[= EDNA
FERBER
ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLARK AGNEW,
Copyright by
Doubleday, Page & Co.
WNU Service,
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER L—Introducing “So Big”
(Dirk DeJong) in his infancy. And his
mother, Selina DeJong, daughter of
Simeon Peake, gambler and gentleman
f fortune, Her life, to young woman-
ood in Chicago in 1888, Was been un-
conventional, somewhat seamy, but
generally shicyable. At school her
chum is Julle Hempel, daughter of
August Hempel, butcher. Simeon Is
killed in a quarrel that is not his own,
and Selina, nineteen years old and
ractically destitute, becomes a school-
eacher.
CHAPTER II—Selina secures a posi-
tion as teacher at the High Prairie
chool, in the outskirts of Chicago,
iving at the home of a truck farmer,
Klaas Pool. In Roelf, twelve years
old, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a
kindred spirit, a lover of beauty, like
herself.
Klaas Pool knew nothing of chry-
goprase and porphyry. Nor of Byron.
Nor, for that matter, of jade and Bur-
gundy. But he did know cabbages, |
both green and red. He knew cabbage
from seed to sauerkraut; he knew and
grew varieties from the sturdy Flat
Dutch to the early Wakefield. But
that they were beautiful; that they
looked like jewels; that they lay like
Persian patches, had rever entered his
head, and rightly. What has the
head of a cabbage, or for that matter,
of a robust, soil-stained, toiling Dutch
truck farmer to do with nonsense like
chrysoprase, with jade, with Burgundy,
with Persian patterns!
The horses clopped down the heavy
country road. Now and again the bulk
beside Selina was agitated silently, as
before. And from between the golden
fuzz of stubble beard she would hear,
“Cabbages! Cabbages is—" But she
did not feel offended. She could not
have been offended at anything today.
For in spite of her recent tragedy, her
nineteen years, her loneliness, the ter-
rifying thought of this new home te¢
which she was going, among strangers,
she was conscious of a warm thrill of
elation, of excitement—of adventure!
That was it. “The whole thing's just
a gran edventure,” Simeon Peake had
said. Selina gave a little bounce of
anticipation. She was doing a revolu-
tionary and daring tlilng; a thing that
the Vermont and now, fortunately, in-
accessible Peakes would have regarded
with horror. For equipment she had
youth, curiosity, a steel-strong frame;
one brown lady’'s-cloth, one wine-red
cashmere; four hundred and ninety-
seven dollars; and a gay, adventure-
some spirit that was never to die,
though it led her into curious places
and she often found, at the end, only
A trackless waste from which she had
to retrdce her steps, painfully, But
always, to her, red and green cabbages
were to be jade and Burgundy, chrys-
oprase and porphyry. Life has no
“weapons against a woman like that.
Klaas Pool was a school director.
She was to live at his house. Perhaps
she should not have sald that about the
cabbages. So now she drew herself up
primly and tried to appear the school
teacher, and succeeded In looking ar
severe as a white pansy.
“Ahem!” (or nearly that). “You
have three children, haven't you, Mr
Pool? They'll all be my pupils?”
Klaas Pool ruminated on this. He
concentrated so that a slight frown
marred the serenity of his brow. In
this double question of hers, an at-
tempt to give the conversation a dignl-
fied turn, she had apparently created
some difficulty for her host. He was
trying to shake his head two ways at
the same time. This gave it a rotary
‘motion. Selina saw, with amazement,
‘that he was attempting to nad negation
and confirmation at once.
“You mean you haven’t—or they're
aot ?—or—1?”
“I have got three children. All will
not be your pupils.” There was some-
thing final, unshakable in his delivery
of this.
“Dear me! Why not? Which ones
won't. Do tell me which ones will and
which ones won't.”
“Geertje goes to school. Jozina goes
to school. Roelf works by the farm.”
“How old is Roelf?” She was being
school teacherly again.
“Roelf is twelve.”
“Twelve! And no longer at school’
But why not!”
“Roelf he works by the farm.”
“Doesn't Roelf like school?”
“But sure.”
