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(Continued from last week).
Said Dwight: “They'll think what
they always think when a wife leaves
her husband. They'll think you
couldn’t get along. That's all.”
“I should hate that,” said Lulu.
“Well, I should hate the other, let
me tell you.”
“Dwight, Dwigiet,” said Ina. “Let's
go in the house. I'm afraid they'll
hear—"
As they rose, Mrs. Bett plucked at
her returned daughter's sleeve.
“Lulie,” she said, “was his other
wife—was she there?”
“No, no, mother.
there.”
Mrs. Betts’ lips moved, repeating
the words. “Then that ain't so bad.”
she said. “I was afraid maybe she
turned you out.”
“No,” Lulu said, “it wasn’t that bad,
mother.” .
Mrs. Bett brightened. In little mat-
ters, she quarreled and resented, but
the large issues left her blank.
Through some indeterminate sense
of the importance due this crisis, the
Deacons entered their parlor, Dwight
lighted that high, central burner and
faced about, saying:
“In fact, I simply will not have it,
Lulu! You expect, I take it, to make
your home with us in the future, on
the old terms.”
“Well--"
“I mean, did Ninfan give you any
money ?”
“No. He didn’t give me any money—
only enough to get home on. And I
kept my suit—why!” she flung her
head back, “I wouln’t have taken any
money !”
“That means,” said Dwight, “that
you will have to continue to live
here—on the old terms, and of course
I'm quite willing that you should. Let
me tell you, however, that this is on
condition—on condition that this dis
graceful business is kept to our
selves.”
She made no attempt to combat
him now. She looked back at him,
quivering, and in a great surprise, but
she said nothing,
“Truly, Lulu,” said Ina, “wouldn’t
that be best? They'll talk anyway.
But this way they'll only talk about
you, and the other way it'd be about
all of us.”
Lulu said only: “But the other way
would be the truth.”
Dwight's eyes narrowed: “My dear
Lulu,” he said, “are you sure of
that?”
“Sure?”
“Yes. Did he give you any proofs?”
“Proofs?”
“Letters—documents of any sort?
Any sort of assurance that he was
speaking the truth?”
“Why, no,” said Lulu.
no. He told me.”
“He told you?”
“Why that was hard enough to
have to do. It was terrible for him
to have to do. What proofs—" She
stopped, puzzled.
“Didn't it occur to you,” said
Dwight, “that he might have told you
that because he din’t want to have
to go on with it?”
As she met his look some power
seemed to go from Lulu. She sat
down, looked weakly at them, and with-
In her closed lips her jaw was slightly
fallen. She said nothing. And see-
ing on her skirt a spot of dust she
began to rub at thot,
“Why, Dwight!” Ina cried,
moved to her sister's side.
“I may as well tell you,” he said,
“that T myself have no idea that Nin-
ian told you the truth. He was always
Imagining things—you saw that. I
know him pretty well—have been
more or less in touch with him the
whole time. In short, I haven't the
least idea he was ever married be-
fore.”
Lulu continued to rub at her skirt.
“I never thought of that,” she said.
“Look here,” Dwight went on per-
suasively, “hadn’t you and he had some
little tiff when he told you?”
“No—no! Why, not once. Why, we
weren't a bit like you and Ina.”
She spoke simply and from her
heart and without ruile,
“Evidently not,” Dwight said dryly.
Lulu went on: “He was very good
to me. This dress—and my shoes—
and my hat. And another dress, too.”
She found the pins and took off her
hat. “He liked the red wing,” she
said. “I wanted black—oh, Dwight!
He did tell me the truth!” It was as
if the red wing had abruptly borne
mute witness.
Dwight’'s tone now mounted. His
manner, it mounted too.
“Even if it is true” said he, “I de-
sire that you should keep silent and
protect my family “~om this scandal.
I merely mention my doubts to you
for your own profit.
“My own profit!”
She sald no more, but rose and
moved to the door.
“Lulu—you see! With Di and alll”
Ina begged. “We just couldn't have
this known—even if it was 80.”
She wasn’t
“Proofs—
and
Copyright by D.APPLETON AND'COMPA
0DEPES Sey SX 3 E10
Jrwin Myers
gjigaecng
“You have it in your hands,” said
Dwight, “to repay me, Lulu, for any-
thing that you feel I may have done
for you in the past. You also have
it in your hands #0 decide whether
your home here continues. That is
not a pleasant position for me to fin:
myself in. It is distinctly unpleasant,
I may say. But you see for yourself.”
