Bellefonte, Pa., October 5, 1917.
BOYS MAKE MEN.
When you see a ragged urchin
Standing wistful in the street,
With torn hat and kneeless trousers,
Dirty face and bare red feet,
Pass not by that child wnheeding;
Smile upon him. Mark me, when
He's grown old he'll not forget it;
For, remember, boys make men.
Let us try to add some pleasure
To the life of every boy;
For each ‘child needs tender interest
In its sorrow and its joy.
Call your boys home by its brightness;
They avoid the household, when
It is cheerless with unkindness,
For, remember, boys make men.
A LITTLE LEAVEN.
Robert Revere Van. Courtland
Whitney, despite the dignity of his
name, had always been obliged to en-
ter his aunt’s house by the back door.
There were good and sufficient reasons
for this—as she had painstakingly ex-
plained to him; little boys’ shoes
which had walked in mud or dust in-
variably left duplicates of themselves
on stairs and carpets. He wished he
might explain to her that this was ex-
actly why he liked to see them there,
that it was even better than ‘drawing
on the tracing-slate; but somehow he
never quite got up enough courage to
argue with his aunt Bella. Today, for
instance, he would have liked to dis-
cuss the whys of going to dancing-
school; here, for a wonder, had he but
known it, she would have agreed in
its uselessness; but her “Your father
wishes it” seemed to have to settle the
matter for them both.
And, oh, how much he would have
liked to have asked more about this
father of his! All his questions on the
absorbing subject were generally
answered by a meager yes or no. He
kenw there was a mysterious place
called Boston where this gentleman
lived, but he himself knew only this
house of his aunt's in the small coun-
try town some fifty miles from the big
city. Father wrote to him, and sent
the usual presents at Christmas and
birthdays, and once in a long, long
while he came to see him. But then
he only stayed a few hours, and Rob-
ert always became fearfully shy and
never said very much during these
visits, so his father got the impression
that his son was rather a stupid little
chap.
Mr. Whitney had left Robert with
his wife’s elder sisters after that hor-
rible time when, the young mother dy-
ing at his birth, the distracted man
had only wanted to be alone—never to
see this little bundle of humanity who
. had been the cause of his losing the
woman he loved. And, on her part,
Miss Isabella Townsend never forgave
him, and would have been glad not to
see him again since he had been the
means of bringing disgrace on their
irreproachable family—for disgrace
was what Miss Bella called the elop-
ing of her eighteen-year-old sister
with her boy lover. She had to admit,
however, that the detested brother-in-
law had always paid generously for
his son, and she did her duty by the
child as well as she knew how, but it
was duty with such a big D that there
was none of it left over to spell such
words as dear and darling, delight
and demonstrative!
Robert was not neglected, his needs
were seen to conscientiously; Miss
Isabella may not have liked his fath-
er, but she intended that all criticism
should come from their side of the
family, so his boy was being “well
brought up.” Those words were often
on the lips of the sisters.
When one comes to think of it there
was something to be said for Miss
Bella, because here was an unwelcome
infant, thrust upon her from an un-
welcome source, and because there
was no one else to do it, she, as a
Christian woman, had to look after
him. It was hard, for instance, that,
knowing sunshine to be necessary for
children, she should have to keep the
shades raised and so see her beloved
belongings fade before her eyes. The
baby had been trying enough, for his
nurses had already given more trouble
than he; but they had all departed to
upset other households, and now it
was the boy himself who was so often
and so innocently annoying.
Oh, how many times she had want-
ed to box his ears! But she never did
—a discipline, had she guessed it,
which was much better for Miss Bella
than the blow would have been for
Robert. Even at this early age he had
that strange collecting fever which so
unaccountably attacks boys; to be
sure, at present it was something as
harmless as railroad time-tables, but
still the pile of these took up the place
in his bureau drawer where his hand-
kerchiefs ought to go. And how on
earth a child of seven could know the
multiplication table (when it was a
stumbling-block to Miss Isabella even
vet) and still not be able to remember
the days on which to change his un-
derwear, was a constant mystery and
aggravation. As for his pockets—
well, it is hardly fair to blame her for
that, because a real mother often has
cause to complain at what she finds in
a little boy’s pockets.
