—
(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
Lalu 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
nenian, whom he had not seen for many
years. Deacon jokes with Lulu, with
subtle meaning, concerning the coming
meeeting.
II—-MAY.—Chiefly because of the ripple
in her placid, colorless existence which
the arrival of Ninian will bring, Lulu is
interested and speculative, meanwhile
watching with something like envy the
boy-and-girl love-making of Bobby and
Diana. Unexpectedly, Ninian arrives, in
the absence of Herbert, at his business,
and of Ina, resting. Thus he becomes
acquainted with Lulu first and in a meas-
ure understands her position in the house.
To Lulu, Ninian is a much-traveled man
of the world and even the slight interest
which he takes in her is appreciated, be-
cause it is something new in her life.
“Dwight, darling, are yon sm»
there's no danger?”
“Why, none. None in the werld
Whoever heard of drowning in =
river?”
“But you're not so very used-—" .
Oh, wasn’t he? Who was it that
had lived in a boat throughout youth.
if not he?
Ninian refused out-of-hand, lighted
a cigar, and sat on a log in a perma-
nent fashion. Ina'’s plump figure was
fitted in the stern, the child Monona
affixed, and the boat put off, how well
out of water. On this pleasure ride
the face of the wife was as the face
of the damned. It was true that she
revered her husband’s opinions above
those of all other men. In politics,
in science, in religion, in dentistry, she
looked up to his dicta as to revelation.
And was he not a magistrate? But let
him take oars in hand, or shake lines
or a whip above the back of any horse,
and this woman would trust any other
woman’s husband by preference. It
was a phenomenon.
Lulu was making the work last, so
that she should be out of everybody's
way. When the boat put off without
Ninian, she felt a kind of terror and
wished that he had gone. He had
sat down near her, and she pretended
not to see. At last Lulu understood
that Ninian was deliberately choosing
to remain with her. The languor of
his bulk after the evening meal made
no explanation for Lulu. She asked
for no explanation. He had stayed.
And they were alone. For Di, on a
pretext of examining the flocks and
herds, was leading Bobby away to the
pastures, a little at a time.
The sun, now fallen, had left an
even, waxen sky. Leaves and ferns
appeared drenched with the light just
withdrawn. The hush, the warmth,
the color, were charged with some in-
fluence. The air of the time communi-
cated itself to Lulu as intense and
quiet happiness. She had not yet feit
quiet with Ninian, For the first time
her blind excitement in his presence
ceased, and she felt curiously accus-
tomed to him. To him the air of the
time imparted itself in a deepening of
his facile sympathy.
“Do you know something?” he be-
gan. “I think you have it pretty hard
around here.”
“I?” Lulu was genuiuely aston-
ished.
“Yes, sir. Do you have to work
like this all the time?
won't mind my asking.”
“Well, I ought to work. I have a
home with them. Mother, too.”
“Yes, but glory! You ought to have
some kind of a life of your own. You
want it, too. You told me you did—
that first day.”
She was silent. Again he was in-
vesting her with a longing which she
had never really had, until he had
planted that longing. She had wanted
she knew not what. Now she accept-
ed the dim, the romantic interest of
this role.
“TI guess you don’t see how it
seems,” he said, “to me, coming along
—a stranger so. I don’t like it.”
He frowned, regarded the river,
flicked away ashes, his diamond obedi-
ently shining. Lulu’s look, her head
drooping, had the liquid air of the
look of a young girl. For the first
time in her life she was feeling her
helplessness. It intoxicated her.
“They're very good to me,” she said.
He turned. “Do you know why you
think that? Because you've never had
anybody really good to you. That's
why.”
“But they treat me good.”
“They make a slave of you. Regu-
lar slave.” He puffed, frowning.
“D—d shame, I call it,” he said.
Jer loyalty stirred Lulu. “We have
our whole living"
I guess you
ARG LY in Myers
Copyright by D. APPLETON AND COMPAN
NR re by
“And you earn it. I been watchinz
you since I been here. Don’t you ever
go anywheres?”
She said: “This is the first place
in—in years.”
“Lord! Don’t you want to? Of
course you do!”
“Not so much places like this—"
“] see. What you want is to get
away—lIlike you'd ought to.” He re-
garded her. “You've been a blamed
fine-Jooking woman,” he said.
She did not flush, but the faint, un-
suspected Lulu spoke for her:
“You must have‘been a good-look-
ing man once yourself.”
