MISS
0 oi
&
(Continued from last week).
SYNOPSIS
I—-APRIL.—General factotum in the
house of her sister Ina, wife of Herbert
Deacon, in the small town of Warbleton
Lulu Bett leads a dull, cramped existence,
with which she is constantly at enmity,
though apparently satisfied with her lot
She has natural thoughts and aspirations
which neither her sister nor her brother-
in-law seemingly can comprehend. To Mr.
Deacon comes Bobby Larkin, recently.
graduated high-school youth, secretly
enamored of Deacon's elder daughter,
Diana, an applicant for a “job” around
the Deacon house. He is engaged, his
occupation to be to keep the lawn in trim.
The family is excited over the news of an
approaching visit from Deacon’s brother
semian, whom he had not seen for many
years. Deacon jokes with Lulu, with
subtle meaning, concerning the coming
meeeting.
But one would say that nothing but
the truth dwelt in Bobby.
“Oh, nullo,” said he. “No.
to see your father.”
He marched by her. His hair stuck
up at the back. His coat was hunched
about his shoulders. His insufficient
nose, abundant, loose-lipped mouth
and brown eyes were completely ex-
pressionless. He marched by her with-
out a glance.
She flushed with vexation. Mr. Dea-
con, as one would expect, laughed
loudly, ‘took the situation in his ele-
phantine grasp and .pawed at it.
“Mamma! Mamma! What do you
g'pose? Di thought she had a beau—"
“Oh, papa!” said Di. “Why, I just
hate Bobby Larkin and the whole,
school knows it.”
Mr. Deacon returned to the dining
room, humming in his throat. He en-
tered upon a pretty scene.
His Ina was darning. Four minutes
of grace remaining to the child Mo-
nona, she was spinning on one toe
with some Bacchanalian idea of mak-
ing the most of the present. Di domi-
nated, her ruffles, her blue hose, her
bracelet, her ring.
“Oh, and mamma,” she said, “the
sweetest party and the dearest sup-
per and the darlingest decorations and
the gorgeousest—"
“Grammar, grammar,” spoke Dwight
Herbert Deacon. He was not sure
what he meant, but the good fellow
felt some violence done somewhere or
other.
“Well,” said Di positively,
were. Papa, see my favor.”
She showed him a sugar dove, and
he clucked at it.
Ina glanced at them fondly, her face
assuming its loveliest light. She was
often ridiculous, but always she was
the happy wife and mother, and her
role reduced her individual absurdities
at least to its own.
The door to the bedroom now
opened and Mrs. Bett appeared.
“Well, mother!” cried Herbert, the
“well” curving like an arm, the
“mother” descending like a brisk slap.
“Hungry now?”
Mrs. Bett was hungry row. She had
emerged intending to pass through the
room without speaking and find food
in the pantry. By obscure processes
her son-in-law’s tone inhibited all this.
“No,” she said. “I'm not hungry.”
Now that she was there, she seemed
uncertain what to do. She looked
from one to another a bit hopelessly,
somehow foiled in her dignity. She
brushed at her skirt, the veins of her
long, wrinkled hands catching an in-
tenser blue from the dark cloth. She
put her hair behind her ears.
“We put a potato in the oven for
you,” said Ina. She had never learned
quite how to treat these periodic re-
fusals of her mother to eat, but she
never had ceased to resent them.
“No, thank you,” said Mrs. Bett.
Evidently she rather enjoyed the situ-
ation, creating for herself a spotlight
much in the manner of Monona.
“Mother,” said Lulu, “let me make
you some toast and tea.”
Mrs. Bett turned her gentle, blood-
less face toward her daughter, and
her eyes warmed.
“After a little, maybe,” she said. “I
think Pll run over to see Grandma
Gates’ now,” she added, and went
toward the door.
“Tell her,” cried Dwight, “tell her
she’s my best girl.”