Just about the time when Robert be-
gan to realize dimly that all homes
were not quite like this—that is, that
there were actually boys who got their
feet wet intentionally and ate between
meals without being punished—some-
thing happened in his own well regu-
lated life which upset the usual order
of things.
It was at breakfast that it began;
the postman unconsciously set it
going in a letter he left. Aunt Bella
read it to Aunt Clara (oh, hasn’t Aunt
Clara been mentioned before? Well
that just describes her, she merely
lived with her sister), and it made
them both very much excited indeed.
This was not to be wondered at when
he found it meant a guest who would
have to be putin the sacred spare
room. Why, that had not been open-
ed since he had measles long ago and
his father had come on one of those
rare visits.
He heard them read such sentences
as, “You will remember my mother, I |
am sure; she so often speaks td me of
your school-girl days together;” and:
“As I am in Boston at present, she is!
most anxious that I should come out
to see you. May I?”
That seemed to be the most impor-
tant part, for they reread it two or
three times.
“I suppose we shall have to ask
her,” Aunt Bella said, finally; and
Clara asked, timidly, “Is her name
Connett, or is she married?” People
who were married had not been very
welcome in that house.
“No, thank goodness, she doesn’t
seem to have a husband. It’s just
signed Olga V. Connett. Well, we've
got to have her, I guess, for I visited
Jane, you remember, after we left
school. Dear me, I hope she’s been
well brought up. As I recollect that
Southern household, there was a good
deal in it to be improved upon.”
It was not until the actual day of
her arrival that Robert began to take
a personal interest in this Olga Con-
nett, and then it was with a feeling of
resentment that he awaited her com-
ing, since it meant his Sunday clothes
and the putting away of the cherished
time-tables, which could not litter up
the place, Aunt Bella said, when com-
pany came. Of course it was rather
nice to know they were going to have
ice-cream for supper—and he even be-
gan to feel a little excited when the
old depot cab drove in at the gate. He
never had seen that before, for they
were too near the station, it was
thought, to indulge in any such ex-
travagances.
He remembered afterward how still
the house had seemed as they waited,
no one speaking, only the old clock in
the hall tick, tick, ticking—and then
She stepped into the doorway! No-
body noticed the sound of the clock
after that, for there was such chatter
and jolly laughter that it almost
made Aunt Bella smile. But not quite
—for already she was aware that the
bags and wraps had been piled upon
the parlor table regardless of ances-
tral photographs, that one corner of
the rug was turned up and a large
bunch of moist flowers dripping on
the plush lambrequin.
Having taken in her surroundings
at one glance when she entered, Olga
was perfectly prepared for the bed-
room into which she was ushered,
with its heavy set of walnut furniture
with marble tops, and walls covered
with left-over pictures from other
parts of the house. There were the
usual things labeled or embroidered
Matches, Combings, and Laundry;
they always made Olga long to put
her stray hairs into the soiled-linen
bag and the burnt matches into the
comb-box; and, truth to tell, this is
just what she often did, but fortunate-
ly her hostess did not know it—yet.
She was late for supper—an un-
heard-of offense in this house—be-
cause when she had half unpacked her
bag she came across a magazine she
had been reading in the train, and
stopped long enough to finish the sto-
ry. When she finally walked into the
sitting-room Robert nearly fell off his
chair, for it was the first time he had
ever seen any one in evening dress.