“Don’t you think he ought to go te
school ?”
“But sure.”
Having begun, she could not go
back. “Doesn't your wife want Roelf
to go to £chool any more?”
“Maartje? But sure.”
She gathered herself together:
hurled herself behind the next ques-
tion. “Then why doesn't he go te
school, for pity’s sake?”
Klaas Pool's pale blue eyes were
fixed on the spot between the horse's
ears. His face was serene, placld, pe
tient.
“Roelf he works by the farm.”
Selina subsided, beaten.
Dusk was coming on. The lake mist
came drifting across the prairie and
hung, a pearly haze, over the frost-
nipped stubble and the leafless trees.
It caught the last light in the sky and
held it, giving to fields, trees, black
earth, to the man seated stolidly be-
side the girl, and to the face of the
girl herself an opalescent glow very
wonderful to see. Selina, seeing it,
opened her lips to exclaim again; and
then, remembering, closed them. She
had learned her first lesson in High
Prairie.
LJ *® ®
The Klaas Pools lived in a typica
High Prairie house. They had passed
a score like it in the dusk. These
sturdy Holland-Americans had built
here in Illinois after the pattern of the
squat houses that dot the lowlands
about Amsterdam, Haarlem and Rot-
terdam. A row of pollards stood stiff-
ly by the roadside. Yard and dwelling
had a geometrical neatness like that
of a toy house in a set of playthings.
Peering down over the high wheel
Selina waited for Klaas Pool to assist
her in alighting. He seemed to have
no such thought. Having jumped down,
. . e *
Selina Stood Looking About Her in
the Dim Light, a Very Small Figure
in a Very Large World.
he was throwing empty crates and
boxes out of the back of the wagon.
So Selina, gathering her shawls and
cloak about her, clambered down the
side of the wheel and stood looking
about her in the dim light, a very
small figure in a very large world.
Klaas had opened the barn door. Now
he returned and slapped one of the
horses smartly on the flank. The team
trotted obediently off to the barn. He
picked up - her little hide-bound truxk.
She took her satchel. - The yard was
quite dark now. As Klaas Poi opened
the kitchen door the red mouth that
was the cpen draught In the kitchen
stove grinned a toothy welcome at
them.
A woman stood over the stove, a
fork in her hand. The kitchen was
clean, but disorderly, with the disor-
der that comes of pressure of work
There was a not unpleasant smell of
cooking. Selina sniffed it hungrily.
The woman turned to face them. Se-
lina stared.
This, she thought, must be some
other—an old woman—his mother,
perhaps. But: “Maartje, here Is
school teacher,” said Klaas Pool. Se-
lina put out her hand to meet the other
woman’s hand, rough, hard, calloused.
Her own, touching it, was like satin
against a pine board. Maartje smiled,
and you saw her broken discolored
teeth. She pushed back the sparse
hair from her high forehead, fumbled
a little, shyly, at the collar of her
clean blue calico dress.
“Pleased to meet you,” Maartje
said, primly. “Make you welcome.”
Then, as Pool stamped out to the yard,
slamming the door behind him, “Pool
he could have come with you by the
front way, too. Lay off your things.”
Selina began to remove the wrappings
that swathed her—the muffler, the
shawl, the cloak. Now she stood, a
slim, incongruously elegant little fig-
ure in that kitchen. The brown lady’s-
cloth was very tight and basqued
above, very flounced and bustled be-
low. “My, how you are young!” cried
Maartje. She mowed nearer, as if im-
pelled, and fingered the stuff of Sell-
na’s gown. And as she did this Selina
suddenly saw that she, too, was young.
The bad teeth, the thin halr, the care-
less dress, the littered kitchen, the
harassed frown—above all these,
standing out clearly, appeared the look
of a girl
+
“Why, I do believe she’s not more
than twenty-eight!” Selina said to her-
self in a kind of panic. “I do believe
she's not more than twenty-eight.”