His laugh went ringing across the
water. “You're pretty good,” he said.
He regarded her approvingly. “I don't
see how you do it,” he mused. “blamed
if I do.”
“How I do what?”
“Why come back, quick like that.
with what you say.”
Lulu’s heart was beating painfully.
The effort to hold her own in talk like
this was terrifying. She had never
talked in this fashion to anyene. It was
as if some matter of life or death
hung on her ability to speak an alien
tongue. And yet, when she was most
at loss, that cther Lulu, whom she
bad never known anything about,
seemed suddenly te speak for her. As
now: .
“It’s my grand education,” she said.
She sat humped on the log, her
beautiful hair shining in the light of
the warm sky. She had thrown off
her hat and the linen duster, and was
in her blue gingham gown against the
sky and leaves. But she sat stiffly,
her feet carefully covered, her hands
ill at ease, her eyes rather piteous
ia their hope somehow te hold her
vague own. Yet from her came theue
saflicient, insouciant replies.
“Education,” he said laughing heait-
ity. “That’s mine, too.” He spoke a
¢reed. “I ain’t never had it and 1
ain't never missed it.”
“Most folks are happy without an
education,” said Lalu.
“You're not very happy, though.”
“Oh, no,” she said.
“Well, sir,” suid Ninian, “T'll tell
you what we'll do. While I'm here
I'm golnz to tuke and Ina
you Hid
Dwight up to the city.”
“To the city?”
“Po a show. Dinner and a shinv.
I'll give you one goad time.”
“Oh!” Lulu leaned forward. “Ina
and Dwight go sometimes. I never
been.”
“Well, just you come with me. I'll
laok up what's good. You tell me just
what you like to eat, and we'll ged
it—"
“1 haven't had anything to eat Ia
years that I haven't cooked myself.”
He planned for that time to come,
and Lulu listened as one intensely ex-
periencing every word that he uttered.
Yet it was not in that future merry-
making that she found her joy, but in
the consciousness that he—some one—
anyone—was planning like this for
her.
Meanwhile Di and Bobby had round-
ed the corner by an old hop-house and
kept on down the levee. Now that
the presence of the others was with-
drawn, the two looked about them dif-
ferently and began themselves to give
off an influence instead of being
pressed upon by overpowering person-
alities. Frogs were chorusing in the
near swamp, and Bobby wanted one.
He was off after it. But Di eventu-
ally drew him back, reluctant, frog-
less. He entered upon an exhaustive
account of the use of frogs fer bait,
and as he talked he constantly flung
stones. Di grew restless. There was,
she had found, a certain amount of
this to be gone through before Bobby
would focus on the personal. At
length she was obliged to say, “Like
me today?’ And then he entered
upon personal talk with the same
zest with which he had discussed bait.
“Bobby,” said Di, “sometimes 1
think we might be married, and not
wait for any old money.”
They had now come that far. it
was partly an authentic attraction,
grown from out the old repulsion, and
partly it was that they both—and es-
pecially Di—so much wanted the ex-
periences of attraction that they as-
sumed its ways. And then each cared
enough to assume the pretty role re-
quired by the other, and by the occa-
sion, and by the air of the time.
“Would you?’ asked=Bobby—but in
the subjunctive.
“She said: “Yes, I will.”
“It would mean running away,
wouldn't it?” said Bobby, still sub-
junctive.
“1 suppose so. Mamma and papa |
are so unreasonable.”
“Di,” said Bobby, “I don’t believe
you could ever be happy with me.”
“phe idea! I can, too. You're go
ing to be a great man—you know you
are.”
Bobby was silent. Of course he |
knew it—but he passed it over. A
|
“Wouldn't it be fun to elope and
| ;
EAT
1
|
i
| i | { \
I ire
1
“Wouldn't It Be Fun to Elope ant |
Surprise the Whole School?” Sait!
Di, Sparkling.
surprise the whole school?” said Di!
sparkling.
Bobby grinned appreciatively. Hu
was good to look at, with his big
frame, his head of rough, dark hair
the sky warm upon his clear skin anc
full mouth. Di suddenly announcec
that she would be willing to elope
now.
“I've planned eloping lots of times,
she said ambiguously.
It flashed across the mind of Bobb;
that in these plans of hers he ma;
not always have been the principal
and he could not he sure . . . Bu
she talked in nothings, and he an
swered her so.