Grandma Gates was a rheumatic
cripple who lived next door, and when-
ever the Deacons or Mrs. Betts were
angry or hurt or wished to escape the
house for some reason, they stalked
over to Grandma Gates—in lieu of,
say, slamming a door. These visits
radiated an almost daily friendliness
which lifted and tempered the old in-
valid’s lot and life.
Di flashed out at the door again, on
some trivial permission.
“A good many of mamma’s stitches
in that dress to keep clean,” Ina called
after,
“Earle, darling, early!” her father
-eminded her. A faint regurgitation
of his was somehow invested with the
paternal.
“What’s this?’ cried Dwight Her-
bert Deacon abruptly.
On the clock shelf lay a letter.
“Oh, Dwight!” Ina was all compunc-
I came
“they
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Copyright by D. APPLETON AND COMPANY.
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tion. “It came this mcrning. I for-
got.”
“I forgot it too! And I laid it up
there.” Lulu was eager for her share
of the blame.
“Isp’t it understood that my mail
can’t wait like this?’
Dwight’s sense of importance was
now being fed in gulps.
“I know. I'm awfully sorry,” Lulu
said, “but you hardly ever get a let- |
fer—"
This might have made things worse,
but it provided Dwight with a greater
importance.
“Of course, pressing matter goes to
my office,” he admitted it. “Still. my
mail should have more careful—"
He read. frowning. He replaced the
letter, and they nung upon his mo-
tions as he tapped the envelope and
regarded then
“Now!” said he. “What do you
think I have to tel. you?”
“Something nice,” Ina was sure.
“Something surptising,” Dwight said
portentiously.
“But, Dwight—ig it nice?" from his
Ina.
“That depends. I like it. Soll
Lulu.” He leered at her. “It’s com-
nany.”
“Oh, Dwight,” said Ina. “Who?”
“From Oregon,” he said, toying with
t.18 suspense.
“Your brother!” cried Ina. “Is he
*oming ?"
“Yes. Ninian’s coming, so he says.”
“Ninian!” cried Ina again. She was
axcited, round-eyed. her moist lips
parted. Dwight’s brother Ninian. How
long was it? Nineteen years. South
America, Central America, Mexico,
Panama “and all.” When was he
coming and what was he coming for?
“To see me,” said Dwight. “To meet
voa. Some day next week. He don’t
know what a charmer Lulu is, or he’a
come quicker.”
Lulu flushed terribly. Not from the
implication. But from the knowledge
that she was not a charmer.
The clock struck. The child Mo-
nona uttered a cutting shriek. Her-
bert’s eyes flew not only to the child
put to his wife. What was this, was
their progeny hurt?
“Bedtime,” his wife elucidated, and
added: “Lulu, will you take her to
Led? I'm pretty tired.”
Lulu rose and took Monona by the
hand, the child hanging back and
shaking her straight hair in an ubn-
convincing negative.
. As they crossed the room, Dwight
Herbert Deacon, strolling about and
snapping his fingers, halted and cried
out sharply:
“Lulu. One moment!”
He approached her. A finger was eX-
tended, his lips were parted, on his
torehead was a frown.
“You picked the flower on the
piant?® he asked, incredulously.
Lulu made no reply. But the child
Monona felt herself lifted and borne to
the stairway and the door was shut
with violence. On the dark stairway
Lulu's arms closed about her in an
embrace which left her breathless and
squeaking. And yet Lulu was not
really fond of the child Monona, either.
This was a discharge of emotion akin,
gay, to slamming the door.
11
May.
Luin was dusting the parlor. The
parlor was rarely used, but every
morning it was dusted. By Lulu.
She dusted the black walnut center
tabke which was of Jna’s choosing, and
looked like Ina, shining, complacent,
abundantly curved. The leather rocker,
tao, looked like Ina, brown, plumply
upholstered, tipping back a bit. Real-
ly, the davenport looked like Ina, for
its chintz pattern seemed tobeara de-
sign of lifted eyebrows and arch, re-
preachful eyes.