Lulu went on, into the passage.
“Wasn't she married when she
thought she was?’ Mrs. Bett cried
shrilly.
“Mamma,” said Ina. “Do, please,
remember Monona. Yes — Dwight
thinks she’s married all right now—
and that it’s all right, all the time.”
“Well, I hope so, for pity sakes”
said Mrs. Bett, and left the room with
her daughter.
Hearing the stir. Monona upstairs
lifted her voice:
“Mamma! Come on and hear my
prayers, why don’t vou?”
* * * * * * *
When they came downstairs next
morning, Lulu had breakfast ready.
Well!” cried Ina in her curving
tones, “if this isn’t like old times.”
Lulu said yes, it “vas like old times,
and brought the bacon to the table,
“Lulu’s the only ‘me in this house
can cock the bacon so’s it'll chew.”
Mrs. Bett volunteered. She was
wholly affable, an held contentedly
0 Ina’s last word that Dwight
‘hought now it was all right.
“Ho!” said Dwight. “The happy
‘amily, once more about the festive
toaster.” He gauged the moment to
call for good cheer. Ina, too, became
breezy, blithe. Monona caught their
spirit and laughed, head thrown well
back and gently shaken.
Di came in. She had been told that
Auntie Lulu was 2t home, and that
she, Di, wasn’t to sey anytlting to her
about anything, nor anything to any-
body else about ‘untie Lulu being
back. Under these prohibitions. which
loosed a thousand speculations, Di
was very nearly paralyzed. She stared
at her Aunt Lulu incessantly.
Not one of them had, even a talent
.or the casual, save Lulu herself.
Lulu was amazingly herself. She
took her old place assumed her oid
offices. When Monona declare¢
against bacon, it was Lulu who sug-
rested milk- toast and went to make it.
“Mamma,” Di whispered then. like
escaping steam, “isn’t Uncle Ninian
coming too?”
“Hush. No.
more questions.”
Now don’t ask any
“Well, can’t I tell Bobby and Jenny
she’s here?”
“No. Don’t say anything at all
about her.”
“But, mamma. What has she
done?”
“Di! Do as mamma tells you.
Don’t you think mamma knows best?”
Di of course did not think so, had
not” thought so for a long time. But
now Dwight said:
“Daughter! Are you a little girl
or are you our grown-up young lady?’
“I don’t know,” said Di reasonably,
“but I think you're treating me like a
little girl now.”
“Shame, Di,” said Ina, unabashed
4
Pi
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A A
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VR
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Under These Prohibitions, Which
Loosed a Thousand Speculations,
Di Was Very Nearly Paralyzed.
by the accident of reason being on
the side of Di.
‘I'm eighteen,” Di reminded them
forlornly, “and through high School.”
“Then act 80,” boombed her father.
Baffled, thwarted, bewildered, Di
went over to Jenny Plow’s and there
imparted understanding by the simple
process of letting Jenny guess, to
questions skillfully shaped.
When Dwight said, “Look s+ mv
beautiful handkerchief,” displayed a
hole, sent his Ina for a better, Lulu,
with a manner of haste, addressed
him:
“Dwight, it’s a funny thing, but
I haven’t Ninian’s Oregon address.”
“Well 7”
“Well, I wish youd give it to me.”
Dwight tightened and lifted his lips.
“It would seem,” he said, “that you
have no real use for that particular
address, Lulu.”
“Yes, I have. I want it. You have
it, haven't you, Dwight?”
“Certainly I have it.”
“Won't you please write it down for
me?” She had ready a bit of paper
and a pencil stump.
“My dear Lulu, now why revive
anything? Why not be sensible and
leave this alone? No good can come
by—"
“But why shouldn’t I have his ad-
dress?”
“If everything is over between you,
why should you?”
“But you say he’s still my hus-
band.”
Dwight flushed. “If my brother has
shown his inclination as plainly as I
judge that he has, it is certainly not
my place to put you in touch with
him again.”
“You won’t give it to me?”
“My dear Lulu, in all kindness—
no.”
His Ina came running back, bearing
handkerchiefs with different colored
borders for him to choose from. He
chose the initial that she had em-
broidered, and had not the good taste
not to kiss her.
* * * * % * *
They were all on the porch that
evening, when Lulu came downstairs.