Soft cries sounded in the center o
the stream, The beat, well out of th
strong current, was seen to have it:
oars shipped; and there sat Dwigh
Herbert gently rocking the boat
Dwight Herbert would.
“Bertie, Bertie—please!” you hear
his Ina say.
Monona began to cry, and her fa
ther was irritated, felt that it woul¢
' be ignominious to desist, and did no
know that he felt this. But he knew
that he was annoyed, and he tool
refuge in this, and picked up the oars
with: “Some folks never can enjoy
anything without spoiling it.”
“That's what 1 was thinking,” sai |
Ina, with a flash of anger.
They glided toward the shore in ¢
huff. Monona found that she enjoyec
erying across the water and kept f
up. It was almost as good Ks at
echo. Ina, steppin safe to the sands
cried ungratefully that this was the
last time that she would ever, eve:
go with her husband anywhere. Ever
Dwight Herbert, recovering, gauged
the moment to require of him humor,
and observed that his wedded wife
was as skittish as a colt. Ina kept
silence, head poised so that her full
little chin showed double. Monona,
who had previously hidden a cooky in
her frock, now remembered it and
crunched sidewise, the eyes ruminant.
Moving toward them, with Di, Bobby
was suddenly overtaken by the sense
of disliking them all. He never had
liked Dwight Herbert, his employer.
Mrs. Deacon seemed to him so over-
whelmingly mature that he had no
idea how to treat her. And the child
Monona he would like to roll in the
river, Even Di He fell silent,
was silent on the walk home, which
was the signal for Di to tease him
steadily. The little being was afraid
of silence. It was too vast for her.
She was like a butterfly in a dome.
But against that background of ru-
ined occasion, Lulu walked homeward
beside Ninian. And all that night, be-
side her mother who groaned in her
sleep, Lulu lay tense and awake. He
had walked home with her. He had
told Ina and Herbert about going to
the city. What did it mean? Sup-
pose oh no; oh no!
“Either lay still or get up and set
up,” Mrs, Bett directed her at length.
Iv
July.
When, on a warm evening a fort- |
night later, Lulu descended the stairs
dressed for her incredible trip to the
city, she wore the white waist which
she had often thought they would
“use” for her if she died. And really,
the waist looked as if it had been
planned for the purpose, and its wide,
upstanding plaited lace at throat and
wrist made her neck look thinner, her
forearm sharp and veined. Her hair
she had “crimped” and parted in the
middle, puffed high—it was so that
hair had been worn in Lulu’s girlhood.
“Well!” said Ina, when she saw this
coiffure, and frankly examined it,
head well back, tongue meditatively
teasing at her lower lip.
For travel Lulu was again wearing
Ina’s linen duster—the old one.
Ninian appeared, in a sack coat—
and his diamond.. His distinctly con-
vex face, its thick, rosy flesh, thick
mouth and cleft chin gave Lulu once
more that bold sense of looking-—not
at him, for then she was shy and
averted her eyes—but at his photo-
graph at which she could gaze as
much as she would. She looked up
at him openly, fell in step beside him.
Was he not taking her to the city?
Ina and Dwight themselves were go-
{ng because she, Lulu, had brought
about this party.
“Act as good as you look, Lulie,”
Mrs, Bett called after them. She gave
| no instructions to Ina, who was mar-
|
|
i at everything that the men said. She
| pleasantly aware that his manner was
! open to misinterpretation.
it seemed.
Dwight was cross. On the way to
the station he might have been heard
to take it up again, whatever it was,
and his Ina unmistakably said: “Well,
now, don’t keep it going all the way
there”; and turned back to the others
with some elaborate comment about
the dust, thus cutting off her so-called
lord from his legitimate retort. A
mean advantage.
The city was two hours distant, and
they were to spend the night. On the
train, in the double seat, Ninian be-
side her among the bags, Lulu sat in
the simple consciousness that the
people all knew that she too had been
chosen. A man and a woman were
opposite, with their little boy between
them. Lulu felt this woman's supe-
riority of experience over her own,
and smiled at her from a world of fel-
lowship. But the woman lifted her
eyebrows and stared and turned away,
with slow and insolent winking.
Ninian had a boyish pride in his
knowledge of places to eat in many
cities—as if he were leading certain
of the tribe to a deer-run in a strange
wood. Ninian to¢h his party to a
downtown cafe, thca popular among
business and newsnaper men. The
place was below the sidewalk, was
reached by a dozen marble steps, and
the odor of its griadie-cakes took tie
air of the street. Ninian made a
great show of selecting a table,
changed once, calied the waiter “my
man” and rubbed soit hands on “What
do you say? Shaun it be lobster?’