Lulu dusted the upright piano, and
that was like Dwight—in a perpet-
uel attitude of rearing back, with paws
ont, playful, but capable, too, of roar-
ing a ready bass.
And the black fireplace—there was
Mrs. Bett to the life. Colorless, fire
less, and with a dust of ashes.
In the midst of all was Lulu herself
=eflected in the narrow pier glass,
bodiless-looking in her blue gingham
gown, but somehow alive—natural.
This pier glass Lulu approached
with expectation, not because of her-
self but because of the photograph on
its low marbie shelf. A large photo-
graph on a little shelf-easel. A photo
graph of a man with evident eyes, evi-
dent lips, evident cheeks—and each of
the six were rounded and convex. You
could construct the rest of him. Down
there under the glass you could imagine
him extending, rounded and convex,
with plump hands and curly thumbs
ani snug clothes. It was Ninian
Deacon, Dwight’s brother.
fivery day since his coming had
been announced Lulu, dusting the par-
lor, had seen the photograph looking
at her with its eyes somehow new. Or
were her own eyes new? She dusted
this photograph with a difference, lift-
ed, dusted, set it back, less as a process
than as an experience. As she dusted
the mirror and saw his trim sem-
blance over against her own bodiless
reflection, she hurried away. But the
eyes of the picture followed her, and
she liked it.
She dusted the south window sill
and saw Bobby Larkin come round the
house and go to the woodshed for the
lawn mower. She heard the smooth
blur of the cutter. Not six times had
Bobby traversed the lawn when Lulu
saw Di emerge from the house. Di
had been caring for her canary and
she carried her bird bath and went to
' the well, and Lulu divined that Di had
deliberately disregarded the handy
kitchen taps. Lulu dusted the south
window and watched, and in her
watching was no quality of spying or
of criticism. Rather, she looked out
on something in which she had never
shared, could not by any chance im-
agine herself sharing.
The south windows were open. Airs
of May®bore the soft talking.
“Oh, Bobby, will you pump while I
hold this?’ And again: “Now wait
til! I rinse” And again: “You needn’t
be so glum '—the village salutation sig-
nifying kindly attention.
Bobby now first spoke:
glum?” he countered, gloomily.
The iron of those days when she had
laughed at him was deep within him,
“Who's
sently :
“I used to think you were pretty
nice.
“Yes, you used to!” Bobby repeat-
ed derisively. “Is that why you made
fun of me all the time?”
At this Di colored and tapped her
foot on the well-curb. He seemed to
have her now, and enjoyed his tri-
umph. But Di looked up at him shyly
and looked down. “I had to,” she ad-
mitted. “They were all teasing me
about you.”
“They were?”
thought to him.
him, were they?
This was a new
Teasing her about
He straightened.
“Huh!” he said, in magnificent eva- |
sion.
“I had to make them stop, so 1
teased you. I—I never wanted to.”
Again the upward look.
“Well!” Bobby stared at her. *I
{ never thought it was anything like
that.”
“Of course you didn’t.” She tossed
back her bright hair, met his eyes full.
“And you never came where I could
tell you. I wanted to tell you.”
She ran into the house.
Lulu lowered her eyes. It was as
if she had witnessed the exercise uf
some secret gift, had seen a cocoon
open or an egg hatch. She was think-
ing:
“How easy she done it. Got him
right over. But how did she do that?”
Dusting the Dwight-like piano. Lulu
looked over-shoulder, with a manner of
speculation, at the photograph of
Ninian.
Bobby mowed and pondered. The
magnificent conceit of the male in his
understanding of the female character
was sufficiently developed to cause
him to welcome the improvisation
which he had just heard. Perhaps
that was the way it had been. Of
course that was the way it had been.
What a fool he had been not to un-
derstand. He cast his eyes repeatedly
He Straightened.
Magnificent Evasion.
