- -_ NE Bellefonte, Pa., May 16, 1924. A MISTAKEN ESTIMATE. When Willie was five he kicked his mother ‘Whenever she washed his face, And his conduct went from bad to worse ’Till the kid was a hopeless case. He fought and struggled when put to bed And his grandfather said, “He’s sp’iled!” ‘He isn’t at all,” his mother said, “It’s the temperament in the child.” At school the lad was a skulking sneak, Who vented his petty spite On boys who were undersized and weak, But never would stand and fight. When home at last was the urchin sent, Excuses he shrilly whined, But his mother said that his temperament, Was proof of a gifted mind. ‘When Bill grew up he was set to work— He was healthy and big and strong, But he loved to soldier and loaf and shirk, And his jobs didn’t last for long. His grandfather, sour and hard-boiled gent, Declared, “I would lick him good!” But his mother observed, “It’s his temper- ament That makes him misunderstood.” Now Willie resides in a steel-lined cell— His home for the coming year— And his work is done extremely well ‘When the guard is standing near. And perhaps his doting parent knows ‘What his grandfather long has seen, That excess of temperament often shows, That a youngster is merely mean! IN THE LAST MILE. With head erect, arms up, Bob Shir- ley swung at an easy, but ground-de- vouring pace down the road in the rear of the Topham Academy, in per- fect condition at the end of his ten- mile practice jog. Between the road and the brick school house which stood on a knoll among great elms, was a long sweep of greensward, with here and there one of the monarch trees. Bob slowed down as he came near the school, and at a trot approached the half dozen boys on the bench be- neath one of the trees not far from the road. Bill Kent, the young physical direc- tor, arose as he came up and looked over his lithe glistening body, clad only in running pants. He noted everything about Bob, his brown handsome face, fresh and full, his broad chest rising and falling without labor. He took Bob’s hand and felt his pulse. “0. K.,” he said curtly. Four of the boys on the bench were runners, but, despite the warmth of the late May day, they were swathed in their long dressing robes, and their brown faces were beaded with mois- ture. All were quiet in their efforts to gain their breath. Dick Stewart, a pale-faced, under- sized chap with gold-bowed spectacles, dressed in a neat blue serge, moved up and made room for Bob, clapping him on his broad shoulder as he sat down. Dick was the dude of the Academy, and because of his puny form he never engaged in any athlet- ic games. But he was a fine scholar and a good fellow, and he was much respected among the boys for his learning and had great influence in the school because of his enthusiasm and ability as an organizer. “I guess it’s an easy victory for you, Bob,” he said, in his snappy, cock- sure way. “Tom here”—he indicated one of the other runners—‘“is running’ in good form all right, but he isn’t good for better than a second—or third—several miles behind. The on- ly fellow who can give you a shave is Sid Ashley. He’ll be mighty near your heels, old man.” “Sid’s out, isn’t he?” asked Bob, looking to the left. From the bench he could see a mile of straight road blazing in the sunlight and disappear- ing in a patch of woods in the dis- tance like a brown snake. He valued Dick’s opinion, and already knew that Sid was formidable. “Yes,” answered Ed Towne, the boy next to Beb. “Say, Dick,” asked Tom Davis, in frank ignorance, but with a rather sheepish grin, “what is this Marathon business, anyway? I remember read- ing something about it, but I can't think of it now.” Dick leaned forward with his little bullet head on one side, and with a grin looked all along the bench. His bright eyes twinkled behind their lens- es, for he saw that all the runners were curious to hear his answer. "You fellows make me tired,” he said, frankly. “You've all read about it. I’'m—surprised at your igno- rance.” : : “Well, what is it?” demanded young Davis, challengingly. “Well,” began Dick in a provoking drawl, his air paternal, “don’t you re- member that Miltiades, with about ten thousand Athenians, defeated one hundred and ten thousand Persians at Marathon and drove them aboard their ships and thus preserved the lib- erty of Athens. It’s one of the most famous battles in the history. Mara- thon was about eighteen miles from Athens and a soldier ran to Athens that day and told the news of the great victory. I believe the soldier of