Not that the very simple gown, a
little lew in the neck, could properly
come under that heading, but it was
pink and it was fluffy, and somehow
it didn’t look like anything his aunts
ever wore. He fully expected to hear
the visitor scolded for keeping them
waiting, but evidently that young la-
dy was used to having people wait for
her, because she only gave a most pro-
functory apology and, unconscious of
Miss Bella's frown, said cheerfully:
“Hello, Bobbie, do you sit up for
dinner?”
“My name is Robert,” he answered
primly.
“We do nct care for nicknames,
though I have suffered all my life
from one,” his aunt explained.
“Oh, but Robert and I can never get
on unless we have a nickname. I'm
sure you and he won’t mind if I call
him something—well—sort of inti-
mate, you know. Show me your knife,
Bobkins, and Ill let you cut this string
and see what’s inside.”
They were at table now, and yet she
had dared put her bundle right down
on the best cloth and was calmly pick-
ing at the knot in the cord as if it was
nothing unusual. He glanced bash-
fully at his aunt, not knowing what to
reply. :
“Robert has no knife, Olga. I do
not believe in boys having them; they
always injure themselves or some-
thing else if they do, and Robert un-
derstands that in cutting himself it
would give trouble to others.”
For a moment the young girl could
not believe her ears; then, taking up
the precious pearl-handled company
knife which was beside her plate, she
snapped the string with a vicious cut
and silently handed over a box of
chocolates to the wide-eyed little boy.
“Say ‘thank you,” Robert, and put
them away until another time; you
must not eat candy at night.”
This seemed like rather a gloomy
beginning, but next day things im-
proved somewhat, for he and Olga had
the most wonderful walk together, she
insisting that he did not need rubbers;
and most marvelously she had her
way—without putting Aunt Bella in
such a very bad humor, either.
He would have liked to ask her how
she did it; he knew he could laugh and
crinkle up his eyes just as she did, but
he doubted that he could put his arm
round his aunt and give her that fun-
ny little squeeze; but he was willing
to try even this if it brought about)
such surprising results.
“Take your umbrellas; it looks
stormy,” was the last injunction, yet
he was hurried off without them.
“] hate carrying umbrellas and
things; don’t you, Bobolink? Let’s
chance it, anyway.” :
“Why does Aunt Bella always think
it’s going to rain?” he asked as he
took her hand, held firmly, he felt, and
not by a slipping two fingers.
“Does she?” smiled Olga. “Well,
perhaps she wears blue glasses.”
“Only when the sun’s on the snow,”
he said, seriously.
What a walk that was! Different
from any he had ever known before;
no pulling him past the store windows
in the village where there were so
many fascinating things to see, no in-
sistent “hurry” when he lagged behind
to watch a squirrel walk the trolley
wire, and always a ready answer to
the dozens of questions he loved to
ask. She even stood before the torn
and weather-stained circus posters
| and discussed their delights quite lei-
surely. i
“Have you never been to a circus?”
she asked suddenly.
“Only to a dead one.” And seeing
her puzzled expression, he explained
that he had once been taken to a place
where they had stuffed animals in
glass cases—Aunt Bella had thought
it would be “instructive.”
“Well, we'll go some day, for fun
and nothing else. I just love it my-
self, and if I had a real boy with me it
would be great.” She laughed into his
upturned face. “I’m most as young
as you are. Let me see, just how old
are you, Bobby?”
“Seven—but a big seven I guess,
‘cause I wear eight-year ready-mades”
he answered, proudly. He had been
told not to inquire into the interesting
subject of grown people’s ages, but he
made a compromise with his con-
science.
“What size ready-mades do you
wear ?” he asked.
“Why, listen to the scamp of a boy!
He wants to know how old I am.
Guess?”
“Fort 29
“What!”
“Aren’t you?”
“Just half that—Impudence.” She
watched him carefully calculating.
“Well, twenty’s pretty old, isn’t it?”
“Yes, I suppose it seems so to sev-
en,” she said, meekly. Presently she
asked: “Robert, do you know what
you’d like to be when you grow up?”