“Huh!” He Said, in
toward the house. He managed to
make the job last over so that he could
return in the afternoon. He was not
conscious of planning this, but it was
in some manner contrived for him by
forces of his own with which he
seemed to be co-operating without his
conscious will. Continually he glanced
toward the house.
These glances Lulu saw. She was a
woman of thirty-four and Di and
.Bobby were eighteen, but Lulu felt for
them no adult indulgence. She felt
that sweetness of attention which we
bestow upon May robins, She felt
more.
She cut a fresh cake, filled a plate,
called to Di, saying: “Take some out
to that Bobby Larkin, why don’t you?”
It was Lulu’s way of participating,
It was her vicarious thrill.
After supper Dwight and Ina took
their books and departed to the Chau-
tasiqua circle, To these meetings Lulu
never went. The reason seemed to be
that she never went anywhere.
When they were gone Lulu felt an
instant liberation. She turned aim-
lessly to the garden and dug round
things with her finger. And she
|
i nary rigidity a negation of her.
But I don’t like you any more.” :
wiougnt about the brightness of that .
Chautauqua scene to which Ina and
Dwight had gone. Lulu thought about
such gatherings in somewhat the way
that a futurist receives the subjects |
of his art—forms not vague, but
heightened to intolerable definiteness,
acute color, and always motion—mo-
tion as an integral part of the desir-
able. But a factor of all was that
Lulu herself was the participant, not
the onlooker. The perfection of her
dream was not impaired by any long-
ing. She had her dream as a saint her
sense of heaven.
“Lulie!” her mother called.
come out of that damp.”
She obeyed, as she had obeyed that
voice all her life. But she took one
last look down the dim street. She
had not known it, but superimposed
on her Chautauqua thoughts had been
her faint hope that it would be to-
night, while she was in the garden
alone, that Ninian Deacon would ar-
rive. And she had on her wool chally,
her coral beads, her cameo pin. y
She went into the lighted dining
room. Monona was in bed. Di was
not there. Mrs, Bett was in Dwight
Herbert's leather chair and she lolled
at her ease. It was strange to see this
woman, usually so erect and tense,
now actually lolling, as if lolling were
“You
! the positive, the vital, and her ordi-
In
and this she now divined, and said ab- | SO corresponding orgy of leisure
and liberation. Lulu sat down with no
| needle.
“Inie ought to make over her de-
laine,” Mrs. Bett comfortably began.
They talked of this, devised a mode,
recalled other delaines. “Dear, dear,”
said Mrs. Bett, “I had on a delaine
when 1 met your father.” She de-
scribed it. Both women talked freely,
with animation. They were individuals
and alive. To the two pallid beings
accessory to the Deacons’ presence,
Mrs. Bett and her daughter Lulu now
bore no relationship. They emerged,
had opinions, contradicted, their eyes
were bright,
Toward nine o’clock Mrs. Bett an-
nounced that she thought she should
have a lunch. This was debauchery.
She brought in bread and butter, and
a dish of cold canned peas. She was
committing all the excesses that she
knew—offering opinions, laughing, eat-
ing. It was to be seen that this wom-
an had an immense store of vitality,
perpetually submerged.
When she had eaten she grew sleepy
—rather cross at the last and inclined
to hold up her sister's excellencies to
Lulu; and, at Lulu’s defense lifted an
ancient weapon,
“What's the use of finding fant
with Inie? Where'd you heen if she
hadn't married?”
Lulu said nothing.
“What say?’ Mrs. Bett demanded
stirilly. She was enjoying it.
Lulu said no more. After a long
time:
“You always was jealous of Inie,”
said Mrs. Bett, and went to her bed.
As soon as her mother’s door had
closed, Lulu took the lamp from its
bracket, stretching up her long bedy
and her long arms until her skirt lirt-
ed to show her really slim and pretty
feet. Lulu's feet gave news of some
other Lulu, but slightly incarnate.