Marathon died after telling his yarn in Athens—done up. But,” he added drily, “you runners don’t have to fall down dead. In fact, the ‘dead ones’ will end before they see the end.” “Oh, I remember now,” exclaimed one runner after another, exchanging shamefaced grins. Dick, for his part, leaned back and put one leg over the other, looking whimsically at his fellow students. The Topham Athletic Association had planned a Marathon race for the last Saturday in May, and it was an event heralded far and wide. The course was made fifteen miles only, starting in Clareton and ending be- fore the green in the rear of the Acad- emy. The first prize was big—$300 in cash—an amount sufficient to make the race of real importance. Both the town and the Academy were at fever heat over the coming event, and there were eleven entries in the race. To win this great run meant honor not only in the school, but also throughout the State, and, of course, the first prize seemed worthy of the race. This first prize was the only money prize, the second and third prizes being cups. “There’s Sid!” exclaimed Tom Da- + vis. At this announcement, everybody | looked up. Far away on the highway was a glistening white speck in the sunshine, and very soon the speck grew into a figure coming along at an easy lope. Bill Kent and Dick Stew- art arose and went down the slope to the road. “That fellow can run,” Tom. Most of the runners looked at the athlate with envious eyes, but Bob leaned back in his robe and watched his dangercus rival with generous ad- miration. “You're right,” agreed Bob, at length, and he arose when Sid came walking up the slope with Mr. Kent and Dick. 3 Sid was a tall, well formed lad, with | a dark, manly face. He was sweating freely, of course, but his breath came easily and he was in fine condition. | “Hot work, Sid,” said Bob, as Sid caught the robe Ed Towne threw him and put it about his naked shoulders. “You bet,” responded Sid, smiling at Bob. | “You’ve improved a whole lot,” de- clared Bob, in a frank, friendly way that made Sid flush with pleasure. “I'm going to give you a close | shave, Bob,” returned Sid with a nod, his firm jaw was setting. He and Bob were not chums, but they liked and re- spected each other.” Everybody now arose and went in to the Academy. The runners, laugh- ing and talking about the coming race had a shower bath, then dressed and left the building, going out to the vil- lage street in a body and there sepa- rating. Bob and Tom Davis went up the street together while the rest of the boys went towards the center. i “I'm going to buy a new piano with | the prize,” asserted Bob, with a little | laugh, as he and Tom went on. Tom was silent for a moment, and then said, with a slight stammer, “I think you're the best runner, Bob, but I'd like to see Sid get the first prize.” Bob looked quickly at his friend in astonishment, red coming into his bronze face. Tom lived next door to him, and they had been chums all their lives. Tom’s words hurt a little, for he did not at that moment under- stand. He closed his mouth grimly and determination showed in his clear cut, handsome face. “Sid’s a good fellow,” he said, so- berly, “but—so are you and the oth- ers. “Well, you see, Bob, Sid’s father is —hard up.” Tom’s father was the leading lawyer in Topham, and Tom’s kind heart had allowed him to repeat something he had casually heard in his home. “Between you and me, I know the Ashley’s are going to lose their house unless they pay their interest pretty soon. And that prize would mean a whole lot—a whole lot.” “I wish you hadn’t told me.” Bob held his head up and went along with- out speaking. He was a little bit an- gry. Sid’s affairs at home were noth- ing to him—although he was sorry. The winning of the race meant honor, and just because he himself was the son of a man in comfortable circum- ! stances was no reason why the mon- ey prize should be despised. Three hundred dollars of his own meant a lot to him as well as to Sid. He parted good naturedly with Tom in front of his house and went in to supper. During the next few days he ran as he had before, gaining strength and speed and confidence all the time; but he never forgot what Tom had said about Sid. The knowledge that Sid was in trouble and running under a handicap—as his trouble must be— made him uneasy and uncomfortable, so much so that he almost wished he was not so good a runner. But pride was strong in him, and with all his heart he desired to win the great fif- teen mile race. At times he was tempted