He ordered the dinner, instructing the
waiter with painstaking gruffness.
“Not that they can touch your cook-
ing here, Miss Lulu,” he said, settling
himself to wait, and crumbling a
crust,
Dwight, expanding a bit in the aura
of the food, observed that Lulu was
a regular chef, that was what Lulu
was. He still woul. not look at Lis
wife, who now remarked:
“Sheff, Dwightie. Not cheff.”
This was a mean alvantage, which
he pretended not to hear—another
mean advantage.
“Ina,” said Lulu, ‘your hat’s just a
little mite—no, over the other way."
“Was there anything to prevent
your speaking of that before?’ Ina
inquired acidly.
“1 started to and then somebody
always said something,” said Lulu
humbly.
Nothing could so much as cloud
Lulu's hour.
any shadow.
“Say, but you look tremendous to-
night,” Dwight observed to her.
Understanding perfectly that this
as said to tease his wife, Lulu jet
flushed with pleasure. She saw two
women watching, sand she thought:
“They're feeling sorry for Ina—no-
body talking to her.” She laughed
She was proof against
passionately
“How many folks keep going past,”
she said. many times !
At length. having noted the details
af «il the clothes in range. Ina’s iso-
Intion nolled uven her and she ¢=t
%erself to take Ninian’s attention.
She therefore talked with him abeut
himself.
“Curious you've
Nin,” she said.
“Don’t say it like that,” he begged.
“I might yet.”
Ina laughed enjoyably.
might!” she met this.
“She wants everybody to get mar-
ried, but she wishes 1 hadn't,”
Dwight threw in with exceeding ran-
Cor.
They developed this theme exhaus-
tively, Dwight usually speaking in the
third person and always with his
ghoulder turned a bit from his wife.
It was inconceivable, the gusto with
which they proceeded. Ina had as-
sumed for the purpose an air distrait,
casual, attentive to the scene about
them. But gradually her cheeks be-
Zan to burn,
“She’ll ery,” Lulu thought in alarm,
and said at random: “Ina, that hat is
so pretty—ever so much prettier than
the old one.” But Ina said frostily
that she never saw anything the mat-
ter with the old one,
“Let us talk,” said Ninian low, to
Lulu. “Then they'll simmer down.
He went on, in an undertone, about
nothing in particular. Lulu hardly
heard what he said, it was so pleasant
to have him talking to her in this
confidential fashion; and she was
never married,
“Yes, you
In the nick of time the lobster was
served.
* *® * * * * *
Dinner and the play—the show, as
Ninian called it. This show was
“Peter Pan,” chosen by Ninian be-
cause the seats cost the most of those
at any theater. It was almost inde-
rent to see how Dwight Herbert, the
immortal soul, had warmed and melt-
ed at these contacts. By the time
that all was over, and they were at
the hotel for supper, such was his
pleasurable excitation that he was
once more playful, teasing, once more
the irrepressible. But now his Ina
was to be won back, made it evident
that she was not one lightly to over-
look, and a fine firmness sat upon the
little doubling chin.
They discussed the play. Not one
of them had understood the story.
The dog-kennel part—wasn’t that the
queerest thing? Nothing to do with
the rest of the play.
“] was for the pirates. The one
with the hook—he was my style,” said
Dwight,
“Well, there it is again,” Ina cried.
“They didn’t belong to the real play,
aither.”
“Oh, well,” Ninian said, “they have
to put in parts, I suppose, te catch
everybody. Instead of a song and
dance, they do that.”
ried and able to shine in her conduct, i
| of an epicure.
wante¢ to talk herself. |
“And I didn’t understand,” said Ina, !
“why they all clapped when the prin- |
AIA SACRE WIS 3%. TT
cipal character ran down front and
said something to the audience that
time. But they all did.”
Ninian thought this might have
been out of compliment. Ina wished
that Monona might have seen, con-
fessed that the last part was so pretty
that she herself would not look; and
into Ina’s eyes came their loveliest
ight.
Lulu sat there, hearing the talk
about the play. “Why couldn’t I have
said that?” she thoueht as the others
spoke. All that thev said seemed to
her apropos, but s“e could think of
nothing to add. The evening had been
to her a light from heaven—how
could she find anything to say? She
sat in a daze of happiness, her mind
hardly operative, her look moving
from one to another. At last Ninian
looked at her.