“Where fare you going?” Ina de-
manded, sisterly. And on hearing that
Lulu had an errand, added still more
sisterly: “Well, but mercy, what you
so dressed up for?”
Lulu was in a thin black and white
gown which they had never seen, and
wore the tilting hat with the red
wing.
“Ninian bought me this,” Lulu only
said.
“But, Lulu, don’t you think it might
be better to keep, well—out of sight
for a few days?’ Ina’s lifted look
besought her.
“Why?” Lulu asked.
“Why set people wondering till we
have to?’
“They don’t have to wonder, far as
I'm concerned,” said Lulu, and went
down the walk.
Ina looked at Dwight. “She never
spoke to me like that in her life be-
fore,” she said.
She watched her sister's black and
white figure going directly down the
street.
“That gives me the funniest feel-
ing,” said Ina, “as if Lulu had on
clothes bought for her by some one
that wasn’t—that was—" Jig
“By her husband who has 1éft her,”
said Dwight sadly. To
“Is that what it is, papa?’ Di asked
alertly. For a wonder, she was there;
had been there the greater part of
the day—most of the time staring,
fascinated, at her Annt Lulu.
“That’s what it is, my little girl.”
said Dwight, and shook his head.
“Well, I think it’s a shame,” said Di
stoutly. “And I think Uncle Niniap
is a slunge.”
“Di 1
“I do. And I'd be ashamed to think
anything else. I'd like to tell every-
body.”
“There is,” said Dwight, “no need
for secrecy—now.”
“Dwight!” said Ina—Ina’s eyes al-
ways remained expressionless, but it
must have been her lashes that looked
so startled.
“No need whatever for secrecy,” he
repeated with firmness. “The truth
is Lulu’s husband has tired of her
and sent her home. We must face it.”
- “But, Dwight—how awful for Lulu
”
“Lulu,” said Dwight, “has us to
stand by her.”
Lulu, walking down the main street,
thought :
“Now Mis’ Chambers is seeing me.
Now Mis’ Curtis. There's somebody
behind the vines at Mis’ Martin's.
Here comes Mis’ Grove and I've got
to speak to her . , »
One and another and another met
her, and every one cried out at her
some version of:
“Lulu Bett!” Or, “W-well, it isn’t
Lulu Bett any more, is it? Well, what
are you doing here? I thought . . .”
“I'm back to stay,” she said.
“The idea! Well, where you hiding
that handsome husband of yours?
Say, but we were surprised! You're
the sly one—"
“My—Mr. Deacon isn't here.”
“Oh,”
“No. He's West.”
“Oh, I see.”
Having no arts, she must needs let
the conversation die like this, could
invent nothing concealing or gracious
on which to move away.
She went to the post office. It was
early, there were few at the post of-
fice—with only one or two there had
she to go through her examination.
Then she went to the general delivery
window, tense, for a new ordeal.
To her relief, the face which was
shown there was one strange to her,
a slim‘youth, reading a letter of his
own, and smiling.
“Excuse me,” said Lulu faintly.
The youth looked up, with eyes
warmed by the words on the pink pa-
per which he held.
“Could you give me the address of
Mr. Ninian Deacon?”
“Let's see—you mean Dwight Dea-
com, I guess?”
“No. It's his brother. He's been
here. From Oregon. I thought he
might have given you his addresg—"
she dwindled away.
"Wait a minute,” said the youth.
‘| so - you'll
ope. No address here.
don’t you send it te his brother? He'd
know. Dwight Deacon, the dentist.”
“Tll do that,” Lulu said absurdly,
and turned away.
She went back up the street, walk-
ing fast now to get away from them
all. Once or twice she pretended not
to see a familiar face. But when she
passed the mirror in an insurance of-
fice window, she saw her reflection
“Well,” She Thought, Almost in Ina's
Own Manner.
and at its appearance she felt sur-
prise and pleasure.
“Well!” she thought,
Ina’s own manner.
Abruptly her confidence rose.
Something of this confidence was
still upon her when she returned.
They were in the dining room now,
all save Di, who was on the porch
with Bobby, and Monona, who was in
bed and might be heard extravagant-
ly singing,
Lulu sat down with her hat on.
When Dwight inquired playfully,
“Don’t we look like company?” she
did not reply. He looked at her specu-
latively. Where had she gone, with
whom had she talked, what had she
told? Ina looked at her rather fear-
fully. But Mrs, Bett rocked content-
edly and ate cardamom seeds.