There was a slight pause while he
seemed to give the question serious
attention. “A minister, 1 guess,” he
said, and glanced up for her approval.
Heavens! had they made him a
goody-goody!
“You see, I like to talk, and minis-
ters can; nobody ever tells them to
keep still when they preach, and
sometimes I get tired of being seen
and not heard.”
With her strong young arms she
lifted him to her face and kissed him
—immediately apologizing.
“Honestly, I don’t think any one
saw us, Bobbin, so you needn’t hind.
I won’t do it again unless you say so.”
“Maybe, sometime I'd let you—at
night—in the dark when I go to bed.”
“All right, old man; I'll remember.
Do you mind going to bed in the dark?
I did, fearfully.”
“Not now, I don’t, but when I was
little I did.”
The rain came later in the day, but
Robert did not mind a rainy afternoon
with this delightful playmate in the
house. She had told the aunts they
would make too much noise to stay
down-stairs. “We're going to giggle,
aren’t we, Bobtail, and do all sorts of
silly things, so I think my room’s the
best place for these two infants—" so
now there they were, the box of choc-
olates in some mysterious way up with
them too. At Olga’s daring to seat
herself on the smooth, freshly made-
up bed, he was so afraid of reproof
for her that he ventured a remon-
strance of his own.
“Don’t you think you’d better come
over here and sit in this chair?” he
asked, uneasily. “Because, you see,
Aunt Bella won’t like any one muss-
ing up her clean spread.”
“Oh, that’s all right, Bobby. Ill fix
it up beautifully afterward.”
“But spreads cost twenty cents to
send to the laundry. I don’t want her
to scold you,” he ended, lamely.
She put out an impulsive hand and
drew him toward her, but there was a
visible tightening of her mouth, as she
said, recklessly:
“What would you like to do, honey-
boy, more than anything else this
afternoon?”
He hesitated a moment, then, re-
membering that she would wunder-
stand, he whispered: “Oh, I’d like aw-
fully to go out and get my feet wet in
that puddle! I never have heard my
shoes make that funny suck-suck noise
when their soaking. Don’t you love
to play in water?”
“Yes, sirree, I do, and some day I'm
going to teach you to swim, and some
day”’—she-sat up now with mischief
in her face—“some day I'm going to
let you put on a pair of my old boots
and go out and paddle in the wet just
as much as you want! Only,” she
added, already anxious about him,
“you must promise to come right in
afterward and have your feet rubbed
good and dry.”
“But you won’t be here after tomor-
row,” he said, forlornly.
“You never can tell what’s going to
happen, Bobbin. ’Most every day
something nice turns up.”
“Not when you’re not here,” he per-
sisted, still very much depressed at
the terrible thought.
But she managed to distract him
with all sorts of new games and sto-
ries, and at dinner that night he be-
came so animated in his talk that two
or three times Aunt Bella had to say,
“Look out, Robert, you'll upset your
glass of milk,” and finally he did do it,
and was sent in disgrace to his room.
Olga continued talking politely to
the two ladies, but always with rather
a preoccupied air, and presently she
said she’d run up stairs and get her
embroidery. But really she went to
listen outside of Robert’s room for the
sound she dreaded to hear.
to her in the pitiful suppressed sob
which made her hurriedly open the
door. He was all alone in the dark,
and she rushed over to where he stood
and put her arms around the pathetic
little figure.
“Don’t mind, honey! I'll stay with
you if you want me.”
“But you won’t stay always—and
it’s that I mind more than what Aunt
Bella did.”
“Would you like to live with me all
the time, little son?” the girl asked,
softly.
“Oh, but just wouldn't I—and you're
going away! Please take me with
you!”
She was kneeling beside him now,
looking up into his face. Suddenly
she burst forth into an excited whis-
per.
“Bobbie dear, if I tell you a great,
big, tremendous secret, do you think
you can keep it for a little while—just
for a few days, anyway?”
