ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLARK AGNEW.
Co ht b,
Doubledey, Page "a Co.
WNU Service,
(Continued from last week.)
—Introducing “So Big”
SYNOPSIS
in his infancy. And his
One ban
{Dirk DeJon,
: DeJong, daughter of
fiother, Selina
: eon Peake, gambler and gentleman
f fortune, er life, to young woman-
in Chicago in 1888, has been un-
oonventional, somewhat seamy, but
generally enjoyable. t school her
chum is Julls Hempel, daughter of
st Hempel, butcher. Simeon is
ed in a quarrel that is not his own,
and Selina, nineteen years old and
sactionlly destitute, becomes & school-
rae er.
CHAPTER II—Selina secures a posi-
tion as teacher at the High Prairie
ool, in the outskirts of Chicago,
ving at the home of a truck farmer,
lags Pool. In Roelf, twelve years
old, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a
jindreq spirit, & lover of beauty, like
rself.
CHAPTER III.—The monotonous life
of a country school-teacher at that
time, is Selina’s, brightened somewhat
by the companionship of the sensitive,
artistic boy Roelf.
CHAPTER IV.—Selina hears gossip
concerning the affection of the “Widow
Paapienberg rich and good-looking,
for Pervus DeJong, poor truck farmer,
who is insensible to the widow's at-
ctions. For a community “sociable”
elina prepares a lunch basket, dainty,
but not of ample proportions, which is
“auctioned,” according to custom. The
smallness of the lunch box excites deri-
gion, and in a sense of fun the bidding
ecomes spirited, DeJong finally secur-
ing it for $10, a ridiculously high price.
Over their lunch basket, whic elina
and DeJong share together, the school-
teacher arranges to instruct the good-
fatured farmer, whose education has
en neglected.
CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in their
Pofitions of ‘teacher’ and *“pupil,” and
lina’s loneliness in her uncongenial
.gurroundings, lead to mutual affection.
ervus DeJong wins Selina’s consent
to be his wife.
During that winter she was often
hideously lonely. She never got over
her hunger for companionship. Here
she was, a gregarious and fun-loving
creature, buried in a snow-bound Illi-
nois p 'airle farmhouse with a husband
who i00ked upon conversation as a
convenience, not a pastime. She
learned much that winter about the
utter sordidness of farm life. She
rarely saw the Pools; she rarely saw |
any one outside her own little house-
bold. The front room—the parlor—
was usually bitterly cold, but some-
times she used to slip in there, a shawl
over her shoulders, and sit at the
frosty window to watch for a wagon
to go by, or a chance pedestrian up the
road. She did not pity herself, nor
regret her step. She felt, physically,
pretty well for a child-bearing woman;
and Pervus was tender, kindly, sym-
-pathetic, if not always understanding.
She struggled gallantly to keep up the
small decencies of existence. She
Yoved the glow of Pervus’ eyes when
she appeared with a bright ribbon, a
fresh collar, though he said nothing
and perhaps she only fancied that he
noticed. Once or twice she had
walked the mile and a half of slippery
road to the Pools’, and had sat ip
Maartje’s warm bright bustling
kitcher for comfort. Where was ad
venture now? And where was life?
And where the love of chance bred in
her by her father?
The two years following Dirk’s birth
were always somewhat vague in Se-
lina’s mind, like a dream in which hor-
“gor and happiness are inextricably
blended. The boy was a plump, har
infant. He had bis father’s blond ex-
terior, his mother’s brunette vivicity.
At two he was a child of average intel-
ligence, sturdy physique and marked
good humor. He almost never cried.
He was just twelve months old
when -Selina’s second child—a girl—
was born dead. Twice during those
two years Pervus fell victim to his so-
called ‘rheumatic attacks following the
early spring planting when he was
often forced to stand In water up to
his ankles. He suffered intensely and
during hig illness was as tractable as
& goaded bull. Selina understood why
half of High Prairie was bent and
twisted with rheumatism—wbhy the
little Dutch Reformed church on Sun-
day mornings resembléd a shrine to
which sick and crippled pilgrims creep.
Selina had been married almost
three years when there came to her a
letter from Julie Hempel, now married.
‘The letter had been sent to the Klaas
Pool farm and Jozina had brought it
to her. Seated on her kitchen steps in
her calico dress she read it.
“Darling Selina :—
“I thought it was so queer that you
didn’t answer imy letter, and now I
know that you must have thought it
queer that I did not answer yours. I
found your letter to me, written long
ago, when I was going over mother’s
things last week. It was the letter
you must have written when I was in
Kansas City. Mother had never given
it to me.
“Mamma died three weeks ago. Last
week I was going over her things—a
trying task, you may imagine—and
there were your two letters addressed
to me. She had never destroyed them.
Poor mamma . , .
“Well, dear Selina, J suppose you
don’t even know that I am married. I
married Michael Arnold of Kansas
City. The Arnolds were in the pack-
ing business there, you know. Michael
has gone into business with pa here in
Chicago and I suppose you have heard
of pa’s success. Just all of a sudden
he began to make a great deal of
money after he left the butcher busi-
ness and went into the yards—the
stock yards, you know. Poor mamma
was so happy these last few years,
and had everything that was beautiful.
I have two children—Eugene and
Pauline. -
“I am getting to be quite a society
person. You would laugh to see me.
I am on the ladies’ entertainment com-
mittee of the World's fair. We are
supposed to entertain all the visiting
big bugs—that is the lady bugs. There!
How is that for a joke?
“I suppose you know about the In-
fanta Eulalie. Of Spain, you know.
And what she did about the Potter
Palmer ball. . . .”
Selina, the letter in her work-
stained hand, looked up and across the
flelds and away to where the prairie
met the sky and closed in on her; her
world. The Infanta Eulalie of Spain.
. + . She went back to the letter.
“Well, she came to Chicago for the
fair and Mrs. Potter Palmer was to
give a huge reception and ball for her.
Mrs. P. is head of the whole commit-
tee, you know, and I must say she
looks queenly with her white hair so
beautifully dressed and her diamond
dog-collar and her black velvet and all.
Well, at the very last minute the In-
fanta refused to attend the ball be-
cause she had Just heard that’ Mrs. P.
was an innkeeper’s wife. Imagine!
The Palmer house, of course.”
Selina, holding the letter in her
hand, imagined.
It was in the third year of Selina's
marriage that she first went into the
She Would Take Dirk With Her Inte
the Fields, Placing Him on a Heap
of Empty Sacks In the Shade.
fields to work. Pervus had protestea
miserably, though the vegetables were
spoiling in the ground.
Selina had regained health and vigor
after two years of wretchedness. She
felt « steel-strong and even hopeful
again, sure sign of physical well-being.
Long before now she had realized that
this time must inevitably come. So
she answered briskly, “Nonsense, Per-
vus. Working in the field’s no harder
than washing or ironing-or scrubbing
or standing over a hot stove in August.
Women's work! Housework's the
hardest werk in the world. That's why
men won't do it.”
She would often take the boy Dirk
with her into the fields, placing him
on a heap of empty sacks in the shade.
He invariably crawled off this lowly
throne to dig and burrow in the warm,
black dirt. He even made as though
to help his mother, pulling at the root-
ed things with futile fingers, and sit-
ting back with a bump when a shallow
root did unexpecieu:y yield to his tug-
ging.
“Look! He's a farmer already,” Per-
vus would say.
So two years went—three years—
four. In the fourth year of Selina’s
marriage she suffered the loss of her
one woman friend in High Prairie.
Maartje Pool died in childbirth, as was
80 often the case in this region where
a Gampish midwife acted as obstretri-
clan, The child, too, had not lived.
Death had not been kind to Maartje
Pool. It had brought neither peace
nor youth to her face, as it often does.
Selina, locking down at the strangely
still figure that had been so active, so
bustling, realized that for the first time
in the years she had known her she
was seeing Maartje Pool at rest. It
seemed incredible that she could lie
there, the infant in her arms, while
the house was filled with people and
there were chairs to be handed, space
to be cleared, food to be cooked and
served. Sitting there with the other
High Prairie women Selina had a
hideous feeling that Maartje would
suddenly rise up and take things in
charge; rub and scratch with capable
fingers the spatters of dried mud on
Klaas Pool’s black trousers (he had
been in the yard to see to the horses);
quiet the loud wailing of Geertje and
Jozina; pass her gnarled hand over
Roelf’s wide-staring eyes. wipe the
film of dust from the parlor table that
had never known a speck during her
regime,
“You can’t run far enough,” Maartje
had said. “Except you stop living you
can’t run away from life.”
Well, she had run far enough this
time.
Roelf was sixteen now, Geertje
twelve, Jozina eleven. What would
this household do now, Selina won-
dered, without the woman who had
been so faithful a slave to it? Who
would keep the pigtalls—no longer
giggling—in clean ginghams and de-
cent square-toed shoes? Who, when
‘Klaas broke out in rumbling’ Dutch
wrath againet what he termed Roelf's
“dumb” ways, would say, “Og, Pool,
leave the boy alone once. He does
nothing.” Who would keep Klaas him-
self in order; cook his meals, wash his
clothes, iron his shirts, take a pride in
the great ruddy childlike giant?
Klaas answered these questions jusu
nine months later by marrying the
Widow Paarlenberg, High Prairie
was rocked with surprise. For months
this marriage was the talk of the dis-
trict. So insatiable was High Prai-
rie’s curiosity that every scrap of
news was swallowed at a gulp. When
the word went round of Roelf’s flight
from the farm, no one knew where,
it served only as sauce to the great
dish of gossip.
Selina had known. Pervus was
away at the market when Roelf had
knocked at the farmhouse door one
night at eight, had turned the knob
and entered, as usual. But there was
nothing of the usual about his appear-
ance. He wore his best suit—his first
suit of store clothes, bought at the
time of his mother’s funeral. It never
had fitted him; now it was grotesquely
small for him. He had shot up amaz-
ingly in the last eight or nine months.
Yet there was nothing of the ridicu-
lous about him as he stood there be-
fore her now, tall, lean, dark. He put
down his cheap yellow suitcase,
“Well, Roelf.”
“] am going away. I couldn't stay.”
She nodded. “Where?”
“Away. Chicago maybe.” He was
terribly moved, so he made his tone
casual. “They came home last night.
I have got some books that belong to
You.” He made as though to open the
suitcase.
“No, no!
“Good-by.” 3
“Good-by, Roelf.” She took the boy's
dark head in her two hands and, stand-
Keep them.”
ing on tiptoe, kissed him. He turned
to go. “Wait a minute. Wait a
minute.” She had a few dollars—in
quarters, dimes, half dollars—perhaps
ten dollars in all—hidden away in a
canister on the shelf. She reached for
it. But when she came back with the
box in her hand he was gone.
Chapter VII
Dirk was eight; Little Sobig DeJong,
in a suit made of bean-sacking sewed
together by his mother. A brown blend
boy with mosquito bites on his legs
and his legs never still. Nothing of the
dreamer about this lad. The one-room
schoolhouse of Selina’s day had been
replaced by a two-story brick struc-
ture, very fine, of which High Prairie
was vastly proud. The rusty iron
stove had been dethroned by a central
heater. Dirk went to school from Oc-
tober until June. Pervus protested
that this was foolish. The boy could
be of great help in the fields from the
beginning of April to the first of No-
vember, but Selina fought savagely
for his schooling, and won.
“Sobig isn't a truck farmer.”
“Well, he will be pretty soon. Tima
I was fifteen I was running our place.”
Verbally: Selina did not combat this.
But within her every force was gather-
ing to fight it when the time should
come. Her Sobig a truck farmer, a
slave to the soil, bent by it; beaten by
it, blasted by it, so that he, in time,
ltke the other men of High Prairie,
would take on. the very look of the
rocks and earth among which they
tolled!
Dirk, at eight, was a none too hand-
some child, considering his father and
mother—-or his father and mother as
they had been. It was not until he
was seventeen or eighteen that he was
to metamorphose suddenly into a
graceful and aristocratic youngster
with an indefinable look about him of
distinction and actual elegance.
Selina was a farm woman now, near
ing thirty. The work rode her as it
had ridden Maartje Pool. In the De-
Jong yard there was always a dado of
washing. ‘aded overalls, a shirt,
socks, a boy's drawers grotesquely
patched and mended, towels of rough
sacking. She, too, rose at four, snatched
up shapeless garments, invested her-
self with them, seized her great coil of
fine cloudy hair, twisted it into a
utilitarian knob and skewered it with
a hairpin from which the varnish had
long departed, leaving it a dull gray;
thrust her slim feet into shapeless
shoes, dabbed her face with cold water,
hurried to the kitchen stove. The work
was always at her heels, its breath hot
on her neck,
Seeing her thus one would have
thought that the Selina Peake of the
wine-red cashmere, the fun-loving dis-
position, the high-spirited courage, had
departed forever. But these things
still persisted. For that matter, even
the wine-red cashmere clung to ex-
istence. So hopelessly old-fashioned
now as to be almost picturesque, it
hung in Selina’s closet like a rose
memory. Sometimes when she came
upon it in an orgy of cleaning she
would pass her rough hands over its
soft folds and by that magic process
Mrs. Pervus DeJong vanished in a
pouf and in her place was the girl
Selina Peake perched a-tiptoe on a
soap box in Adam Ooms’ hall while all
High Prairie, open-mouthed, looked on
as the impecunious Pervus DeJong
threw ten hard-earned dollars at her
feet.
It would be gratifying to be able to
record that in these eight or nine years
Selina had been able to work wonders
on the DeJong farm; that the house
glittered, the crops thrived richly, the
barn housed sleek cattle. But it could
not be truthfully said. True, she had
achieved some changes, but at the cost
of terrific effort.
A less indomitable |
woman would have sunk into apathy !
years before. The house had a coat of
paint—Ilead-gray, because it was cheap-
est. There were two horses—the sec-
ond a broken-down old mare, blind in
one eye, that they had picked up for
five dollars after it had been turned
out to pasture for future sale as horse
carcass. A month of rest and pastur-
age restored the mare to usefulness.
Selina had made the bargain, and Per-
vus had scolded her roundly for it.
Now he drove the mare to market, saw
that she pulled more sturdily than the
other horse, but had never retracted.
It was no quality of meanness in him.
Pervus merely was like that.
But the west sixteen! That had
been Selina’s most heroic achievement.
Her plan, spoken of-to Pervus in the
first month of her marriage, had taken
years to mature; even now was but a
partial triumph. She had even de-
scended to nagging.
“Why don’t we put in asparagus?”
“Asparagus!” considered something
of a luxury, and rarely Included in the
High Prairie truck farmer’s products.
“And wait three years for a crop!”
“Yes, but then we'd have it. And
a plantation’s good for ten years, once
it's started. I've been reading up on it.
The new way is to plant asparagus in’
rows, the way you would rhubarb or
corn. Plant six feet apart, and four
acres anyway.”
He was not even sufficiently inter-
ested to be amused. “Yeh, four acres
where? In the clay land, maybe.” He
did laugh then, if the short bitter
sound he made could be construed as
indicating mirth. “Out of a book.”
“In the clay land,” Selina urged,
crisply. “And out of a book. That
west sixteen isn’t bringing you any-
thing, so what difference does it make
if I am wrong! Let me put my own
money into it, I've thought it all out,
Pervus. Please. We'll underdrain the
clay soil. Just five or six acres. to
start. We'll manure it heavily—as
much as we can afford—and then for
two years we’ll plant potatoes there.
We'll put in our asparagus plants the
third spring—one-year-old seedlings.
I'll promise to keep it weeded—Dirk
and I. He'll be a big boy by that time.
Let me try it, Pervus. Let me try.”
In the end she had her way, partly
because Pervus was toe occupied with
his own endless work to oppose her;
and partly because he was, in his un-
demonstrative way, still in love with
his vivacious, nimble-witted, high-
spirited wife, though to her frantic
goadings and proddings he was as
phlegmatically oblivious as an elephant
to a pin prick.
Though she worked as hard as any
woman in High Prairie, had as little,
dressed as badly, he still regarded her
as a luxury; an exquisite toy which,
in a moment of madness, he had taken
for himself. “Little Lina”—tolerantly,
fondly. You would have thought that
he spoiled her, pampered her. Per-
haps he even thought he did.
That was Pervus. Thrifty, like his
kind, but unlike them in shrewdness.
Penny wise, pound foolish; a charac-
teristic that brought him his death.
September, usually a succession of
golden days and hazy opalescent eve-
nings on the Illinois prairie land, was
disastrously cold and rainy that year.
Pervus’' great frame was racked by
rheumatism. He was forty now, and
over, still of magnificent physique, so
that to see him suffering gave Selina
the pangs of pity that one has at sight
of the very strong or the very weak
in pain. He drove the weary miles to
market three times a week, for Sep-
tember was the last big month of the
truck farmer's season. Selina would
watch him drive off down the road in
the creaking old market wagon, the
green stuff protected by canvas, but
Pervus vet before ever he climbed into
the seat. There never seemed to be
enough waterproof canvas for both.
“pervus, take it off those sacks and
put it over your shoulders.”
“That's them white globe onions
The last of ‘em. I can get a fancy
price for them, but not if they're all
wetted down.”
“Don’t sleep on the wagon tonight,
Pervus. Sleep in. Be sure. It saves
in the end. You know the last time
you were laid up for a week.”
“It'll clear. Breaking now over there
in the west.”
The clouds did break late in the af-
ternoon; the false sun came out hot
and bright. Pervus slept out in the
Haymarket, for the night was close
and humid. At midnight the lake wind
sprang up, cold and treacherous, and
with it came the rain again. Pervus
was drenched by morning, chilled,
thoroughly miserable. A hot cup of
coffee ag four and another at ten when
the rush of trading was over stimu-
lated him but little. When he reached
home it was mid-afternoon. Selina
put him to bed against his half-hearted
protests. Banked him with hot water
Jars, a hot iron wrapped in flannel at
his feet. But later came fever instead
of the expected relief of perspiration.
Ill though he was, he looked more ruddy
and hale than most men in health;
but suddenly Selina, startled, saw
black lines like gashes etched under
his eyes, about his mouth, in his
cheeks.
In a day when pneumonia was
known as lung fever and in a locality
that advised closed windows and hot
air as a remedy, Pervus’ battle was
lost before the doctor's hooded buggy
was seen standing in the yard for long
hours through the night. Toward
morning the doctor had Jan Steen
stable the horse. It was a sultry
night, with flashes of heat lightning in
the west,
“TI should think if you opened the
windows,” Selina said to the old High
Prairie doctor over and over, embold-
ened by terror, “it would help him to
breathe. He—he’s breathing so—he’s
“He—He's Breathing So—" She Could
Not Bring Herself to Say, “So Ter-
ribly.”
She could not bring
“so terribly.” The
preathing so—"
herself to say,
sound of the words wrung her as did |
the sound of his terrible breathing.
* * * LJ » * &
Perhaps the most poignant and
couching feature of the days that fol-
lowed was not the sight of this stricken
giant, lying majestic and aloof in his
unwonted black; nor of the boy Dirk,
mystified but elated, too, with the un-
accustomed stir and excitement; nor
of the shabby little farm that seemed
to shrink and dwindle into further in-
significance beneath the sudden pub-
licity turned upon it. No; it was the
sight of Selina, widowed, but having no
time for decent tears. The farm was
there; it mwst be tended. Illness,
death, sorrow—the garden must be
tended, the vegetables pulled, hauled
to market, sold. Upon the garden de-
pended the boy’s future, and hers.
For the first few days following the
funeral one or another of the neigh-
boring farmers drove the DeJong team
to market, aided the blundering Jan
in the fields. But each had his hands
full with his own farm work. On the
fifth day Jan Steen had to take the
garden truck to Chicago, though not
without many misgivings on Selina’s
part, all of which were realized when
he returned late next day with half the
lead still on his wagon and a sum of
money representing exactly zero in
profits,
Selina was standing in the kitchen
doorway, Jan in the yard with the
team. She turned her face toward the
fields. An observant person (Jan Steen
was not one of these) would have noted
the singularly determined and clear-cut
jaw line of this drably calicoed farm
woman.
“I'll go myself Monday.”
Jan stared. “Go?! Go where, Mon-
day?”
“To market.”
(Continued next week.)
Coast-to-Coast Mail.
In 1850 it took 24 days for a letter
to go from New York to San Francis-
co—three days by rail and 21 days by
stage coach.
Ten years later this time had been
cut to 103 days—two and a half by
rail and eight by pony express.
In 1876 transcontinental delivery
was made in 100 hours, but only by
special train. (The trainmen refused
to run at night). y
Two years ago the time reqiured
was still between 95 and 120 hours by
ordinary mail train, depending on con-
nections.
Last year the debut of the transcon-
tinental air mail gave a 33-hour serv-
ice. As far as mail communication
goes, San Francisco is now no further
from New York than Philadelphia was
a century ago.
r—p ee teen e—
Protection for Firemen.
Last week Governor Pinchot signed
the Miller bill authorizing municipali-
ties to expend money to insure volun-
teer firemen against death or injuries
while going to, returning from, or
while at a fire.
Tre measure simply means that
boroughs are authorized to take out
compensation insurance to protect
volunteer firemen while they are dis-
charging their duties. It will afford
protection to firemen who in the past
have had only what small amount is
allowed by the by-laws of the Relief
association,
FARM NOTES.
—-Shade is necessary to promote
maximum growth in young chick-
ens.
—For the scales: San Jose, oyster
shell, and scurfy, apply the delayed
dormant spray to apple trees. Use
lime-sulphur that tests 1.03 specific
gravity for the spraying.
—Continue feeding grain and hay to
dairy cows when first turned into pas-
ture. Early grass is very watery and
cows will lose in flesh and decrease in
milk flow unless given some supple-
mentary foods.
. —Keep the porkers in comfort dur-
ing the summer months with protec-
tion from lice. Crude oil or crank
case drainings will do the trick. Ap-
ply it by hand with waste, or saturate
pieces of burlap wrapped on the rub-
bing posts.
—Give the younger pigs a chance
to get a square meal in the feed lot by
providing a trough separate from that
used by the bigger porkers. Fighting
for one’s meals is not conducive to
good digestion even if something to
eat is secured.
—The choice of a herd sire may
make or break a man in the dairy bus-
Iness, say dairy specialists of The
Pennsylvania State College. The fu-
ture herd is dependent upon influenc-
€s In operation now. Choose the
herd sire carefully from producing an-
cestry.
—Practically every county in the
tate has Canada tone More
complaints are received about this:
weed than any other. Weed Leaflet.
No. 2, sent free upon request to the
Agricultural Publications Office, State:
College, Pa., describes this pest and
tells how to eradicate it.
.—There are many uses for the Nar-
cissus bulbs as is evidenced by the
many locations in which they are
found. One of the most effective is
among perennials and in the fore-
ground of plantings. Select this
spring while they are in bloom those
that you will plant next fall.
. —Insects pests are very destruectiv
in the home gardens. Small nnd
hand dusters should be on hand to
greet any invasion of plant lice, cu-
cumber beetles or other small insect
pests. Prepared nicotine dust, which
can be bought in small quantities in
air-tight cans, is a great aid in bat-
tling some of these pests.
—OId lawns should be carefully
gone over. Unsightly depressions
that cannot be removed by rolling
may be eliminated by lifting the sod,
filling with good soil and replacing
the sod. Where this is not practiced,
fine loam to a depth of not more than
three inches may be spread over the
existing lawn and the surface seeded.
The existing grass will force its way
through the new soil.
—Treating oats to prevent smut
often means the difference between a
good crop and a poor one. Mix one
pint of formaldehyde with one pint of
water. This will treat 50 bushels of
grain. Spray the solution on the
grain as it is being shoveled over, tak-
ing care that the mist is well distrib-
uted. One stroke of a hand sprayer
gives enough mist for each shovelful
of grain. When all the grain is treat-
ed shovel into a pile and carefully
cover for five hours. Sow immedi-
ately or allow to air thoroughly before
stacking or storing in bins. Disinfect
sack, bins, or drills with the same
strength solution.
—PFruit production can be increased
greatly with the aid of fertilizers—
sometimes to the extent of 1,000 per
cent. Experiments show that with-
out fertilizer each tree produced 60.1
pounds of apples; with the use of four
pounds of sulphate of ammonia per
tree, the orchard averaged 233.6
pounds of apples per tree; with five
pounds of nitrate of soda per tree,
209.2 bounds of fruit; with ten pounds
of acid phosphate per tree, 209.1
pounds of fruit, and with a complete
fertilizer, consisting of four pounds of’
sulphate ammonia, five pounds of acid
phosphate and three pounds of muri-
ate of potash per tree, 403 pounds of
fruit per tree. The cost of apples per
100 pounds with four pounds of sul-
phate of ammonia per tree was 16.1
cents; with five pounds of nitrate of
soda, 21.3 cents; with ten pounds of
acid phosphate, 16.8 cents, and with
sevenieen pounds of complete fertil-
izer 20.6 cents.
—Bearing grape vines must be
pruned every year if a profitable yield
is to be secured.
This work is usually done while the:
vines are still dormant, advises J. H.
Clark, instructor in fruit growing at
the New Jersey State College of Ag-
riculture. “A heavy pruning is neces-
sary to stimulate vigorous wood
growth, to keep the plant within
bounds, and to leave only as many
buds as can produce good-sized clus-
rs.
“The amount of old wood left at
pruning time should be no more than
is necessary to act as a support to the
producing canes. In the Kniffen sys-
tem of training, which is recommend-
ed for New Jersey, a single trunk ex-
tends to the top wire of the two-wire:
trellis. - Four vigorous, one year old
canes, a little above the average in
length and starting as near the trunk
as possible, are selected to produce
the crop. These should be so located
that one cane can be tied in each di-
rection along each wire. Each of
these canes is cut back to eight or ten
buds, depending on the vigor of the
vine, making a total of 32 to 40 buds
on the entire plant. ;
“This number of buds distributed
over four canes will produce more
fruit than the same number of buds
on spurs, each bearing only two to:
four buds. Since the canes which bear
fruit one year are removed the next,
some provision must be made for re-
newal. This is provided for by select-
ing four other canes as close as pos-
sible to where renewal canes will be
wanted a year later, and cutting them
back to spurs of two buds each. All
remaining canes are then removed en-
tirely. :
“These recommendations can easily
be applied to other systems of train-
ing. The removal of as much old
wood as possible and keeping 30 to 40
buds on four or five one year old canes:
to produce the crop are the essential
points.”