that resembled a baby cannon—a
forty-eight-ounce Colt, with a seven-
and-a-half-inch barrel—and slowly
turned the cylinder. The six huge,
blunt-nosed bullets which nestled in
the chambers brought a glow to his
black eyes. They were friends that
would never fail him. So, too, was his
Winchester repeater, and after in-
specting it also he closed his dust-
caked, broken-nailed fingers around
the rusty-brown receiver with some-
thing like affection.
“Gid-ap, Petey!” said he at last.
“You and me air due to go some
’twixt now and night.”
This habit of talking aloud to him-
self and his horse broke the oppress-
ive silence of the fastnesses in which
he spent a good share of his time,
playing hide-and-seek with the min-
ions of the law.
A mile long declivity let him down
to the plain again, and he was adjust-
ing his impedamenta for a canter
when he suddenly gave the reins a
pull that nearly set the startled Petey
on his haunches. In the middle of the
trail, all but under the horse’s hoofs,
lay a baby, vigorously kicking its
pink-socked feet, waving its fat hands
in a jerky, uncertain fashion, and
squinting its blue eyes at the dazzling
cloudless sky.
After emitting a sonorous and
somewhat profane ejaculation Ken-
tucky slowly dismounted, dropped to
one knee, and stared blankly at his
find. Not since leaving his old home
back in Kentucky, twenty-five years
before, when his mother stood at the
gate with his tiny sister in her arms,
had a baby been presented directly
and imperatively to his attention.
Therefore, no monster, real or myth-
ical, could have astounded him more
than this atom of humanity, alone and
yet alive, in the midst of this inhos-
pitable solitude.
“Bah-bah!” cooed the little one, at
sight of Kentucky’s sharp, leathern
face and drooping black mustachios.
“What’s that ?” demanded the start-
led man.
“Bah-bah!”
Kentucky was speechless for a mo-
ment.
“Damme, if he didn’t say ‘papa!’
Why, little feller, I ain’t your papa!
I ain’t nobody’s papa. I don’t know
whar your papa is, nuther. Nur your
mommy. How come you hyer, any-
way? Did you drap out of a wagon,
unbeknownst? If you did, I reckon
your mommy will be back-along soon
to git you. T’ll loaf around a spell,
anyhow, to see. This is my busy day
or I'd lope you down to Gentryville
right off, where there’s women folks
that know how to take keer of small
fry like you.”
The trail through the Little Tens is
a short cut from Antelope to Gentry-
ville, seldom used on account of its
roughness, however, except by gentle-
men in a hurry, like Mr. Harrod him-
self. Yet some one else had unques-
tionably used it, and that very recent-
ly. But what mother could be so care-
less as to lose her baby? Or was this
bantling one of those shuttlecocks of
misfortune whom mothers are some-
times willing to lose? An outcast
himself, Kentucky gazed at the inno-
cent face with quickened interest.
“Yes, little pard,” he repeated, “I'll
loaf around a spell, just as I said.
Meanwhile, your folks i.ay come. If
they don’t, why— Buk pshaw!
wh the use of borrowin ‘rouble—
e 22
He led his horse behind a boulder
the size of a house, a few rods aside
from the trail. Here he waited an
hour. No one came. In his heart he
had expected no one to come. He had
waited merely to salve his conscience
and to decide upon which horn of this
unexpected dilemma he should impale
himself.
“Riittle Feller,” said he soberly, as
if talking to an adult, as he again
knelt by the foundling, “it’s you or
me. Ef I stay hyer, waitin’ for your
mommy to come, the Tollivers will
git me sure. Ef I leave you hyer, and
the Tollivers don’t come before to-
morrow mawnin’ and find you, you’ll
be dead from cold and starvation. Ef
I take you with me, you'll die anyway.
You can’t eat jerked meat. You ain’t
| got no teeth to speak of. Them two
{ little grains of rice in your upper
| goom air no good fer chawin.” Thar’s
nothin’ below fer ’em to hit ag’inst.”