He nodded delightedly, her excite-
ment communicating itself to him,
made him tense with attention.
“Well, then, you are going to live
with me. Oh, Bobby, I'm so happy!
I'm going to be your mother in real
earnest, for I'm going to marry—
whom do you think ?—your daddy! I
came up here just to see how you and
I would get on together—and you will
love me, won’t you, because I love you
ever and ever so much already.”
It came
Health and Happiness
“Mens sana in corpore sano”
Number 25.
THE INFLUENCE OF TEMPERATURE UPON THE GROWTH OF
BACTERIA IN MILK.
-
Milk is a particularly favorable me-
dium for bacterial growth for not only
does it contain all the substances nec-
essary for nutrition but they are di-
luted in such proportions as to render
most of them available for bacterial |
life. And when it is richly seeded at
the outset with bacteria,
multiplication will occur, provided it
is kept at ordinary summer tempera-
enormous |
tures, for, as was said last week, the
temperature factor is all-important.
If milk is kept at 32 degrees F., it
shows a decrease in bacteria during
the first one hundred and sixty-eight
hours, but higher temperatures en-
courage rapid growth as is shown in
the following results obtained by
Freudenreich and by Park.
No. of bacteria per c. ¢. in milk kept at different temperatures.
77 degrees F. 95 degres F.
30,000
Bohr affermilking.........0. 000 nee .000 ,
Shes. after mURING. ....... ivi sii 25,000 12,000,000
12 hrs. after miiking......... oo. 46,000 35,280,000
26 Nrs. after MIKI... see sii rine crnrscainees 5,700,000 50,000,000
(Park) Initial content of milk 30,000
3 deg, p. Shben¥ 5
eg. F. deg 55 deg. F. 6Sdeg.F.
24 hrs. 38,000] 42,000] 1S7,000] 5
48 hrs. 56,000 360,000] 38,000,000]
96 hrs.| 4,300,000| 12,200,000
168 hrs.| 38,000,000/300,000,000] | 4,000,000
From these tables it will be seen
that the number of bacteria in a giv-
en sample of milk depends chiefly—(1)
upon the degree of original contami-
nation of the milk, (2) upon the age of
the milk, and (3) upon the tempera-
ture at which it has been kept. “In
other words,” to quote Jordan, “the
bacterial count gives valuable infor-
mation both as to the cleanliness and
staleness of this indispensable food.”
The importance of rapidly chilling the
milk as soon as possible after it is
drawn, and of keeping it constantly at
as low a temperature as possible, can-
not be too strongly emphasized. At
this point the subject cannot be better
presented, perhaps, than in an excerpt
from Russell’s Dairy Bacteriology:
If a can of milk is allowed to cool
naturally, it will take several hours
before it reaches the temperature of
the surrounding air. During this time
the organisms in the fore milk are
continuing their rapid growth, while
those forms which come from dust,
and are presumably in a latent state,
awake from their lethargy under the
influence of these favorable surround-
ings. If bacteria once gain an en-
trance and begin to germinate, a con-
siderably lower temperature is requir-
ed to successfully check development
than to hold latent organisms, like
spores, in a condition where germina-
tion will not occur.
To hasten this lowering of tempera-
ture artificial cooling is a necessity.
With good well water having a tem-
perature of 48 degrees—b50 degrees F.,
it is possible to chill milk sufficiently
to keep it. Where cold water is not
available, ice water should be used.
Mixed Night and Morning Milk.—
Experience has often shown when old
milk is mixed with new, that the fer-
mentative changes are more rapid
than would have been the case if the
two milks had been kept apart. This
is most frequently observed when the
night milk is cooled down and mixed
with the warm morning milk. This
often imperfectly understood phenom-
enon rests upon the relation of bacte-
rial growth to temperature. The night
milk may be cooled down to 50 degrees
F., but by the next morning it has
considerably more bacteria than the
freshly drawn sample, the tempera-
ture of which may be 90 degress F.