She had been aware of the two pig-
tailed heads appearing and vanishing
in the doorway of the next room. Evi-
dently her hostess was distressed be-
cause the school teacher's formal en-
trance had not been rpade by way of
parlor instead of kitchen. She fol-
lowed Maartje Pool into the front
room. Behind the stove, tittering,
were two yellow-haired little girls.
Geertje and Jozina, of course. Selina
went over to them, smiling. ‘Which
is Geertje?” she asked. “And which
Jozina.” But at this the titters be-
came squeals. They retired behind
the round black bulwark of the wood-
burner, overcome.
Selina’s quick glance encompassed
the room. In the window were a few
hardy plants in pots on a green-paint-
ed wooden rack. There was a sofa
with a wrinkled calico cover; three
rocking chairs; some stark crayons of
incredibly hard-featured Dutch an-
cients on the wall.
stiff, unlovely. But Selina had known
too many years of boarding-house ugli-
ness to be offended at this.
Maartje had lighted a small glass-
bowled lamp. A steep, uncarpeted
stairway, inclosed, led off the sitting
room. Up this Maartje Pool, talking,
led the way to Selina’s bedroom. Se-
lina was to learn that the farm wom-
an, often inarticulate through lack of
companionship, becomes a torrent of
talk when opportunity presents itself.
A narrow, dim, close-smelling hall-
way, uncarpeted. At the end of it a
door opening into the room that was
to be Selina’s. As its chill struck her
to the marrow three objects caught
her eyes. The bed, a huge and
not unhandsome walnut mausoleum,
room’s top. The mattress of straw
and cornhusks was unworthy of this
edifice, but over it Mrs. Pool had
mercifully placed a feather
stitched and quilted, so that Selina
lay soft and warm through the win-
ter. Along one wall stood a low chest
so richly brown as to appear black.
The front panel of this was curiously
carved. Selina stooped before it and
for the second time that day said:
“How beautiful!” then looked quick-
ly round at Maartje Pool as though
fearful of finding her laughing as
Klaas Pool had laughed. But Mrs.
Pool’s face reflected the glow In her
own. She came over to Selina and
stooped with her over the chest, hold-
ing the lamp so that its yellow flame
lighted up the scrolls and tendrils of
the carved surface. =~ With one dis-
colored forefinger she traced the bold
flourishes on the panel. “See? How
it makes out letters?”
Selina peered closer. ‘Why, sure
enough! This first one’s an S!”
Maartje was kneeling before the
chest now. “Sure an S. For Sophia.
It is a Holland bride's chest. And
mother she gave it to me when I was
married, and her mother she gave it
to her when she was married, and
her mother gave it to her when she
was married, and her—"
«I should think so!” exclaimed Se-
lina, rather meaninglessly; but stem-
ing the torrent. “What's In it? Any-
thing? . There ought to be bride's
clothes in it, yellow with age.”
“It is!” cried Maartje Pool and gave
a little bounce that imperiled the
amp.
“No!” The two on their knees sat
smiling at each other, wide-eyed, like
schoolgirls.
“Here—wait.” Maartje Pool thrust
the lamp into Selina’s hand, raised
the lid of the chest, dived expertly
into its depths amidst a great rustling
of old newspapers and emerged red-
faced with a Dutch basque and volum-
inous skirt of silk; an age-yellow cap
whose wings, stiff with embroidery.
stood out grandly on either side; a
pair of wooden shoes, stalned terra-
cotta like the sails of the Vellshdam
fishing boats, and carved from toe te
heel in a delicate and intricate pat-
tern. A bridal gown, a bridal cap,
bridal shoes. :
“Well I” said Selina, with the feel-
ing of a little girl in a rich attic on
a rainy day. She clasped her hands.
“May I dress up in it sometime?”
Maartje Pool, felding the garments
hastily, looked shocked and horrified.