He touched the child for the first
time, gently pushing back its upper
lip to take a look at the tiny teeth he
had observed when it laughed.
“Bah-bah! Bah-bah!” it exclaimed,
lustily, and tossed its legs and arms
in ecstacy.
The man drew back as if stung.
“The little cuss thought I was goin’
to pick him up!” he murmered, and
wiped a sweat from his brow that
no mere heat had produced.
As he arose his quick eye discover-
ed a foreign object on the landscape,
three or four hundred yards away. His
telescope resolved it into a dead In-
dian. The mystery of the babe’s pres-
ence immediately cleared. The red
devils had attacked a party of whites;
the whites had repelled them, but in
their hurried retreat had lost the
babe.
“Little Feller,” said Kentucky, pres-
ently, “I’ve got a better plan for you.
I'll take you on a piece.”
It was a strange sight that the
burning Arizona sun looked down up-
on—Kentucky Harrod, cattle-rustler,
horse-thief, three-card-monte sharp,
and all-round “bad man,” riding along
with a babe in his arms. He held it
gingerly, as if it were a case of eggs,
fearful that the limp little body would
part in the middle or the head come
loose from the neck.
For a time he dared not let Petey
move faster than a walk. But, gain-
ing confidence in the stability of the
little body and realizing that this slow
pace was courting death for himself,
he presently spurred the animal into
a canter. To his surprise Little Fel-
ler accepted the wave-like motion with
a spread of his rosebud mouth into an
unmistakable grin. Kentucky then
ventured another touch of the rowels,
whereupon the youngling actually
gurgled with joy and, reaching out a
fat little hand, fastened it upon Ken-
tucky’s piratical mustache.
“Cuss me!” ejaculated Harrod.
“Who’d a’ thought the little skeesicks
could have retch that fur!” And he
bowed his head so as not to loosen the
baby’s grasp, for, strange to say,
there was Something soothing about
it.
But finally the hand fell away; the
white lids, with their long, dark
fringe, slowly closed over the blue
eyes; the lips met and formed a cres-
cent. Little Feller was asleep.
The plan of which he had spoken
was to deposit his charge at the cross-
ing of the Patterson ranch trail.
Charlie Patterson’s factotum, Candi-
do Munoz, nicknamed Gallinito
(Chicken-heart,) made almost daily
trips to Antelope for the mail, or a
strap, or a bottle of whiskey. He
might come along that afternoon, or
early the next morning, and thus find
the babe in time to save its life.
On reaching the cross-trail, Ken-
tucky slipped gently from his saddle
and laid Little Feller in the shadow of
a rock, close to the path, but not init,
lest the hoofs of Candido’s pony work
cruel havoc. Then he fumbled with
his clumsy fingers at a couple of safe-
ty-pins until the babe’s white quilt
was snugly adjusted about its feet,
hands, and head, for, though the days
were hot, the nights were cool.
At this juncture Little Feiler stir-
red and began to make a sucking
sound with his lips. Kentucky paus-
ed. In spite of his inexperience with
paternity, the sign was unmistakable.
“He’s a-dreamin’ of his mother’s
breast!” he whispered.
The sight and sound were too much
for him. He drew a cracker from his
pocket, ground it to dust in his dirty
palm, and added water, drop by drop,
until he had a starchy paste. This he
applied with his forefinger to the mov-
ing lips. But Little Feller turned
his meuth aside and whimpered.
‘““Tain’t no delicacy, I know, but it’s
all IT got,” observed Kentucky, sadly.
Then, after a moment of silence:
“Little Feller, I hate to do it, but I
got to leave you. You're on’y a ba-
by and I'm a man. Ag’in, life ain’
nothin’ much to you, while to me it
air considerable sweet, though you
mightn’t believe it. You git my p’int?
Now all you got to do is just to go to
sleep ag’in. Maybe Candido or some
one else will find you. And if- they
don’t, the angels surely will.”