Now, if these two milkings are mixed,
the temperature of the whole mass
will be raised to a point that is more
favorable for the growth of all of the
contained bacteria than it would be if
the older milk was kept chilled.
TAINTS IN MILK.
A tainted condition in milk may re-
sult from the development of bacteria;
or it may be produced by the milk be-
ing brought in contact with any odor-
iferous or aromatic substance, under
conditions that permit of the direct
absorption of such odors. This direct
absorption may occur before the milk
is withdrawn from the animal, or
afterwards if exposed to strong odors.
Sometimes the milk of animals ad-
vanced in lactation has a more or less
strongly marked odor and taste; bit-
ter or salty at times to the taste. It
is a defect that is peculiar to individ-
ual animals and is liable to recur at
approximately the same period in lac-
tation.
Direct Absorption of Taints.—The
peculiar “cowy”’ or “animal odor” of
fresh milk is an inherent peculiarity
that is due to the direct absorption of
volatile elements from the animal her-
self. This condition is much exag-
gerated when the animal consumes
strong-flavored substances as garlic,
leeks, turnips and cabbages. These
taints often wholly disappear, if the
milking is not done for some hours
(8-12) after such foods are consumed.
This same principle applies to many
green fodders assilage, green rye,
rape, ete., which not infrequently, pro-
duce so strong a taint in milk as to ren-
der it useless for human use. These
troubles could be entirely obviated by
feeding limited quantities of such ma-
terial immediately after milking as
the taint is then usually eliminated be-
fore the next milking.
Absorption of odors after milking
will occur readily if milk, after be-
ing drawn from the animal, is brought
in contact with strong odors, as in the
barn. Exposure in the cow barn
where the volatile emanations from
the animals themselves and their ex-
creta taint the air will often result in
the absorption of these odors by the
milk to such an extent as to seriously
affect the flavor. The custom of
straining the milk in the barn is to be
deprecated as inconsistent with prop-
er dairy practice.
Even after milk is thoroughly cool-
ed, it may absorb odors as seen where
it is stored in a refrigerator with cer-
tain fruits, meats, fish, ete.
TREATMENT OF TAINTS.
In fresh milk it is usually possible
to distinguish between taints caused
by the growth of bacteria and those
attributable to direct absorption. If
the taint is evident at time of milking,
it is in all probability due to character
of feed consumed, or possibly to
medicines. Much can be done to over-
come taints of this nature by exercis-
ing greater care in regard to the feed
of animals and especially as to the
time of feeding and milking. The
milk should be removed as soon as
possible from the barn. But with
milk already tainted, it is often possi-
ble to materially improve its condi-
tion. Thorough aeration is recom-
mended, but most satisfactory results
have been obtained when a combined
process of aeration and pasteurization
was resorted to. .
If the intensity of the taint grows
more pronounced as the milk becomes
older, then it is probably due to
living organisms, which require a
certain period of incubation before
their fermentative properties are most
evident. The treatment of abnormal
conditions due to bacteria will be con-
sidered in the articles following in this
series but is usually one of greater
cleanliness in handling the milk.
Aeration. Practical experience has
long demonstrated the advantage of
aerating the milk as soon after milk-
ing as possible. This is accomplished
in a variety of ways. In some cases,
air is forced into the milk; in others,
the milk is allowed to distribute itself
in a thin sheet over a broad surface
and fall some distance so that it is
brought intimately in contact with the
air. The benefit claimed for aeration
is that foul odors and gases which
may be present in the milk are thus
allowed to escape by bringing the fine-
ly divided milk into contact with the
air. As ordinarily practised, aeration
is usually combined with cooling, and
it is note-worthy that the most effec-
tive aerators are those that cool si-
multaneously. Under these condi-
tions, the keeping quality of the milk
is increased, but where milk is simply
aerated without cooling, no material
benefit in keeping quality is observed.