“Never must anybody dress up in a
bride's dress, only to get married. It
brings bad .uck.” Then, as Selina
skirt with a slim and caressing fore-
finger: “So you get married to a
High Prairie Dutchman I let you wear
it.” At this absurdity they both
laughed again. Selina thought that
this school-teaching venture was start-
ing out very well. She would have
such things to tell her father—then
tle as she stood up now. There surged
over her a great wave of longing for
her father—for the theater treats, for
his humorous philosophical drawl,
for the Chicago streets, and the ugly
Chicago houses; for Julie; for Miss
Fister’s school; for anything and any
one that was accustomed, known, and
therefore dear. She had a horrible
premonition that she was going to
cry, began to blink very fast, turned
a little blindly in the dim light and
resting object. A blue-black cylinder
of tin sheeting, like a stove and yet
unlike. It was polished like the
length of pipe in the sitting-room be-
low. Indeed, it was evidently a giant
flower of this stem.
“What's that?” demanded Selina,
pointing.
Maartje Pool, depositing the lamp
on the little wash-stand preparatory
{1° leaving, smiled pridefully. “Drum.”
“Drum?”
It was all neat, °
reared its somber height almost to the .
bed, |
here is K. And here is big D. It
makes Sophia Kroon DeVries. It is
anyways two hundred years. ~My
stroked the stiff silken folds of the
she remembered. She shivered a lit-
caught sight of the room’s third ar- |
“For heat your
touched it. It was icy. “When there
is fire,” Mrs. Pool added, hastily.
Selina was to learn that its heating
powers were mythical. Even when
the stove in the sitting room was
blazing away with a cheerful roar none
of the glow communicated itself to
the drum. It remained as coolly in-
different to the blasts breathed upon
it as a girl hotly besieged by an un-
welcome lover.
“Maartje!”
room.” Selina
roared a voice from
belowstairs. The voice of the hungry
male. There was wafted up, too, a
faint smell of scorching. Then came
sounds of a bumping and thumping
along the narrow stairway.
“Og heden!” cried Maartje,
panic, her hands high in air.
was off.
Left alone in her room Selina un-
locked her trunk and took from it two
photographs—one of a mild-looking
man with his hat a little on one side,
the other of a woman who might have
been a twenty-five-year-old Selina,
minus the courageous jaw-line. Look-
ing about for a fitting place on which
to stand these leather-framed treas-
ures she considered the top of the chill
drum, humorously, then actually placed
them there, for lack of a better refuge,
from which vantage point they regard-
ed her with politely interested eyes.
Perhaps they would put up a shelf for
her. That would serve for her little
* stock ‘of haoks and for the pictures as
well. She “was enjoying that little
flush of exhilaration that comes to a
woman, unpacking. She took out her
neat pile of warm woolen underweur,
her stout shoes. She shook out the
crushed folds of the wine-colored cash-
mere. Now, if ever, she should have
regretted its purchase. But she didn’t.
No one, she reflected, as she spread it
rosily on the bed, possessing wine-col-
ored cashmere could be altogether
downcast.
i From below stairs came the hiss of
frying. Selina washed in the chill wa-
ter of the basin, took down her hair
and coiled it again before the swimmy
little mirror over the wash-stand. She
adjusted the stitched white bands of
the severe collar and patted the cuffs
of the brown lady’'s-cloth. The tight
basque was fastened with buttens from
throat to waist. Her fine long head
rose above this trying base with such
grace and dignity as to render the stiff
garment beautiful. It was a day of
appalling bunchiness and equally ap-
palling tightness in dress; of panniers,
galloons, plastrons, revers, bustles,
all manner of lumpy bedevilment. That
Selina could appear in this disfiguring
garment a creature still graceful. slim,
and pliant was a sheer triumph of
. spirit over matter.
She blew out the light now and de-
scended the steep wooden stairway to
the unlighted parlor. The door be-
tween parlor and kitchen was closed.
Selina sniffed sensitively. There was
pork for supper. She was to {earn that
there was always pork for supper.
She hesitated a moment there in the
‘darkness. Then she opened the kitch-
en door, There swam out at her a haze
of smoke, from which emerged round
blue eyes, guttural talk, the smell of
frying grease, of stable, of loam, and
of woolen wash freshly brought in from
the line. With an inrush of cold air
that sent the blue haze into swirls the
outer kitchen door opened. A boy,
his arm piled high with’ stove-wood,
entered; a dark, handsome sullen boy
who stared at Selina over the armload
of wood. Selina stared back at him.