to speak to Sid, but there was something about Sid Ashley that made broaching such a subject a very diffi- cult matter. He fancied he saw trou- ble in Sid’s face, but he kept assur- ing himself that there was no such thing as pity or magnanimity in a race. A race was a trial of speed and endurance; not of kind acts. In his heart, however, he knew that he would not suffer if he lost the prize—except perhaps a twinge of the pride—and that really and truly the honor of win- ning was an empty thing compared to what he might do. But he couldn't force himself to pretend a strain to give an excuse for not running. Pride ! was too strong. The day of the race was perfect— hot and clear and sunny. At one o'clock the contestants, dressed in their running pants, with their dress- ing robes thrown about their shoul- ders, whirled away in automobiles from in front of the Academy, cheered by great throngs of wildly enthusias- tic boys and girls. At two the great green slope behind the Academy was densely packed with the Academy stu- dents and men and women and chil- dren of the village—a vast garden of rioting color. A judges’ stand had been erected at the foot of the green by the roadside, just opposite the green tape pegged across the road, and there was a crowd around the stand and a fringe of spectators for a mile or more along the highway. The race started in front of the Claretown High school. The eleven boys, lithe and white, crouched on the tape there amid a waving, excited crowd, and Kiles Stock, the jolly, ath- letic principal of the school, stood at one side with a revolver in his hand. “Ready, boys?” he said warningly. “Get set!” he commanded, in clear, sharp tones. “Ready!” The eleven boys, all trembling with eagerness and excitement, crouching like a line of white bullfrogs about to leap, waited with straining ears. Bang! The revolver cracked sharp- ly. At the report, the eleven white forms came upright and flashed away down the road. i “Come back!” roared Mr, Steck, fo asserted Giant Wreath of Scarlet Poppies Woven to Hallow the Unknown Soldier’s Tomb at Washington. A giant poppy wreath, the national tribute of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, will be laid on the tomb of the Unknown American Soldier in the National Cemetery at Arlington on Memorial Day as a special feature of the Poppy Day program of the V. F. W. observed in connection with its annual poppy sale, Fittingly two of America’s Gold Star mothers intertwined . the final poppies into this wreath symbol of a nation’s rever- down, put on clothes and went out to be covered very lightly. ence, Mrs. Charles Berger of Pittsburgh, whose son, Elmer M., the street. Berger of the 111th Infantry, gave his life in France, and Mrs. ' Lydia Regelman of the same city, whose son, Hall, a member of the same regiment, was also killed in action. All the poppies used in the official |. observance of Poppy Day are “Buddy Poppies,” made by disabled American ex-service men in a specially equipped V. F. W. poppy factory in Pittsburgh, Pa. To date more than 3,000,000 pop- pies have been completed, each bear- ing the label, “WEAR A BUDDY POP- i PY,” and the entire proceeds from their sale will be devoted to relief of war-disabled. All the men employed in the poppy factory are men suffering from war- time disabilities, who cannot be re- habilitated by the Veterans Bureau because their disability was not con- templated by the War Risk and Voca- tional Training laws when passed and who are designated by the govern- ment as “non-feasible.” The poppy making not only affords these war veterans a livelihood which the ma- jority of them, because of their crip- pled condition, would be helpless to earn in their former occupations, but in addition helps to renew their self confidence and rebuild their morale. President Coolidge, who has signi- fied his warm accord with the V. F. W. Poppy Day plan, himself wears the first Buddy Poppy, a specially made blossom in whose making every dis- abled boy in the factory had a hand. Professional organizations and rep- resentative trades associations cover- ing practically every branch of the country’s professional and industrial life have signified their cordial offi- cial indorsement of the movement by fermal resolutions , and letters to Brigadier General Lloyd M. Brett, commander in chief of the Veterans of Foreign Wars, and prominent indi- viduals, and the outstanding national women’s patriotic organizations have also strongly commended it. At the same time that the mam- moth