He hesitated a moment. Then, as if
fleeing from a plague, he leaped into
the saddle, sank his spurs into Petey’s
flanks with a savagery which surpris-
ed that animal, and clattered away.
At a hundred yards he stopped
short. His conscience was not a del-
icately adjusted instrument. Fleec-
ing a tenderfoot with loaded dice or
stacked cards was the pastime of a
summer hour. Rustling a bunch of
mavericks was merely a filip to his
spirits—a kind of emotional cocktail.
Larkin ‘Tolliver was merely the last
of several men whose souls he had
hurled into eternity. Yet at this mo-
ment he heard a still, small voice
speak from within.
“But I cain’t take the little cuss
along!” he argued with the Voice. “I
cain’t feed him. Don’t know as I kin
feed myself. And I’ve lost a power-
ful lot of time as it is.”
Again the Voice spoke, and again
the man listened.
“Yes, it does look as if I war play-
in’ it low-down on the little feller,”
he admitted, slowly. “And when he
wakes up it will be dark and cold, and
he’ll say ‘Bah-bah!’ and wonder where
I’ve gone”
Tears suddenly filled his eyes; his
heart leaped within him, and standing
in his stirrups, with his hat removed
and his eyes fixed upon a snowy cloud-
let, he cried, “I’ll take him to Patter-
son's if the coyotes pick my bones fer
Ky
Patterson’s lay thirty miles to the
west. The detour involved a delay
and an exposure which might spell
death for a man with a price upon his
head. But just one thought kept tap-
tapping at his consciousness: Little
Feller had called him papa and clung
to his mustache.
When he reached the ranch -it was
long after dark, with the lop-sided
moon lifting an inflamed, dull-red face
above the eastern horizon. But,
alack! no lights shone from the house,
and Kentucky bitterly conjectured
‘that Petterson and his crew were out
on the round-up and might be absent
several days.
One hope remained. Charlie Pat-
' terson, being of a luxurious nature,
‘kept poultry and milch-cows, and
somebody might have been left hehind
| to take care of these—perhaps Galli-
! nito or the Chinese cook. Neither of
| these gentlemen would make iceal
“nurses, but oeggars must not be
| choosers.
i Leaving babe and horse at a short
| distance until he could ascertain the
{lay of the land, Kentucky cautiously
i advanced. No one was in sight. Doors
{ and windows were locked. The bunk-
| house was empty, and there were no
horses in the shed or corral--conclu-
| sive evidence thai the place was ten-
antless.
The outlaw paused, swearing soft-
ly at the tangled skein of his fortunes.
Candido was probably over at Cross-
man’s playing chuck-a-luck. Yet he
would certainly be back in the morn-
ing to milk, for Kentucky made out
the dark bulk of two cows in their
corral; and if the little one were left
in the right spot—say the kitchen,
where milk-pails were doubtless kept
—he would almost certainly re found.
Kentucky returned for Petey and
Little Feller, and rode boldly up to
the rear of the house. The kitchen
door vielded to his weight. Lighting
one of the half-dozen lanterns which
hung on the wall, he proceeded to look
about, for of course the babe would
have to be fed to stay him through
the night. Luckily, the milk was
right at hand, three pails of it stand-
ing in a cooling trough of ‘water.
Half filling a dipper, he laid Little
Feller in the hollow of his left arm:
and tendered him a teaspoonful of the
inviting fluid. But the babe impa-
tiently rejected it as he had the
cracker.
“He wants it warm, cf course!”
ejaculated Harrod. “I’ve forgot all I
ever knew about nussin.’”
The big range was stone cold, and
there was no time to fire it up. So
the resourceful Kentucky took down
another lantern, removed the globe,
and twisted off the frame, thus con-
verting it into an oil-stove. Mean-
while Little Feller, who, according to
all traditions, should have been bawl-
ing lustily, merely whimpered in a
subdued, minor key which strangely
stirred the man’s heart. It reminded
him of the aftermath of a flogged
puppy’s grief.