“Sure you liked it, Miss Lulu?”
“Oh, yes! TI think they all took
their parts real well.”
It was not enough.
,
an)
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Pm
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| | the State excells
“Why Not Say the Wedding Service?”
Asked Ninian.
them appealingly, knowing that she
had not said enough.
“You could hear everything they
said,” she added. “It was—"
dwindled to silence.
Dwight Herbert savored his rarehit
with a great show of long wrinkled
dimples.
“Excellent sauces they make here--
excellent,” he sald, with the frown
“A- tiny wee bit more
Athabasca,” he added, and they all
laughed and told him that Athabasca
was a lake, of courze. Of course he
meant tabasco, Ina said. Their en-
rertainment and their talk
thie sort. for sn: her,
“Well, now,” said Dwight Herbert
when it was finished, “somebody dance
on the table.”
“Dwightie!”
“Got to amuse ourselves somehow.
Come, liven up. They'll begin to read
the funeral service over us.”
“Why not say the wedding service?”
asked Ninian,
In the mention of wedlock there
was always something stimulating to
Dwight, something of overwhelming
humor. He shouted a derisive en-
dorsement of this proposal.
“I shouldn't object,” said Ninian.
“Should you, Miss Lulu?”
Lulu now burned the slow red of
ber torture. They were all looking
at her. She made an anguished effort
to defend herself.
“I don’t know it,” she said, “so I
can’t say it.”
Ninian leaned toward her.
“I, Ninian, take thee, Lulu, to be
wy wedded wife,” he pronounced.
“That’s the way it goes!”
“Lulu daren’t say it!” cried Dwight.
Ee laughed so loudly that those at
the near tables turned. And, from
the fastness of her wifehood and moth-
erhood Ina laughed. Really, it was
ridiculous to think of Lulu that
Way eV
Ninian laughed, too. “Course she
don’t dare say it,” he challenged.
From within Lulu, that strange
Lulu, that other Lulu who sometimes
fought her battles, suddenly spoke
out:
“I, Lulu, take thee, Ninian, to be
my wedded husband.”
“You will?” Ninian cried.
“T will,” she said, laughing tremu-
ously, to prove that she, too, could
join in, could be as merry as the rest.
“And I will. There, by Jove, now
have we entertained you, or haven't
we?’ Ninian laughed and pounded his
soft fist on the table.
“Oh, say, honestly!” Ina was
shocked. “I don’t think you ought
to—holy things—what’s the matter,
Dwightie ?”
Dwight Herbert Deacon's eyes were
staring and his face was scarlet,
“Say, by George,” he said, “a civil
wedding is binding in this state.”
“A civil wedding? Oh, well—” Nin-
fan dismissed it.
“But I,” said Dwight, “happen to
ie a magistrate.”
They looked at one another fool-
ishly. Dwight sprang up with the in-
determinate idea of inquiring some-
thing of some one, circled about and
returned. Ina had taken his chair
and sat clasping Lulu’s hand. Ninian
continued to laugh.
“TI never saw one done so offhand,”
sald Dwight. “But what you've said
is all you have to say according to
law. And there don’t have to be wit-
nesses say!” he said, and sat
down again,
(Continued next week).
She looked at
she |
was of |
| FARM NOTES.
—It costs a farmer at least $50 to
i grow out a calf in its first year. At
{ the end of the year, some farmers
| have scrubs for their money; others
raise pure breds and have something
i worth keeping on the home farm.
{ —When it rains or the farm work
i slacks a bit, look over the corn har-
| vester and make any repairs that may
| be required before it is put to use.
{ Also examine the silo to see if it is in
i the best of condition before filling.
—When the onions have matured
! and are partly dried off, pull them and
! spread them out in the shade or un-
| der shelter. After a few weeks pull
off the tops and store under dry, cool
| conditions. Onions with fleshy necks
i never keep well.
—There are two classes of dirty
| eggs, plain dirties, caused by dirty
nests, dirty feet, etc.; and stained
‘eggs, from wet nesting material, ma-
inure, and blood. Stains can be re-
moved by wiping the eggs with a
| damp cloth, rubbing them as little as
possible.
i —This is a good time to cull the
‘farm flock of sheep. The butcher
: should get the ewes that have bad ud-
| ders or those that have failed to breed.