The aerator should be kept absolutely
clean and the process of aeration not
carried on where there is dust as oth-
erwise bacteria will be introduced into
the milk from these sources.
October 19.—“Effect of Bacteria
Upon Milk.”
A stern voice from below interrupt-
ed them. “Olga, I must ask you to
come down now. It is after half past
eight, and Robert ought to be asleep.”
When she appeared, empty-hauded,
Miss Bella asked, rather stiffly,
“Where is your work?”
“My work?” Olga was too preoc-
cupied to comprehend at once. “Oh,
you mean my embroidery. I decided
to write instead. May I use your
desk ?”
And hardly waiting for the reluc-
tant permission, she sat down at this
hallowed spot, where no one except
the owner herself ever ventured. Di-
recting an envelope, she paused and
smiled, looking at the two calm, prim
women sitting beside the lamp.
“What fun it would be,”’she thought,
“to throw the bomb-shell of this ad-
dress into the room now,” but she re-
sisted the temptation.
The letter, without beginning or
end, contained only these words:
“He’s a dear—and you're going to love
him as much as I do.”—By Maud
Christian Aymar, in Harper's Month-
ly Magazine.
Some people say it pays to ad-
vertise, but how about the chap who
advertises for a wife? He gets what
he advertised for but seldom what he
wants. Oh, dissatisfied man!
Drafted Flier Must Quit French Army
New York, N. Y.—Under a decision
by the New York district board of ap-
peals, Herbert Dick Smith, a member
of the Lafayette Escadrille, must give
up his duties as an air fighter with the
French army and return to this coun-
try to enter the national army. Smith
registered by mail and his certifica-
tion for service as a conscript was ap-
pealed by his brother. Charles E.
Hughes, chairman of the board, ruled
there was no provision in the select-
ive service law under which the avia-
tor could be exempted from service in
the national army. The only opportu-
nity he has of getting permission to
remain with the escadrille, is a spe-
cial ruling by Provost Marshal Gener-
al Crowder.
Favor Easy Death for the Incurable.
Chicago.—The American Associa-
tion of Progressive Medicine, in con-
vention here, is on record as favoring
a movement to have State Legisla-
tures legalize the administration of an
easy death to the hopelessly incurable.
The decision was made by a vote of 37
to 24 on a motion to refer the proposi-
tion to a committee, with instructions
to submit to the Legislature of every
State the recommendation of some ac-
tion favorable to the procedure.
FARM NOTES.
—College Warns Against Fruit
Tree Peddlers.—Delay in ordering
nursery stock always results in get-
ting poorer quality trees than when
ordering is done early.
During the next three or four weeks
nurserymen will fill their fall orders
and the principle followed is usually
“first come, first served.” Even where
fruit trées are not needed until spring,
fall ordering will often insure better
choice than spring ordering.
One-year-old trees are better suited
to all conditions than older trees.
They have merely a whip head which
permits the grower to shape the head
to suit himself. Two-year-old trees,
on the other hand, are already form-
ed. One-year-old stock is cheaper in
price.
The Pennsylvania State College
cautions against ordering fruit trees
from any but established and reputa-
ble nurseries. Unfortunately there
are agents who travel about buying
up and passing along at exorbitant
prices, second-grade, stunted stock of
doubtful variety.
So many people on the farms will
argue warmly that to take male birds
from the flock shuts off laying for the
hens. To one who has made long ex-
periments in this direction this argu-
ment hasn’t one real fact to back it
up. They lay better without him
around, especially the young pullets.
The only thing I can say for his pres-
ence in the flock is, and I notice this
more in the small nervous breeds close
yet in nature to the wild stock, that,
if penned, his presence seems, in
cases, to cut short their getting into
mischief—such as feather pulling,
ete.—Ida M. Shepler, Indiana.