In five minutes the milk was warm,
and Kentucky, with hands that fairly
trembled—for the child was evidently
too weak from starvation to cry—
again filled the spoon. Little Feller
had presumably not before been intro-
duced to a spoon, and seemed not anx-
ious to make its acquaintance. But
presently, getting a taste of the milk,
his lips began to work vigorously; he
sucked and nuzzled like a little pig,
one hand tightly clasping his nurse’s
forefinger, the other slowly opening
and closing.
The feeding was a twenty-minute
operation. Then Kentucky, with a
smile on his face that rivaled that on
the babe’s for contentment, laid his
charge on the floor and rose to
straighten his cramped back. As he
did so there came simultaneously the
report of a rifle outside and the crash-
ing of a bullet through the window
which fanned his cheek. °°
Instantly extinguishing the lantern
with a blow from his hand, Kentucky
sprang to the door—in time to see
Gallinito, whose sombrero betrayed
his identity, putting spurs to his
horse. For the fraction of a second
Harrod hesitated. Then realizing that
he must have been recognized, and
that the Mexican’s escape would set
the whole Patterson outfit hot-foot
upon his trail within a few hours, he
drew his six-shooter and fired.
The light was very bad, but he aim-
ed by instinet rather than sight, and
Gallinito somersaulted from the sad-
dle in ghastly simulation of an acro-
bat. For a moment the slayer watch-
ed the dark, formless object on the
ground; then, when it remained mo-
tionless, he stepped inside again, ap-
parently as unmoved as if he had on-
ly put a period to a coyote’s yvapping.
But after relighting the lantern he
passed over to the shed, emerged with
a horse-blanket in his hand, and cov-
ered the dead man. ;
“You made me call your hand, Gal-
linito,” he murmered. “Playin’ fer
the price on a man’s head requires a
stiddier nerve than yourn was.”
He re-entered the kitchen and gazed
at the babe long and steadily, one-half
of his thin face and hawk’s-bill nose
in deep shadow. Sadness rather than
badness was the dominating expres-
sion.
“I’ve tuck a life. The least I kin do
now is to try to save one. Little
Pard, there’ll be no Gallinito hyer to-
morrow mawnin’ to milk and find you.
So I'll take you, fer better or fer
worse, as the sayin’ is; and God help
vour pore little soul, fer better will be
bad enough.”
He emptied the water from his bot-
tle and filled it with milk, Next, for-
aging through the kitchen and adjoin-
ing store-room, he collected a loaf of
bread, a flitch of bacon, a can of corn,
and several cans of sardines. Then
blowing out the lantern, he strode off
with his passenger and his plunder.
He would have liked to ride ali
night to make up lost time, but it was
imperative that Petey be rested and
grazed. So he went into camp about
four miles away, near one of Patter-
son’s wells, tethering Petey and shar-
ing his poncho with the babe.
Sleep, however, did not come as
readily as usual. For almost the first
time in his devil-may-care, neither-
look-before-nor-after career he wor-
ried. But the source of his worry was
not himself; it was Little Feller. After
reaching his haven in theWolf Den
country and building himself a shan-
ty, or sharing that of some other fu-
gitive, he felt sure of his ability to
care for the child. But en route, when
he had to keep moving up to the lim-
its of Petey’s endurance, what then—
after the present supply of milk was
gone ?
He rose at dawn, heated the milk
with shavings and splinters from the
well-curb, fed the babe, and was
swinging rhythmically across the
grassy plain before the Ten Pins had
fairly shaken the mist from their
peaks. With his glass he made out
smoke in the west, which he supposed
rose from Charlie Patterson’s camp;
but nowhere, not even in the south,
was a horseman to be seen.
The day was hot, and about noon,
when he thought another feed due his
ward, the milk came from the bottle
slowly, in a thick and lumpy condi-
tion. Even Kentucky knew better
than to put such stuff into a baby’s
delicate stomach.