“Whom did you see?” Ina asked.
Lulu named them
“See them to talk to?” from Dwight,
Oh, yes. They had all stopped.
“What did they say?” Ina burst out.
They had inquired for Ninian, Lulu
said; and said no more.
Dwight mulled this. Lulu might
have told every one of these women
that cock-and-bull story with which
she had come home. It might be all
over town. Of course, in that case he
eoald turn Lulu out—should do so, in
fact. Still the story would be all over
town,
“Dwight,” said Lnlu, “I want Nin-
fan’s address.”
“Going to write to him!” Ina cried
incredulously.
“I want to ask him for the proofs
that Dwight wanted.”
“My dear Lulu,” Dwight said impa-
tiently, “you are not the one to write.
Have you no delicacy?”
Lulu smiled—a strange smile, orig-
inating and dying in one corner of
her mouth,
“Yes,” she said. “So much delicacy
that T want to be sure whether I'm
married or not.”
Dwight cleared his throat with a
movement which seemed to use his
shoulders for the purpose.
“I myself will take this up with my
brother,” he said. “I will write to
him about it.”
Lulu sprang to her feet.
him now!” she cried.
“Really,” said Dwight, lifting his
brows.
“Now-—now !” Lula said. She moved
about, collecting writing materials
from their casual lodgments on shelf
and table. She set all before him
and stood by him. “Write him now,”
she said again.
“My dear Lulu, don’t be absurd.”
She said: “Ina, help me. If it
was Dwight—and they didn’t know
whether he had another wife, or not,
and you wanted to ask him—oh, don't
you see? Help me.”
Ina was not yet the woman to cry
for justice for its own sake, nor even
to stand by another woman. She was
primitive, and her instinct was to
look to her own male merely.
“Well,” she said, “of course. But
why not let Dwight do it in his own
way? Wouldn't that be better?”
She put it to her sister fairly:
Now, no matter what Dwight’s way
was, wouldn't that be better?
“Mother!” said Lulu. She looked
irresolutely toward her mother. But
Mrs. Bett was eating caradmom seeds
with exceeding gusto, and Lulu looked
away. Caught by the gesture, Mrs.
Bett voiced her grievance,
“Lulle,” she said, “Set down. Take
off your hat, why don’t you?”
Lulu turned upon Dwight a quiet
face which he had aever seen before.
“You write that letter to Ninian,”
she said, “and you make him tell you
understand. I know he
spoke the truth. But I want you to
know.”
“M—m,” said Dwight. “And then
I suppose you're going to tell it all
over town—as soon as you have the
proofs.”
“I'm going to tell it all over town,”
sald Lulu, “Just as it is—unless you
write to him now.”
almost in
“Write to
Say, why |
A RR,
“Lulu!” cried
Ina. “Oh, you
wouldn't.”
“I would,” said Lulu. “I wilL”
Dwight was sobered. This un
imagined Lulu looked capable of it.
But then he sneered.
“And get turned out of this house,
as you would be?”
“Dwight!” cried his Ina. “Oh, you
wouldn’t I”
“I would,” said Dwight. “I will
Lulu knows it.”
“I shall tell what I know and then
leave your house anyway,” said Lulu,
“unless you get Ninian’s word. And I
want you should write him now.”
“Leave your mother? And Ina?’ he
asked.
“Leave everything,” said Lulu.
“Oh, Dwight,” said Ina, “we can’t
get along without Lulu.” She did not
say in what particulars, but Dwight
knew,
Dwight looked at Lulu, an upward,
sidewise look, with a manner of peer-
Ing out to see if she meant it. And
he saw.
He shrugged, pursed his lips crook-
edly, rolled his head to signify the in-
expressible. “Isn’t that like a wom-
an?” he demanded. He rose. “Rather
he said grandly, “Id do anything.”
He wrote the letter, addressed it,
his hand elaborately curved in secrecy
about the envelope, pocketed it.
“Ina and I'll walk down with yeu
to mail it,” said Lulu.
Dwight hesitated, frowned. His Ina
watched him with consulting brows.
“I was going,” said Dwight, “to pro-
pose a little stroll before bedtime.”
He roved about the room. “Where's
my beautiful straw hat? There's noth-
ing like a brisk walk to induce sound,
| restful sleep,” he told them. He
hummed a bar.
asked.