Perhaps, so far, incarnate only in her
feet and her long hair.
She took the lamp to the parlor ard
stood before the photograph of Ninian
Deacon, and looked her fill. She did
not admire the photograph, but she
wanted to look at it. .The house was
still, there was no possibility of inter-
ruption. The occasion became sensas
tion, which she made no effort to
quench. She held a rendezvous with
she knew not what.
In the early hours of the next after-
goon with the sun shining across the
threshold, Lulu was paring something
at the kitchen table. Mrs. Bett was
asleep. (“I don’t blame you a bit,
mother,” Lulu had said, as her mother
pamed the intention.) Ina was asleep.
(But Ina always tock off the curse by
calling it her “si-esta,” long i.) Mo-
nona was playing with a neighbor's
child—you heard their shrill yet love-
ly laughter as they obeyed the adult
law that motion is pleasure. Di was
not there,
A man came round the house and
stood tying a puppy to the porch post.
A long shadow fell through the west
doorway, the puppy whined.
“Qh,” said this man. “I didn’t mean
to arrive at the back door, but since
Tm here—"
He lifted a suitcase to the porch,
entered and filled the kitchen.
“It’s Ina, isn’t it?” he said.
“I'm her sister,” said Lulu, and un-
derstood that he wes here at last.
“Well, I'm Bert's brother,” sald
Ninian. “So I can come in, can’t I?”
He did so, turned round like a dog
before his chair and sat down heaviiy,
forcing his fingers through heavy, up-
springing brown hair.
“Oh, yes,” said Lulu.
She's asleep.”
“Don’t call her, then,” said Ninian.
“Let's you and I get acquainted.”
He said it absently, hardly looking
at her.
“I'll get the pup a drink if you car
spare me a basin,” he added.
Lulu brought the basin and, while
he went to the dog, she ran tiptoeing
to the dining room china closet and
brought a cut-glass tumbler, as heavy,
as ungainly as a stone crock. This
she filled with milk.
“I thought maybe . .. ” sald she,
and offered it.
“Thank you!” said Ninian, and
drained it. “Making ples, as I live”
he observed, and brought his chair
nearer to the table. “I didn’t know
Ina had a sister,” he went on. “I re-
member now Bert said he had two of
her relatives—"
Lulu flushed and glanced at him piti-
foily.
“He has,” she said. “It’s my mother
and me. But we do quite a good deal
of the work.”
“I'll call Ina.
TE RS
“Pll bet you do,” said Ninian, and
did not perceive that anything had
been violated. “What's your name?”
he bethought.
She was in an immense and obscure
excitement. Her manner was serene,
her hands as they went on with the
peeling did not tremble; her replies
were given with sufficient quiet. But
‘she told him her name as one tells
something of another and more re-
mote creature. She felt as one may
feel in catastrophe—no sharp under-
standing, but merely the sense that the
thing cannot possibly be happening.
“You folks expect me?” he went on.
“Oh, yes!” she cri€d, almost with
vehemence. “Why, we've looked for
you every day.”
“’See,” he said, “how
been married?”
Lulu flushed as she answered: “Fif-
teen years.”
“And a year before that the first one
died—and two years they were mar-
ried,” he computed. “I never met that
one. Then it’s close to twenty years
since Bert and I have seen each
other.” :
“How awful!” Lulu said, and flushed
again.
“Why?”
“To be that long away from your
folks.”
Suddenly she found herself facing
this honestly, as if the immensity of
her present experience were clarifyicg
her understanding : Would it be so aw-
ful to be away from Bert and Monona
and Di—yes, and Ina,
years?
“You think that?” he laughed. “A
man don’t know what he’s like till he's
roamed around on his own.” He liked
the sound of it. “Roamed around on
his own,” he repeated,” and laughed
again,
that.”
“Why don’t she?” asked Lulu.
long have they
Sh
balanced a pie on her hand and carved
the crust. She was stupefied to hear
her own question. “Why don’t she?”