In the variegated course of his life
Harrod had never before suffered such
a depressior of spirits as at this mo- |
ment, with Little Feller sucking at the
empty air and jerking his clenched
hands to and fro. A lump rose in his
throat, and suddenly, he laid his
weathered lips against the little one’s
velvety cheek, and murmered, thickly,
“My pore little pard!”
He rode on until he reached a
stream—the last stream in forty miles
—and then went into camp.
rights he should have ridden until
midnight; for in his mind’s eye he
could see the Tollivers, the relentless,
unforgiving Tollivers, spurring dog-
gedly on toward the north, with a
minimum of food and sleep for both
man and beast.
He camped because he knew that
Little Feller was failing—starving.
He no longer cooed, dimpled, and
laughed when Kentucky snapped his
fingers and whistled and crowed like a
rooster, and called him all the pet
names he could think of—Little Fel-
ler, Little Pard, Skeesicks, Tadpole
and se on. Also, in spite of the heat,
there was 2a coldness about his hands
and feet which Harrod had observed
in grown men when the life-flanie was
burning low.
(Concluded next week.)
Save, But Do Not Hoard.
When the word first went out to our
people to stop wasting, it was repeat-
ed so rapidly and so often that in a
few hours the message had lost that
original meaning. The necessity to
husband our food supplies anc exer-
cise every caution against needless
waste still confronts us, and will un-
til one year after the war ends. But
automatically to stop the usual, nor-
mal expenditures for other ordinary
necessities and requirements is quite
another matter.
Will anything short of actual food
restriction bring our people to realize
the 1iremendous, wicked waste of
food? It would be a sad comment on
our intelligence if so. The food
waste, to which every one of us must
plead guilty, is so great that every
day in the city of Chicago alone 1,-
250,000 pounds of foodstuffs are
dumped into the city’s garbage-cans,
while the waste in the entire United
States would sustain life for every
man, woman and child in our thirteen
largest cities.
all help, even the children.
In the city of Philadelphia is a very
wealthy man, now retired, who start-
ed life as a poor boy. His father had
died, leaving the mother and several
children. These children were allow-
ed to have sufficient food, but her con-
stant admonition was, “Never take
onto vour plate more food than you
intend to eat.” So thorough was this
training that all through life he has
observed it, and with all that money
can buy at his command, he today
never takes upon his plate more than
he is certain he will eat. Every boy
and girl can help in this, and at the
same time enlist their parents in a re-
form which does not restrict the quan-
tity of food, but does stop a wicked |
waste.
We should cultivate the spirit of
saving, but not carry it to the ex-
treme of hoarding, which, when gen-
eral, upsets all the machinery of bus-
iness life. Nor is there need of it, for
never in the history of this country
has so much money been spent in the
same length of time as will go into
circulation by reason of war prepara-
tion. Eevery farm, factory, industry,
mill, shop, and railroad will be called
on to exert its utmost efforts. Many
establishments will run night and day
and then be urable to keep pace with
the demand. Everyone, man and
woman, who is willing to work will
be eniployed at good wages.
Just now we are in the position of
the swimmer who has plunged into
very cold water: It takes his breath
away and for a moment he hesitates.
Then comes the exiliration, and with
conscious strength he strikes out
boldly in full confidence of what hes
doing.
The billions which the Government
is already spending and will expend
practically all go immediately into
circulation here in payment for serv-
ices and material, and extend to the
most remote points. Markets for
every sort of produce and goods, the
yield of mine and forest, the output
of every kind of manufactured thing,
will be alive with activity; and while
no thought of stimulated industry en-
tered into our decision to fight for
universal freedom, the result will be a
period of unusual material prosperi-
ty. As the President very aptly says:
“It is evident to every thinking man
that our industries, on the farms, in
the shipyards, in the mines, in the
factories, must be made more prolific
and more efficient.” We need more
business, not less. Now is the time to
open the throttle.