—Exercise is as strongly essential
to the production of eggs as is regu-
lar feeding, and when the weather
gets cooler a straw stack handy for
biddy to scratch out the chance grain
from its sides is one fine help to get-
ting that exercise. There is nothing
like having a pile of straw or corn
blades in the scratching shed for the
hens to tear down.
When the farmer sells his hogs and
cattle he fattens them before selling
time. To fatten his chickens before
selling time seldom enters his mind.
It is just as bad for him to pok: off a.
lean fowl on a customer as a lean hog.
One fat chicken is worth three poor
ones and has just as much edible
meat on it. Some farmers try to feed
up the young poultry on whole corn.
You cannot fatten young poultry on
whole grain unless’ you feed until far
into the winter. Grind the grain into
a flour, mix with water or good milk
—buttermilk or skim, and you can fill
out a lean chicken in a couple of
weeks.
Wheat makes hens lay and is an ex-
cellent molting ration if mixed with
corn, but you cannot feed it too long
just alone. Hens fed wheat continu-
ously, develop an ugly intestinal trou-
ble that will rapidly put them clear
out of business. Better trust to all
corn with some green stuff than all
wheat.
Some poultry keepers consider that
if a small amount of beef scrap is
good, a large amount is better. To
give a flock large amounts of beef
scrap or even any kind of meat scrap
is to court disaster in the poultry
yard. A pound of meat scrap to 20
hens is enough at a meal if the meat
scrap be fresh or green, as it is call-
ed. You can give this amount if it be
dry scrap to 16 hens. Meat scrap fed
too heavily induces diarrhoea finally.
Worms of several kinds attack the in-
testines of heavily meat-fed fowls, and
worse, and more incurable, limber
neck may set in.
—Prevent Losses from Manure.—
An enormous amount of plant food is
wasted annually on Pennsylvania
farms by the improper handling of
farm manure. This is of unusual im-
portance today, not only because of
the high prices of ammonia and pot-
ash in commercial fertilizers, with
which this loss must be replaced if
the fertility of the soil is to be main-
tained, but also because the rise in
prices of all farm products has dou-
bled within recent years the moneta-
ry returns which may be expected by
using manure on the land. :
At normal fertilizer prices a ton of
manure had a money value of $1.90
or about $24.00 per cow per year. At
present prices however, a ton of ma-
nure has a commercial value of about
$5.00. About 44 per cent. of this is in
the ammonia which the manure con-
tains, 52 per cent. in the potash and
the remaining 4 per cent. in the phos-
phoric acid.
The enormous loss which occurs will
be better understood from the fact
that three-fourths of the total ammo-
nia and four-fifths of the total potash
are found in the liquid part of the ma-
nure. A small amount of loss is una-
voidable on any farm but the system
of handling of manure should aim to
avoid draining of any part of the lig-
uid manure, fermentation of manure
before it is put on the field, and
leaching by exposure to the rains. The
liquid manure can best be preserved
by the use of plenty of straw, chaff or
any good absorbent material. The
fermentation and leaching can be best
prevented by hauling direct from the
stable to the field whenever growing
crops permit. Loss by leaching on
frozen ground should not deter one
from hauling manure on sod where
corn is to be planted next spring, if
the other alternative is leaving it in
an open barnyard over winter. Some
loss will occur where manure is spread
on top of snow or frozen ground on
sloping land, but this is less than the
loss which would occur if the same
manure were allowed to remain in an
open barnyard until spring.
However, if one has a covered ma-
nure shed or manure pit he has gone
a long way toward the solving of the
manure conservation problem. The
main essentials in this case are to
have plenty of absorbing material and
keep it well packed. Here the manure
can be kept in good condition, it can
be drawn to the fields at any time and
at the same time the loss from leach-
ing and draining will be prevented.
it is merely putting the manure on
the same basis as the fertilizers we
buy. If we will not leave our fertil-
izers out in the rain and weathering
why should we ledve our manure?—
R. H. Olmstead, Extension Represen-
tative.