wreath of scarlet memorial blossoms is laid on the tomb of the American Unknown Soldier a dupli- cate will be laid by the Veterans of Foreign Wars on the Soldiers’ and Sailors’ Monument in New York, and thousands of smaller similar wreaths Reuel W. Elton, adjutant general of the Veterans of Foreign Wars of the United States, exhibits the giant poppy wreath to be laid on the tomb of the : American Unknown Soldier on Memo- i rial Day as the national tribute of the Veterans of Foreign Wars in the ob- servance of their annual national Por py Day movement. throughout the country during the Memorial Day services by the various local V, F. W. posts. In still further significance of tribute to the World War dead on Memorial Day in Paris a second giant replica of the Arling- ton wreath will be laid on the tomb of the Unknown French Soldier at the Arc de Triomphe in accordance with a custom annually observed since the war by the Veterans of Foreign Wars. | “With their poppies in their helmets the front files hold the line,” wrote John Mills Hanson, and to the boys who were “over there” no other flower could be more symbolical of our hon- will be laid on memorial monuments | ored heroes. re. -— . their terrible disappointment. They all slowed down to a walk and returned to the tape for a new start, more excited than ever before. § Bang! Again they were off—this time perfectly. They flashed in the sunlight like an- imate marble figures, and for fifty feet ran almost in a line. Bob Shirley and Sid were elbow to elbow and each eyed the other from the corner of his eye. They loped eas- ily, lithe as tigers, breathing easily, clear-eyed, determined. The eleven still well together, came ‘to the village outskirts and there ran into the open country, leaving the great crowd behind them, although the roadside was dotted here and there with spectators. Several automobiles followed from the village, but they were unconscious of them. In the open the sun was scorching, and a cloud of dust arose from twen- ty-two pattering feet. Bob and Sid, grinning, slowed down and went on easily, but swiftly enough to keep well up with the other racers. On and on went the eleven, now and then from the roadside by straggling groups. On and on, they went, up hiil and down hill across open stretches of country, through patches of woods. The pace was terrible, but Bob and Sid, elbow to elbow, kept their dis- tance behind and waited, each know- ing that his race was with the one at his side. At seven miles George Carson turn- ed to the roadside and sat down under a tree and watched the others run on ‘and on till they were lost to sight in their own dust and in the distance. Ed Towne fell out next, then Har- ry Loomis, then Bill Rood. On and on, and still on, went the rest, the leaders still keeping up their gueling pace, Bob and Sid holding their relative positions clear of the dust. Ten miles were gone. Now came the test! Few could pass this mark very far. One by one the runners in the lead slowed down to a walk or jogged on to a dog trot or swerved suddenly to the roadside to tumble on the grass in a bit of shade, content to get a ride in. The twelve-mile mark came and passed, and Tom Davis was the only runner still in the lead. Tom was a surprise. He seemed to run easily, seemed to be more than holding his own, and Bob and Sid glanced in sur- prise at each other. On and on the strong three flew. Sid increased his speed in superb form, and Bob kept with him easily. They overtook Tom, and before they were far away they heard him grunt and give a little cry of dismay. They did not look back, but they knew he was run off his feet. “It’s between us,” thought Bob, and he gathered his reserve strength and sped on like a deer. He had run the whole course several times. Never had he gone at this racing gait, though, but his splendid body was in perfect condition, and he went on without the slightest distress, sure of himself. Sid led him by a few feet, and he showed ne signs of weakening. Bob let him lead, but kept his distance. He saw that Sid ran strongly, but felt sure that he had little or no reserve for the spurt he was going to make in the last mile. In this moment he thought of the prize tendered to him and heard his name thundered in acclaim by the thousands waiting at the finish. And in fancy he drank the sweet draught of victory. As a vision of his triumph came, thrilling his whole being, he gathered himself and swept on and on with the speed and strength of a Bengal tiger. The road spun beneath his