“Maybe she does. Do you?”
“Yes,” said Lulu.
“Good enough!” He applauded
noiselessly, with fat hands. His dia-
mend ring sparkled, his even white
teeth flashed. “I’ve had twenty years
of galloping about,” he informed her,
unable, after all, to transfer his inter
ests from himself to her.
“Where?” she asked, although she
knew.
“South America.
Mexico. Panama.” He searched hic
memory. “Colombe,” he superadded.
“My!” said Lulu. She had probably
rever in her life had the least desire
to see any of these places. She did
not want to see them now. But she
wanted passionately to meet her coum-
panion’s mind.
“It’s the life,” he informed her.
“Must be,” Lulu breathed. “I-—7
She tried, and gave it up.
“Where you been mostly?” he asked
at last.
By this unprecedented interest in
her doings she was thrown into a pas-
sion of excitement.
“Here,” she said. “I’ve always heen
here. Fifteen years with Ina. Before
that we lived in the country.”
He listened sympathetically now, his
head well on one side. He watched her
veined hands pinch at the pies. “Poer
old girl,” he was thinking.
“Is it Miss Lulu Bett?’ he abruptly
inquired. “Or Mrs.?”
Lulu flushed in anguish.
“Miss,” she said low, as one who
confesses the extremity of failure.
Lulu Flushed in Anguish.
She Said Low.
“Miss,”
Then, from unplumbed depths, another
Lulu abruptly spoke up. “From
choice,” she said.
He shouted with laughter.
“You bet! Oh, you bet!” he cried.
“Never doubted it” He made his
palms taut and drummed on the table.
“Say!” he said.
Lulu glowed, quickened, smiled. Her
face was another face.
“Which kind of a Mr. are you?’ she
heard herself ask, and his shoutings
redoubled. Well! Who would have
thought it of her?
SNever give myself away,” he as
sured her. “Say, by George, I never
thought of that before! There's nc
telling whether a man’s married or
not, by his name!”
“It don’t matter,” said Lulu.
“Why not?”
“Not so many people want
know.”
to
(Continued next week).
for twenty
“Course a woman don’t know |
Central Americs.
——
|
| FARM NOTES.
| —New York has 7620 acres of late
onions this year, which is the largest
acreage of any State in the Union.
_ —DMature sows which fail to raise
litters of six good pigs should ordi-
narily be fattened and slaughtered.
—There is no branch of agriculture
| that takes as little fertility from the
soil and at the same time returns as
good profit as the dairy farm.
—A good farmer watches the plants
rand takes notice of the soil. He can
tell what the soil needs from the color,
| the growth, the development and the
| fruitfulness.
| —Colorado has the largest acreage
| of cantaloupes with 16,000 as compar-
{ed with 8200 acres last year. Our
| neighbor, Maryland, has 6310 acres,
| compared with 5480 acres last year.
—Good products must be raised,
i harvested at the right stage of ripe-
| ness, and delivered in an attractive,
isound and serviceable condition be-
{ fore good prices can be expected. Buy-
‘ers want value for their money.
i
: —Eggs that Demand the Price.—A
: good product will always demand a
{fair price. In order to supply eggs of
| top quality, dispose of the male birds
and produce sterile eggs. Provide
clean nests, one to every five hens,
i —Save on your fertilizer bill by
buying mixtures with high analysis.
Low grade fertilizers containing vary-
| ing quantities of filler are no less ex-
, bensive per pound of plant food con-
i tained, than the high grade mixtures.
| Order early.
{ —Celery should be growing nicely
‘now if sufficient moisture is always
available. Mulching with manure is
an excellent method of conserving
moisture and adding fertility. Culti-
vate frequently and water artificially
in case of dry weather.
i —Present indications are that pric-
es for feeder cattle will rule higher
this fall than a year ago, due to the
shortage of cattle in the grazing area.