Mrs. Bett did not look up. “These
cardamon hev got a little mite too
dry,” she said.
* * 4 * *® 3 * *
(Continued next week).
BOALSBURG.
Edward Weber, of Huntingdon, is
visiting at the home of his uncle, S. E.
Weber.
Miss Anna Sweeney returned home
Thursday after a week’s visit in Cen-
tre Hall.
Mrs. Charles Kuhn is entertaining
her brother, Charles Knarr, from Ok-
lahoma.
Miss Mary Corl, of Pleasant Gap,
visited at the home of her brother,
Charles Corl, over Sunday.
D. M. Snyder, who has been em-
{ployed in Lewisburg during the sum-
mer, returned home last week.
Richard Goheen went to Lancaster
lon Monday to enroll as a student in
: Franklin and Marshall College.
Prof. Whitehead and family moved
from State College and are occupying
the Coxey home on Church street.
Capt. and Mrs. Febinger are visit-
ing at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Frank
McFarlane, until their home at State
College is ready for occupancy.
W. H. Stuart purchased the lumber
for his residence from the P. B. Lone-
barger saw mill at Port Matilda, and
the farmers in this vicinity are haul-
ing the lumber.
Twenty-five members of the
Knights of Malta, of Williamsport, an
orchestra and male quartet conduct-
ed a memorial service in the Reform-
ed church on Sunday evening.
Among the visitors at the home of
Mrs. Amanda Fisher last week were,
Father Nevin Fisher, of Philadelphia;
Mr. and Mrs. William Fisher, of Sun-
bury, and Charles Fisher, of Danville.
Marriage Licenses.
John H. Fritz, Bigler, and Olive M.
Conway, Howard.
Howard O. Smead and Rose E.
Howard, Bellefonte.
Steve Almasi and Annie Pinchock,
Clarence.
Clarence L. Lucas and Margaret S.
Shilling, Bellefonte.
Walter H. Kyler and Frances Ky-
ler, Shawsville.
Andrew Williams and Helen E.
Witherite, Runville.
Charles M. Noel and Alice K. Ger-
nerd, State College.
Beyond His Abilities.
A new prison chaplain had just
been appointed. He had big ideas as
to the importance of his office. Dur-
ing his first round of inspection he
entered one of the cells, and in a very
pompous manner said to the prisoner
who occupied it: “Well, my man, do
you know who I am?”
“No, and I don’t care,” came the
nonchalant reply.
“Well, I'm your new chaplain,”
“Oh, you are?” said the man.
have heard of you before.”
“What did you hear?” inquired the
chaplain, forgetting his dignity in his
curiosity.
“Well, I heard that the last two
churches you were in you preached
them both empty, but I don’t think
you'll find it such an easy matter to
do the same thing here.”—Judge.
«1
Not Her Darling.
Mr. Meek, a widower, with one
daughter, had married Mrs. Wild, a
widow with a daughter.
The curate was visiting the newly
wedded folks, and the new Mrs. Meek
was trying to make a good impression
on him. .
“Yes,” she was saying, “my step-
daughter is as dear to me as my own
daughter. I show no preference, and
love them equally.”
There was a step outside the door,
then a tap. sn
Mrs. Wild put on her kindliest
smile. “Is that you, darling?” she
asked. :
“No, ma,” came the weary voice of
her stepdaughter, “it’s me.”—Judge.
——The “Watchman” gives all the
news while it is news.
than let you in for a show of temper,” |
“You'll be all right, mother?” Lulu
FARM NOTES.
—Change of pasture is good for th
sheep.
| —Swine that are to be exhibited a
|
i
the fairs should be serum treated be
fore being shipped.
| —Throughout the entire countr
i there is a general awakening of inter
i est in better livestock.
—Rotten plums and peaches unde
| the trees will carry the rot fungus ove
| winter and start the rot in spring
' Rake up and burn these or dig o
jPlo% them under.
| | ——Agriculture is not receiving al
jit deserves at the hands of the gov
i ernment, but its position is far in ad
vance of that which it occupied in pub
lic affairs 30 or 40 years ago.
—Vterinarians are required by lav
to report to the State veterinariar
Harrisburg, all cases of hog choler:
coming to their attention. Hog own
ers and dealers should do so just a
promptly.
—Pod spot is a very common pes
; on beans in moist gardens. Pick th
; sound unspotted pods for seed an:
store them by themselves. Avoid hoe
ing or working among beans whe;
they are wet.