Don’t waste; don’t hoard; be nor-
mal; get busy.
The area of the coal fields of
the United States is put, by the Geo-
logical Survey, at more than 450,000
square miles. The estimated availa-
ble supply exceeds 3,500,500,600,300
tons. Thirty States of the Union are
underlaid with bituminous coal. In
1915, the last year of which we have
complete reports, more than 530,000,-
000 tons of bituminous coal were
mined, at a cost ranging from $1.08 a
ton, in Ohio, to $2.84, in Oregon.
Since then there have been advances
amounting to 30 per cent. in the wag-
es of the miners. Let us be liberal,
and make the total wage advance 50
per cent. and let us add this to the
maximum cost of coal at the pit, that
named for Oregon, which is extraor-
dinary. When this is done the result
cannot be reconciled with the price of
$12.06 per ton, which the city of Bos-
ton wos forced to pay, for 400 tons, a
short time ago.
— British admiralty chemists have
have perfected a device for generat-
ing in a few minutes sufficient smoke
to mask a vessel for hours. All ves-
sels are being fitted up with the de-
vice as a means of escape from sub-
marines.
It was!
only three o’clock by the sun, and bv |
Here is where we can!
| THE PIVOTAL QUESTION.
| —
Said Joe to Sam in fierce debate
Upon the woman question,
{ “You've answered well all other points,
| Now here's my last suggestion:
{ When woman goes to cast her vote—
Some miles away, it may be—
! Who, then, I ask, will stay at home
To rock and tend the baby?”
| Said Sam, “I own you've made my case
Appear a littl2 breezy.
! Suppose you put this question by,
i And ask me something easy.
i Yet, since the matter seems to turn
On this, as on its axis, *
Just get the one who rocked it when
10
She went to pay her taxes!
| Our Sacred Debt to Our French
Friends.
| A feature of the recent debate in
| the House of Representatives on the
. emergency bond issue of $7,000,000,-
1 000 was many expressions of kindly
| feeling by members for the Republic
| of France. Suggestions were made
i that the paragraph providing for the
{loan of $3,000,000,000 to foreign gov-
| ernments should be amended with re-
| strictions instructing the President to
| whom the loans should be made, and
some gentlemen favored authorizing a
! large loan to France without interest,
| during the Revolution. No such re-
: strictions were included in the bill, al-
{ though the pleas for them were
| strong. Reprazsentative Moniague, of
| Virginia, former Governor of that
| State, replying to an objection by
| Representative Fitzgerald, of New
| York, said:
| “I repeat that if France had taken
! the ground that the distinguished gen-
| tleman from New York takes now, we
i never would have taken any assist-
ance from France 145 years ago. The
| total land and sea forces co-operating
| with or auxiliary to our Revolutiona-
ry war was 45,289 officers and men.
| When the surrender of Yorktown took
i place the French army surpassed in
| numbers the Americar Regular Ar-
| my and surpassed the whole American
| arm, if you exclude the militia that
{ was then co-operating with the Amer-
| ican forces; and when the Continen-
i tal Congress met after that great vie-
tory, almost its first action was to
provice that a monument should be
erected at Yorktown to commemorate
equally the achievements of France
and America alike.
“Now it has been variously esti-
mated that the cost of these expedi-
| tions, land and sea, was between
$350,000,000 and $722,000,000. France
has never asked us to repay that. We
never have undertaken to repay it. I
had hoped in these bond issves there
might be some statutory recognition
of the gratitude of this Nation to
another great Nation for its deliver-
ance in the hour of need. What France
needs now are munitions and supplies
and commodities from this country.
She would rather have one barrel of
flour upon her soil than one man
standing on the face of the earth cov-
ered by that barrel.”