feet. The country flashed away behind him. His breath was free and easy. strength was superb, glorious; never had he felt so fit. His heart thrilled with the joy of his strength and the foretaste of his great victory. He seemed to fly! On and on! He came to Sid’s elbow, passed it like a new-shot arrow. Away and away he went, faster and faster. But Sid’s feet pattered, pattered be- hind him—he could not lose that sound. Again Bob gathered himself, faster and faster he sped away. They came then, running like deer, to the patch of pine woods. They dashed down the road into the grate- ful shade and went on and on, Bob leading, but Sid gamely following, and His ; ' most deliriously happy met him and gripped him by both hands and prais- ed him in warm words. | Sid’s bubbling joy was so fine and great and his happiness was so clear in his face that Bob had no bitter taste of defeat. He was glad for him, supremely glad. { After congratulating his opponent as well as he knew how and laughing gamely with those who came and gave FARM NOTES. —The seed corn situation seems to be serious in many localities. Care- ful testing is highly desirable. | —The average acreage per farm in ' Pennsylvania increased from 84.8 to : 87.3 during the decade 1910 to 1920. | —On Pennsylvania farms there , were 136,942 turkeys in 1910. Ten ‘ years later the total dropped to 87,- him words of encouragement and con- | 404 solation, he pushed his way through the crowd on the slope and went into the dressing room, bathed, rubbed He was happy enough, but he did not want to see any one. He slipped away from the crowds outside and went quietly off homeward. | That night Tom Davis, his un, came over to his room, bringing the second prize, a beautiful cup. And Tom, in his understanding of Bob, knew the truth instantly. Bob, easily, placing the cup on the ta- ble. “Tt certainly was,” agreed Tom, looking at the other with eves glist- ening with admiration. “The great- est race you’ll ever run, old fellow.” “And perhaps I can win the one next year,” said Bob, quietly, looking at the cup with moisture in his eves. Tom, the kind-hearted, could not wholly restrain demonstration. He jumped up impulsively and put his arm about his chum’s shoulder. “TI know you can, Bob,” he said, in queer earnestness. Then there was a short silence be- tween them, each looking the other in the face. “But don’t ever tell, for heaven’s sake!” burst out Bob, suddenly, see- ing that Tom knew. “Promise—on your honor!” “T promise!” said Tom, quickly, and with glistening, sparkling eves, they gripped hands in that honorable com- pact.—The Boys’ Magazine. FARM ACCOUNTS. Under the present conditions of farming, according to R. C. Blaney, county agent, many crops are produc- ed on a very small margin of profit and many with no profit at all. Farm- ing is a business and must be man- aged as such, this necessitates a com- plete system of farm accounts. Last year ten farmers in Centre county secured farm accounts books through the Farm Bureau office. The men who kept these books up to , feel that it was time well spent and "they found out the crops that were ' paying and those that were not. By this system of accounting in i Lancaster county last year some ' startling conclusions were drawn. The following figures were taken from eighty-two farms. Wheat gave a re- turn of 13c. per hour of man labor, being the lowest of all crops reported. Alfalfa 36.1c, corn 36.4c, potatoes 36.2¢ and hay 34.3c per hour of man labor. Farmers should put more thought and time to the business side of their farming activities and know where each dollar goes and where it will bring the biggest returns An account book has béen drawn up by the agricultural economic depart- ment at State College which can be ‘kept with a small amount of time.’ These books can be secured any time : at the Farm Bureau office. 