There sprang to life between the boy
of twelve and the woman of nineteen
an electric current of feeling.
“Roelf,” thought Selina; and even
took a step toward him, inexplicably
drawn.
“Hurry then with that wood there!”
fretted Maartje at the stove. The boy
flung the armful into the box, brushed
his sleeve and coat-front mechanically,
still looking at Selina.
Klaas Pool, already at table,
thumped with his knife. “Sit down,
teacher.” Selina hesitated, looked at
Maartje. Maartje was holding a fry-
ing pan aloft in one hand while with
the other she thrust and poked a fresh
stick of wood into tbe open-lidded
in a
She
stove. The two pigtalls seated them
selves at the table, set with its red-
checked cloth and bone-handled cutlery.
Roelf flung his cap on a wall-hook and
sat down. Only Selina and Maartje re-
meo'ned standing. “Sit down! Sit
down!” Klass Pool said again, jovial-
ly. “Well, how is cabbages?’ He
chuckled and winked. A duet of ti-
ters from the pigtails. Maartje at the
stove smiled; but a trifle grimly, one
might have thought, watching her. Evi-
dently Klass had not hugged his joke
in secret. Only the boy Roelf remained
unsmiling. Even Selina, feeling the red
mounting to her cheeks, smiled a little,
nervously, and sat down with some
suddenness.
| Maartje Pool now thumped down on
the table a great bowl of potatoes fried
in grease; a platter of ham. There was
bread cut in chunks. The coffee was |
rye, toasted in the oven, ground, and
' taken without sugar or cream. Of this
food there was plenty. It made Mrs.
Tebbitt’s Monday night meal seem am-
brosial. Selina’s visions of chickens,
oly-koeks, wild ducks, crusty crullers,
and pumpkin pies vanished, never to
return. She had been very hungry, but
now, as she talked, nodded, smiled, she
cut her food into infinitesimal bites,
did not chew them so well, and de
| spised herself for being dainty.
| “Well,” she thought, “it’s going to be
| different enough, that's certain. , . .
| This is a vegetable farm, and they
| don't eat vegetables. I wonder why.
What a pity that she lets herself
| look like that, just because she's a
farm woman, Her hair screwed into
| ed. That hideous dress. Shapeless.
She's not bad looking, either. A red
spot on either cheek, now; and her
‘and pummeled expertly.
'
eyes so blue. A little like those women
in the Dutch pictures father took me
to see in—where?—where?—New
York, years ago?—yes. But that wom-
an’s face was placid. This one's
strained. Why need she look like that,
frowsy, horrid, old! The boy is,
somehow, foreign-looking — Italian.
Queer. . . , They talk a good deal
like some German neighbors we had in
Milwaukee. They twist sentences.
Literal translations from the Dutch, 1
suppose.”
akob Hoogendunk, Pool's hired
hand, was talking. Supper over, the
men sat relaxed, pipe in mouth.
Maartje was clearing the supper things,
with Geertje and Jozina making a
great pretense at helping. If they gig-
gled like that in school, Selina thought,
she would, in time, go mad, and knock
their pigtailed heads together,
Roelf, at the table, sat poring over
a book, one slim hand, chapped and
gritty with rough work, outspread on
the cloth. Selina noticed, without
knowing she noticed, that the fingers
were long, slim, and the broken nails
thin and fine.
Selina wanted, suddenly, to be alone
in her room—in the room that but an
hour before had been a strange and
terrifying chamber with its towering
bed, its chill drum, its ghostly bride's
chest. Now it had become a refuge.
snug, safe, Infinitely desirable. She
turned to Mrs. Pool. “I—I think I'll
go up to my room. I'm very tired. The
ride, 1 suppose. I'm not used . . .”
Her voice trailed off.
“Sure,” said Maartje, briskly. She
had finished the supper dishes and was
busy with a huge bowl, flour, a baking
board. “Sure go up. I got my bread
to set yet and what all.”