Representative George S. Graham,
of Philadelphia, paid this high tribute
to France:
“I would like to call attention to
what the gentleman from Virginia
(Mr. Montague) advocated in such
| eloquent terms—our relations to
| France. I cordially agree with the
| thought, and wish it were practicable
| to put an amendment in this bill so
{ that we might at this ‘inie, when the
situation is so exactly analagous to
what it was in the Revolutivnary per-
iod, say to France: ‘We will make
vou a loan, the interest upon that loan
shall he remitted, and that loan itself
shall be payable at your pleasure.’
“True, France was fighting Eng-
Jand in those days; but we are fighting
Germany. True, she loaned us money
without interest. She gave us men.
She gave us the immortal Lafayette
‘to help Washington in the dark days
of the American Revolution, and it
would be but a small thing fer as now
to say and show that the old remark
is without truth, that republics are
ungrateful; to show to the world that
America with her higher ideals is pre-
pared to set a new standard of action
among the nations of the earth.”
In opposing an amendment to per-
mit Congress to determine to whom
money should be loaned by this Gov-
ernment, Representative Rainey, of
Illinois, said:
“Today thousands of our friends
and Allies are dying in the trenches
of Northern France, and according to
the theory of this amendment, before
we can lend to France a dollar we
must discuss the matter at great
length here in the Congress of the
United States. While this awful war
is raging and the very life of the
States who are our friends are in dan-
ger, we must permit all the members
of both Houses of this Congress to de-
termine how much money we are
going to let them have in this, the
hour of their national pevil in this
hour when they are fighting our bat-
tle along the battle fronts of Earope.
“France did not treat us that way
140 years ago, when our credit was
gone; when it cost $150 of American
currency to buy a bushel of corn;
when it cost $2,000 of American cur-
rency to buy a suit of clothes. She
loaned the impoverished young Re-
public of the western world millions
from her Treasury at the request of
the great Franklin without any dis-
cussion and without debate. And che
sent her fleet and armies, which final-
ly led to the surrender over here at
Yorktown and later to the end of that
long war; and afterward she remitted
the interest. The millions she ex-
pended when she sent her armies and
her fleet here in the defense of this
voung Republic in its natal hour we
have never repaid.”
As It Struck Bobby.
An earnest teacher who sought to
give her pupils an understanding of
English words was describing the
advantage of suffixes. “We know,”
she said, “what ‘danger’ and ‘hazard’
mean; now add ‘ous’ to each word
and give the meaning.”
“Dangerous—full of danger; haz-
ardous—full of hazard,” said the class
in concert, and Bobby raised his hand.
At a nod from the teacher he con-
tinued: :
“And ‘pious—full of pie.”
| in recognition of her loan to America
FARM NOTES.
| —There is a shortage of spring pigs
| according to reports from farmers in
| all sections of the State, only about 89
| per cent. of an average being raised.
. —This country imports between 2,-
000,000 and 3,000,000 pounds of
{ Roquefort cheese each year. The price
| has risen since the beginning of the
| war from about 20 cents a pound to
| about 35 cents a pound, in France.
! —About 20,000 acres of land sown
( to wheat last fall was ploughed down
| this spring on account of the poor
| stands through winter heaving. Many
; farmers left poor fields stand as they
figured a good price for wheat would
pay for raising half a crop.
_ —There has been a decided decrease
in the prospects for a big peach crop,
and fruit growers say that the cold
weather indicates a large June drop.
On June 1 the indications pointed to a
crop c¢f about 76 per cent. of normal,
but this will be far above least vear’s
yield. :
—Reports of exceptional damage
to young tomato, cabbage, cauliflow-
er, pepper, potato and other plants
throughout Pennsylvania and in oth-
er States are received almost every
hour by letter or phone.
Do not mistake the fact that plants
cut off at the surface of the ground
have becn attacked by cutworms. One
| may not see them, for they hide dur-
ing the day in soil or under rubbish.
Don’t blame the trouble cn earth-
worms or slugs, as many persons are
doing.