1000 Freshmen to be Admitted at “State.” The next Freshman class at The Pennsylvania State College will be limited to 1000 according to action by the college trustees. For many years past large numbers of applicants have had to be refused admission due to lack of facilities to handle more in certain schools and de- | partments, and there has been no in- crease in these facilities during the past year. W. S. Hoffman, the col- I lege registrar, announces that as us- ual the full class wil] be admitted dur- | ing the month of July, after all high school commencements have been held. No priority of application will be con- | sidered, admission to crowded courses being granted entirely upon a scho- lastic basis. Assurance is given at | “It was a great race, all right,” said date | —Very often vegetable seeds are covered with too much dirt when planted. Celery and lettuce should i —The farmer needs clean, sober, industrious help. They go into his hame, eat at his table, lodge in his house, and associate with his family. —York, Lancaster, Berks, Adams and Cumberland counties, in the or- der given, are the five leading coun- Bes, in the number of mules in this ate. —When planting beans discard all the spotted or discolored seeds. They ‘are likely to carry the anthracnose disease into the new crop, if they are planted. —If docked when a week old lambs will not suffer much from bleed- ing. Docking will increase the quali- ty of the lamb and the market vaiue considerably. —Do not put nicotine in the pink spray as it does not hit the apple red bug. Extension specialists are advis- ing putting the nicotine in the “petal fall’ spray to control this pest. , —The census gave Clinton county 68 acres of tobacco in 1919. Accord- ing to J. B. McCool, county agent, there were 216 acres given to that crop in 1923, with an average yield of 1358 pounds per acre. —Milk is one of the highest foods in mineral content. Minerals are nec- essary for proper body growth and the development of a strong, healthy child. Diseases are also frequently traced to a lack of minerals. —When painting this spring, be sure to burn all rags which are soaked with linseed oil and turpentine. They may cause fire from spontaneous com- bustion. Don’t store paint materials in the cellar. The fire risk is great. —Tile drainage pays in many in- stances. The best land on a farm is often wet due to spring water from the higher land. Often a single line of tile will relieve this condition. Iowa farmers have spent half as much for tile drainage as the cost of the Panama canal. | —Pennsylvania ranks first in buck- wheat, last year producing about 4,- 449,400 bushels. This was more than 32 per cent. of the entire country’s production. The country at large looks on Pennsylvania as a great in- dustrial State. We admit it. At the same time we direct attention to the fact that it is a wonderful agricultur- al State as well. —Be sure to thin the vegetables in your garden this spring while they are small. Thick sowing does not mean a large yield; in fact the reverse is true. The following distances be- tween plants should be maintained: Peas, two inches; beans, four to six inches; beets, four inches; carrots, ! three inches; lettuce, ten inches; spin- ach, one inch; radishes, two to three inches. —The telephone is finding a more important place in Pennsylvania farm life each year. Reports for 1923 point out that 60 per cent. of the State’s ag- riculturists enjoyed the convenience of telephone service. In 1922, 57 per cent. of the farm houses were con- nected by wires with the outside world. Last year more than 121,000 rural subscribers were listed, as against 116,000 the preceding year. —The Oriental peach moth, which ‘caused considerable damage to the peach crop last year, is not out as yet. It looks now as though the eggs will be laid about the time the shucks are dropping. This is the effective time to control the pest. Unless the eggs are destroyed, the moth can not be prevented from working in the twigs. Formerly, spraying for the peach moth has been advised when the pet- als were dropping but the cold spell this spring made control ineffective at j this time, 4 i —Encourage early growth of weeds. grim as death and never yielding in | this time that practically all qualified They should appear before crops are spirit. Now they emerged from the woods, and the last mile lay before them. The broad highway, a dusty ribbon, stretched before, and they saw the green slope, the Academy among the mighty trees and the crowds along the road and by the school. A roar like thunder came to their ears as they shot into the open, and they knew it was a mighty cheer of welcome and encouragement. In this instant, with triumph almost within grasp, Bob Shirley thought of the nobler thing, and, strangely, the joy of winning did not thrill him through and through as it had when he passed Sid’s elbow. “Sid needs the money, needs it!” That thought ran through his mind, but on and on he ran, faster still fast- er. He was like a glorious machine now as he sped away in the last spurt —and he lost the sound of Sid’s feet. A queer disappointment, something he could not understand, shot through him, and conscious of what he was do- ing, he imperceptibly slowed down, even while boys and girls and men stood up by the track and roared his name again and again and urged him on. Half a mile away—a few feet—was the judges’ stand—triumph—and still he slowed down, although no one could know the truth. “nd then a white figure, spotted with st, shot past him, and the thunder of I--*ndreds and hundreds of wildly-excited voices rose and fell again and again like mighty surges of the sea. In this very instant Bob stum!’