“If I could have some hot water—"
“Roelf! Stop once that reading and
show school teacher where is hot wa-
ter. Geertje! Jozina! Never in my
world did I see such.” She cuffed a
convenient pigtail by way of emphasis.
A wall arose.
“Never mind.
Don’t bother.”
panic now. She wanted to be out of
the room. But the boy Roelf, with
quiet swiftness, had taken a battered
tin pail from its hook on the wall, had
lifted an iron slab at the back of the
kitchen stove. A mist of steam arose.
He dipped the pail into the tiny reser-
voir thus revealed.” Then, as Selina
made as though to take it, he walked
past her. She heard him ascending
the wooden stairway. She wanted to
be after him. But first she must know
the name of the book over which he
had been poring. But between her and
the book outspread on the table were
Pool, Hoogendunk, dog, pigtails,
Maartje. She pointed with a deter-
mined forefinger. “What's that book
Roelf was reading?”
Maartje thumped a great ball of
dough on the baking board. Her arms
were white with flour.
It doesn’t matter.
“Woorden
boek.”
Well. That meant nothifig. Woorden
boek. Woorden b— Dimly the mean-
ing of the Dutch words began to come
to her. But it couldn't be. She
brushed past the men in the tipped-
back chairs, stepped over the collie,
reached. across the table. Woorden
—word. Boek—book. Word book.
“He's reading the dictionary!” Selina
said, aloud. “He's reading the diction-
ary!” She had the horrible feeling
that she was going to laugh and cry
at once; hysteria.
Selina flung a good-night over her
shoulder and made for the stairway.
He should have all her books.
would send to Chicago for books. She
would spend her thirty dollars a month
buying books for him. He had been
reading the dictionary!
Roelf had placed the pail of hot
water on the little wash-stand and had
lighted the glass lamp. He was intent
on replacing the glass chimney within
the four prongs that held it firm.
Downstairs, in the crowded kitchen, he
had seemed quite the man. Now, In
the yellow lamplight, his profile sharp-
ly outlined, she saw that he was just
a small boy with tousled hair. About
his cheeks, his mouth, his chin, one
could even see the last faint traces of
soft infantile roundness.
“He's just a little boy,” thought Se-
Una, with a quick pang. He was ahout
to pass her now, without glancing at
her, his head down. She put out her
hand; touched his shoulder. He looked
up at her, his face startlingly alive,
his eyes blazing. It came to Selina
that until now she had not heard him
speak. Her hand pressed the thin
stuff of his coat sleeve.
“Cabbages — flelds of cabbages—
what you said—they are beautiful,” he ;
stammered. He was terribly in earnest.
Before she could reply he was out of
the room, clattering down the stairs.
Selina stood, blinking a little.
The glow that warmed her now en-
dured while she splashed about in the
inadequate basin; took down the dark
soft masses of her hair; put on the
voluminous long-sleeved, high-necked
nightgown. Just before she blew out
the lamp her last glimpse was of the
black drum stationed like a patient !
eunuch in the corner; and she could
smile at that; even giggle a little, what
with weariness, excitement and a gen-
eral feeling of being awake in a
dream. But once in the vast bed she
lay there utterly lost in the waves of
terror and loneliness that envelop one
at night in a strange house amongst
strange people. She listened to the
noises that came from downstairs;
voices gruff, unaccustomed; shrill,
high. These ceased and gave place to
others less accustomed to her city-
bred ears; a dog's bark and an answer-
ing one; a far-off train whistle; the
dull thud of hoofs stamping on the
barn floor; the wind in the bare tree
“branches outside the window.
that knob, her skin rough and neglect- °
Her watch—a gift from Simeon
Peake on her eighteenth birthday—
with the gold case all beautifully en-
graved with a likeness of a gate, and
Selina was in a sort of .
She kneaded
She
\
75%
LA
“Fields of Cabbages—What You Said?
—They Are Beautiful,” He Stam--
mered.
a church, and a waterfall and a bird,
linked together with spirals and flour-
ishes ef the most graceful description,
was ticking away companionably un--
: der her pillow. She felt for it, took it:
out and held it in her palm, under he~
cheek, for comfort.