Cutworms are casily controlled with
a simple remedy, and with one appli-
cation at this time. Make a poison
bran mash by mixing dry twenty-five
pounds of bran with one-half pound
of Paris green, moist>n with one
quart of cheap molassas, the juice and
chopped pulp of three lemons or or-
anges, and sufficient water to make a
dry mash, which barely holds together
when squeezed in the hand. Smaller
amounts in proportion. Scatter broad-
cast and sparsely in the evening over
gardens or fields to be protected.
Birds will not eat the mash contain-
ing fruit juice.
—In the thirty-five year fertilizer
experiments at The Pennsylvania
State College school of agriculture
and experiment station, either slaked
lime or carbonate lime applied alone
in large amounts and {requentiy has
given a small increase in crop yields.
Burnt lime alone during a period of
thirty-five years gave an average in-
crease of 701 pounds of totai products
per acre in a rotation as compared
with the untreated plots immediately
adjacent to the burnt lime plots. Pul-
verized, raw limestone under the
same conditions gave an average in-
crease of 1,334 pounds of total pro-
ducts in a rotation as compared with
the untreated plots nearest to the pul-
verized limestone plots.
The larger return from burnt lime
has been where it was used in con-
junction with barnyard manure. In
this case there was an increase of
1,001 pounds of produce per acre in a
rotation valued at $6.38.
It is evident that lime is not a fer-
tilizer, and that after the soil has been
limed fertilizers should be applied in
the usual way. Land plaster or gyp-
sum has had no measurable effect on
the crops grown. It has not prevent-
ed the soil from becoming sour.
—Observers for the Pennsylvania
Department of Agriculture have
started sending in reports of hens
starting going into moult. As it is
now universally recognized by poul-
try experts and trapnesters that the
early moulting hens, 75 to 80 per cent.
of them, are loafers as layers, the
thing to do is not to waste precious
grain and other feed on such hens the
rest of the summer, all of next fall
and most of next winter, but to let
them go to market at once.
The new and better poultry knowl-
edge the poultry people have today as
the result of much painstaking and te-
dious trap nesting or many thoasands
of hens proves conclusively that it is
the late moulting and not the early
moulting hen that should be prized
and kept over.
Late moulting hens, or hens that
put off moulting until Ocrober or No-
vember in this State, 90 per cent. of
these, prove out to be the persistent
and the heavy layers.
Therefore, the hens to keep over are
these that moult late. This year not
a single hen that moults late should
be killed when every good hen in the
country, or every hen that is a likely
machine to turn grain into eggs these
next few years, will be needed. This
does not apply to hens that moult late
because they are diseased or because
they were hatched out of season the
year before.
—~Chanticleer birds bid fair to rob
the country again this summer of
enormous quantities of good grain
and eggs.
Or, the old rooster will again putin
his deadly work at destroying good
food this summer, mostly because che
country won’t rise up and smite him.
So says the Pennsylvania Depart-
ment of Agriculture who in two pre-
vious years have announced a “Roos-
ter Day” about this season as a day
when every male chicken of adult age
within the State should be either pen-
ned or killed.
It is teco late now to set any more
eggs this season because the chances
are ali against these extra late chick-
ens being worth the much needed
grain it will take to raise them.
Hens without the presence of the
males will lay more eggs, will be in
better plumage, moult better, be bet-
ter content and lay eggs that will in-
finitely keep better.
In fact the latter is the great rea-
son for this campaign against the
rooster, for without him eggs will be
sterile or infertile. Now infertile or
sterile eggs stand heat much better,
in fact under the influence of any
temperature, hen house, depot plat-
form, freight car en-route or corner
grocery; above 90 degrees if the egg
is a fertile egg the germ is quickened
or life started. Later this dies and
there is a spoiled egg. So many are
spoiled that the summer’s loss will
amount to about fifty million dollars.
The Department of Agriculture
wishes the hearty co-operation of
every poultry keeper in the State in
this year’s campaign to swat the
rooster. Get busy and kill yours now.