—It is always better to let the hors:
i allay his thirst before his grain is fe«
ito him, and if any water is allowec
i soon after the grain feed, it should by
i merely a swallow or two until an hou
(or two has elapsed and the stomacl
| has been given time to perform it;
| gastric digestion.
{ —It has been figured out that :
: farm woman in the United States, liv
ling on the same farm for 50 years
. has walked 5710 miles to and from the
| well, and has carried nearly 2000 ton:
i of water, according to a report fron
! Ohio extension service. It would have
; cost only $18 to extend a pipe from
| the well and put a pump in the kiten
len. Y
i —Young alfalfa sometimes become:
| weedy previous to its first cutting
i There is a temptation to mow the Croj
{early so as to check the weeds. This
iis a mistake. It is much better to le:
! the crop grow, weed and all, until the
i alfalfa has reached the stage when if
is ordinarily cut; that is, when the re
newal shoots have appeared on the
crowns of most of the plants.
—Potash may be conserved by
green manuring or turning under
cover crop, or by dressing heavily
with barnyard manure, or by balanc-
ing poultry manure with nitrate of
soda and acid phosphate, or by saving
wood ashes to mix with nitrate of so.
da and acid phosphate.
Potash does not leach out of the
ground. It will remain in the soil un-
til used.
—It is said that a 50-bushel crop of
corn will take from the soil 823 pounds
of nitrogen, 31 pounds of phosphor-
ous and 65 pounds of potash.
As wheat does not yield the large
crops that does corn, the drain on the
soil is not so heavy. For instance, a
25-bushel of wheat crop will take
from the soil 53 pounds of nitrogen;
15 pounds of phosphorous and 2:
pounds of potash.
Two tons of clover removes 83
pounds of nitrogen, 15 pounds of
phosphorous and 88 pounds of potash,
while a mixed crop of clover and tim-
othy (1% tons per acre) will remove
59 pounds of nitrogen, 14 pounds of
phosphorous and 46 pounds of potas-
sium,
A single ton of timothy will take
from the soil 85 pounds of nitrogen,
10% pounds of phosphorous and 18
pounds of potash,
At this rate of soil exhaustion the
nitrogen contained in the surface foot
of average corn or wheat would be ex-
hausted in 115 years, while the phos-
phorous supply in the surface foot
would last 164 years, and the potash
about 256 years.
Should the soils
ductive power at the expiration of the
periods mentioned, it follows that
there must be a gradual lessening of
production from now on to the period
of completed exhaustion.
To check this gradual lessening of
production and at the same time con-
tinue to remove large crops year after
year, it is a problem that confronts
the farmer. Yet it can be done, and
is done, by the practical agriculturists
of the country, as follows:
Where legumes are grown, say two-
fifths of the time, the nitrogen sup-
ply is maintained,
The feeding of the crops grown on
the same farm, and the proper care of
the barnyard manure, together with
its return to the land, means that on-
ly such fertilizing ingredients as com-
pose the animal body, and the ingre-
dients in such other products as wool,
cheese and butter as are sold from the
farm, are actually lost forever to the
soil. This permanent loss is in phos-
phorous and potassium compounds.
These compounds cam be supplied
from three sources only.
First. They may be purchased in
the form of feeding stuffs for farm
animals and find their way into the
soil through the manure.
Second. They may be purchased
directly in the form of commercial
fertilizers.
Third. They may be supplied from
the sub-soil running down to a depth
of three or even four feet from the
surface.
Roots of all crops penetrate the soil
to the depth of two to four, and even
as far as six feet. They take directly
the ingredients from the sub-soil, and
upon their decay tend to increase its
porosity. This facilitates the capil-
lary movement of water, which reacts
as an agent to convey fertilizing in-
gredients as they become soluble in
the lower soils up to near the surface
where they are readily available to
the feeding roots of succeeding crops.
While in theory it is possible to
completely exhaust the soil in 100 or
more years, in practice it is possi-
ble to maintain its productive power,
and to even increase it by the use of
legumes, by the generous application
of barnyard manure, and by purchas-
ing from time to time those ash ingre-
dients like potash and phosphoric acid.
The pride that we now feel over the
richness of our wheat and corn soils
will soon disappear if we are not wise
enough to put back a goodly part of
the ingredients that we are so busily
lose their pro-
engaged in removing.