‘ Base the culling process on production
‘rather than on appearance. Many a
; thin, rough looking ewe is thin be-
cause she has successfully reared twin
. lambs, while some of the fattest are
non-producers or poor milkers.
—Lancaster county leads in the
‘number of dairy cows but only by a
small margin, having just 105 more
dairy cows than Bradford county.
‘ Chester county is third. The report
indicates that the northern section of
i in dairying. The
number of dairy cows at the begin-
ning of the present year was a de-
, crease of just one-half of one per cent.
‘over the number on the farms a year
previous.
—Six yearling Shopshire ewes and
a Cheviot ram have lately been pur-
chased by the animal husbandry de-
. partment of The Pennsylvania State
College, bringing the total number of
pure breds in the college flock to ap-
proximately two hundred head, irclud-
ing the spring crop of lambs. The
flock is made up of representative in-
dividuals of all the major breeds in
fine wool, long wool, and mutton class-
es, used quite largely in winter class
room work for instruction and judg-
ing purposes. A number of pure
breds were also used in the college
,cross-breeding experiments several
. years ago, in which rams of the mut-
ton breeds were crossed on Merino
' stock to determine the advisability of
combining mutton and fine wool char-
acters.
—Our soils are rapidly becoming
depleted of sulphur. The sulphur con-
tent of our soils is of great import-
ance. There is a heavy loss of sul-
phur where there is continuous crop-
ping in connection with insufficient
fertilization. Combined with the loss-
es of sulphur through drainage and
the low original content of the soils,
it appears that this loss cannot be
compensated by the sulphur obtained
from the atmosphere. 1t is necessary
to apply fertilizers containing sul-
phur to maintain the crop yields of
such soils.
—The use of acid phosphate is fre-
quently attended by superior crops,
due to the additional sulphate sup-
plied in this form of fertilizer.
. Gypsum, with its important content
of sulphur, often adds fertility and in-
i creases crop yields of soils which oth-
erwise would have been materially re-
duced in their productive capacity.
. Under systems of live stock farm-
ing, when the crops and purchased
feeds are fed and the manure saved,
the sulphur finds its way back to the
land. In systems of grain farming it
appears that some form of sulphate
should be used systematically ih the
| fertilizer treatment of the soil, for the
purpose of maintaining therein a per-
‘ manent supply of sulphur.
For permanent and increased pro-
‘ duction of farm crops, such systems
of fertilization must be practiced as
! will not only supply to the soil nitro-
! gen, phosphorous and potash, but also
{will add a sufficient quantity of sul-
phur to meet the losses sustained by
cropping and drainage. Excellent fer-
| tilizers for such purposes include farm
i manures, trade fertilizers, such as am-
{ monium sulphate, super-phosphate and
| sulphate of potassium, and gypsum or
| calcium sulphate.
There will not be profitable produc-
! tion unless there is an ample supply
| of organic matter and nitrogen in the
I soil. By growing legume cover crops
| these requisites may be secured in a
| cheap way. A good cover crop plow-
i ed under should give as much, if not
i more, organic matter in the roots and
| tops, per acre, than will eight tons cf
{ manure. Besides, a good legume cov-
| er crop is able to secure from the air
and place into the soil as much nitro-
| gen, to the acre, as will eight tons of
| manure, or 500 pounds of nitrate of
soda. While it will not be as quick in
action as will nitrate, nearly all the
nitrogen in a cover crop will eventu-
ally become available.
On sbils that are light, cover crops,
even non-legumes, will prevent the
loss through leaching, blowing and
washing of wvaluable soluble plant
food. The greatest production can be
obtained without manure and with
fertilizers containing comparatively
little nitrogen (and, therefore, less ex-
pensive), if legume cover crops are
systematically grown. :
The liquids contain the richest and
most soluble parts of the manure, the
only parts in fact, that are complete-
ly digested. Thé solid droppings do
not cause any quick growth because
they are not only low in nitrogen, but
what they do contain of this element
is not soluble, and thus cannot force
growth at once. Nitrogen is found in
our fertilizing materials in three
forms—nitrate, ammonia and organic.
The first is the soluble form, in which
plants use this element. The oth "5
are changed more or less slowly into
the nitrate or soluble form. :
In a ton of liquids from a cow there
are 12 pounds of nitrogen. As nitrate
of soda contains 16 per cent. of nitre-
gen, the liquid manure is as strong as
a solution of 75 pounds of nitrate in
1925 pounds of water.