She knew she would not sleep that:
night. She knew she would not
sleep—
i She awoke to a clear, cold November
dawn; children’s voices; the neighing:
of horses; a great sizzling and hissing,.
and scent of frying bacon; a clucking:
and squawking in the barnyard. It
was six o'clock. Selina’s first day as a.
school teacher. In a little more than.
two hours she would be facing a whole-
roomful of round-eyed Geertjes and:
: Jozinas and Roelfs. The bedroom was:
! cruelly cold. As she threw the bed-
‘ clothes aside Selina decided that it
took an appalling amount of courage—
this life that Simeon Peake had called:
a great adventure.
Chapter 111
Every morning throughout Novem--
| ber it was the same. At six o'clock:
“Miss Peake! Oh, Miss Peake!”
“I'm up!” Selina would call in what.
she meant to be a gay voice, through:
* chattering teeth.
“You better come down and dress
where is warm here by the stove.”
Peering down the perforations in.
. the floor-hole through which the par-
. lor chimney swelled so proudly into:
the drum, Selina could vaguely descry
Mrs. Pool stationed just below, her
. gaze upturned.
That first morning, on hearing this.
“invitation, Selina‘ had been rocked be-
tween horror and mirth. “I'm not
| cold, really. I'm almost dressed. I'lk
i be down directly.” =»
Maartje Pool must have sensed
: some of the shock in the girl's voice;
or, perhaps, even some of the laugh-
ter. “Pool and Jakob: are long out
already cutting. Here back of the
stove you can dress warm.”
(Continued next week.)
Real Estate Transfers.
Robert W. Mensch, et al, to Rebec-
cah N. Bower, et bar, tract in Haines
Twp.; $3,600.
Harry B. Watson, et ux, to George
Diller, tract in Boggs Twp.; $1,-
John A. James, et ux, to Percy R.
Walker, et ux, tract in Liberty Twp.;
$3,000.
Della Albright, et al, to J. B.
Ripka, tract in Gregg Twp.; $425.
Bellefonte Cemetery Association, to
Mrs. Charles Thomas, tract in Belle-
| fonte; $100.
Hattie R. Duck, et bar, to Asher C.
: Confer, tract in Gregg Twp.; $1,200.
Frank M. Fisher, et ux, to Percival
Sharp, tract in Gregg Twp.; $1,500.
T. M. Kunes, et ux, to John A.
James, tract in Liberty Twp.; $3,200.
Thomas A. Hosterman, et ux, to
Mary N. Faust, et al, tract in Potter
Twp.; $6,500.
C. G. Decker, et ux, to E. E. Weiser,
tract in State College; $18,500.
J. D. Keller, et ux, to Kathryn
Leathers, tract in State College, $1.
Phoebe Ellen Krebs to Pearl Gar-
man, tract in Ferguson Twp.; $300.
B. F. Cramer, et ux, to Paul Gar-
man, tract in State College; $585.
| I G. Gordon Foster, et al, to Walter
'R. Hosterman, tract in State College;
$1.
Walter R. Hosterman, et ux to
{ Elizabeth S. Thompson, tract in State
College; $8,700.
Charles T. Crust Exec., to William
S. Walker, tract in Centre Hall;
$4,100.
Farmers’ Field Day at State to be
Held June 18.
The annual Farmers’ Field day will
be held at ‘the Pennsylvania State
College Thursday, June 18, announces
Professor T. I. Mairs, who is in chaige
of arrangements.
Instruction and recreation will fea-
ture Farmers’ Field day this year. A
practical program of interesting sub-
jects has been prepared. In addition,
there will be a dairy cattle sale, a
model roadside market, and communi-
ty group games. For those who ar-
rive on June 17 a special musical pro-
gram will be provided that evening.
Farmers’ Field day has been an an-
nual event at State College for the
past six years. Previously a Farmers’
week was staged but it was consider-
ed too long and was therefore aban-
doned in favor of the one-day event.
Farmers’ families who attend find the
field day a great source of helpful-
ness.