If second growth meadow is handy, it
, might be desirable to purchase light
I cattle during the month of August and
! allow them the use of such fields.
{ —Where pastures are getting
i shorter and dryer, the cow will repay
i her owner at the pail for an extra al-
lowance of grain in her manger when
she comes in from the field. A good
mixture is, 150 lbs. oats, or corn and
i cob meal, 100 lbs. bran, 100 lbs. lin-
seed meal, and 75 lbs. cottonseed meal.
—It is never too early to get your
wheat seed. Obtain good clean seed of
a desirable variety. In this year’s
tests, Pennsylvania 44 is outyielding
most varieties. Don’t forget that
wheat responds profitably to fertili-
zation. Use 300 to 500 pounds of acid
phosphate or a 2-12-2 mixture, accord-
ing to the condition of your soil.
—Dwarf Essex rape may be sown
in late summer or early fall and the
hogs given a fine start toward fatten-
ing. By turning pigs to rape a month
or six weeks they may be easily and
cheaply finished. An acre of rape
should carry from 20 to 30 pigs for
several weeks. Sow on rich land five
pounds of seed broadcast to the acre.
The soil should be prepared well and
sowing done in late summer or very
early fall.
—The fly menace is a very serious
handicap to dairymen or farmers
keeping dairy cows. These pests al-
ways reduce the milk flow at this sea-
son of the year, unless something is
done to check their depredations. A
very good spray is made as follows:
Kerosene oil, 3 quarts; raw linseed oil,
16 ounces; pine tar, 8 ounces; crude
carbolic acid, 8 ounces. This will
make one gallon of spray that will not
injure the cows. Spray night and
morning with a small hand sprayer
like those used in the poultry yard.
—Pennsylvania cities, including
towns and suburbs of cities, supply
i over 60 per cent. of the students in the
school of agriculture of The Pennsyl-
vania State College, according to in-
formation given out by Dean R. L.
Watts. A study just completed shows
that boys reared on the farm consti-
tute but 39 per cent. of the enrollment
in the school.
Only about 35 per cent. of the stu-
dents in agriculture are the sons of
farmers. The fathers of the remain-
ing 65 per cent. were found to be mer-
chants, clerks, tradesmen, teachers,
ministers, musicians, or research
workers. Two hundred freshmen are
to be admitted to the agricultural
school this fall and the quota is not
yet filled, according to Professor A. H.
Espenshade, college registrar.
—Agronomists in the school of ag-
culture and the agriculture extension
department at State College have been
conducting an inspection of Pennsyl-
vania 44 wheat fields in several coun-
ties of the State, to get records of
those farms that will serve as sources
of seed for next season. The survey
included 109 farms in fifteen counies,
and represented a total of 1259 acres,
or about one-eighth of the total Penn-
sylvania 44 acreage. In at least 90
per cent. of the fields, the examina-
tion showed the wheat to be relatively
free of mixtures and of weeds, such as
garlic, cockle and quack grass. Most
of the inspected wheat, when harvest-
ed end thoroughly cleaned was fit for
seed.
In their examination of fileds, the
specialists rejected those that contain-
ed garlic or quack grass, and any that
showed more than a trace of cheat or
cockle. When evidence of scab, or
loose smut, was found, a rigid exam-
ination was made to determine wheth-
er the infestation was sufficiently
great to disqualify the wheat for seed
puposes. The least amount of stink-
ing smut in a field was enough to bar
it from consideration as a seed field.
In one instance, where black rust was
found, the specialist located a barber-
ry bush near by and suggested its re-
moval.
All in all, the survey credits Penn-
sylvania 44 with a very good record.
It has outyielded most every other va-
riety by at least five bushels, and if its
use were to spread to the entire wheat
acreage of the State, the inc.euse in
yield would boost the value of the crop
by several million dollars. Since 191%,
when the college distributed the first
seed of this variety, the acreage has
grown from a limited number of se-
| lected fields to 10,000 acres during the
past year.