~1 and fell sprawling prone in the du-t. He waved aside assistance. arose by himself and with a very slight smile about his lips went like lightning to- ward the tape. He looked forward. Sid was cross- ing the line. A revolver cracked sharply, and cheer upon cheer greeted the winner. Bob ran gamelv across the tape in second place, and Sid, proud and al- applicants for admission to the schools i of SgTiculture and mines can be ad- Very Strange. It is related that a young magazine : editor of New York took a trip to Cal- | ifornia and happened in upon Holly- | wood. He was invited to a motion ' picture party and decided to put off his usual reserve and diffidence and enter fully into the spirit of the occa- sion. He devoted his attention ; throughout the evening to a young film actress. 3 “I will be wild,” he determined. “I : will be rowdy. 1 will behave with all the abandon for which Hollywood is | famous.” he was playing the role to the limit of | his capacity, the young woman broke down and wept. The editor asked the | cause of her distress, and with tears in her eyes she looked up and said: “I’ve been here almost a year now and i you're the first fellow that’s acted to me like a gentleman.” Streams are Well Stocked with Trout. Harrisburg.—Streams in 26 coun- ties were stocked with fish during March, according to a distribution table made public by the Department of Fisheries. Brook, brown and rain- bow trout and a few minnows com- prised the kinds used for the stocking. Counties which have large reaches of unpolluted water and are most pon- ular with trout fishermen were cen- | ters of the March stocking. In a ma- jority of those counties low water last fall prevented the usual autumn stock- ing. Fifteen streams in Potter county were stocked, 21 in Schuylkill, 17 in Tioga and 13 in Warren. Fish Commissioner Nathan Buller said that the majority of the fish used in stocking were much larger than usual because those which - were intended for that use last fall had been held in the hatcheries. He did his best, but suddenly, as | planted or before the crops are so large as to make it difficult to fight | them. An hour’s work on the weeds . i early in the spring may save days of i labor later in the summer. This ad- | vice is suggested by Dr. E. M. Gress, botanist of the Pennsylvania Depart- ! ment of Agriculture. | Garden soil contains many weed seeds. Some of these have been in the soil for a number of years, others only from last year’s crop. Most gardens are allowed to grow ‘up with weeds in the latter part of the summer and fall. These, of course, scatter an abundant crop of seeds. The best time to give this at- tention was last fall before the weeds matured their seeds. It is too late now to think about that. Therefore, if the garden was not spaded or plowed last fall it should be done as early as possible this spring. This will induce the weed seed to germinate and many seedlings can be killed even before the garden crop is planted. Every seedling that is destroyed this spring means one less weed during the summer. The best time to kill a weed is in its seedling state. It has been using the food stored in the seed and has not yet developed a root system, therefore, a little injury or disturb- ance of the soil will kil] the young plant. The seed having spent its en- ergy on producing one plant will, of course, not produce a second. | In addition to the saving of labor there are several other advantages. A weed, the same as one of the crop plants, needs food material and water. Every particle of food material and every ounce of water that goes into | the weed robs the garden crop of just that amount of food and water. Weeds harber insects and diseases which often give trouble during the summer and which reduce the yield of the garden crops. Also the margin of profit is often lost in the extra labor and the decrease in yield caused by weeds. This is true not only of the { ganden crops but of farm crops as well.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers