' SO
BIG
[= EDNA
FERBER
Copyright by
Doubleday, Page & Co.
WNU Service,
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS
Cn —Introducing “So B
fr Gn BT
Pood ta "Chs
% gambler and gentleman
er life, to young woman-
cago in 1888, has been un-
oonventio somewhat seamy, but
generally enjoyable. school her
t
chum is Julle bet daughter of
Hempel, butcher. Simeon is
n a quarrel that is not his own,
ne, nineteen years old and
Sally destitute, becomes a school-
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,
laas Pool. In Roelf, twelve years
1d, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a
- néred spirit, a lover of beauty, like
©.
fan
rao!
CHAPTER IIL.—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
ooncerning the affection of the “Widow
Paarjenberg, rich and good-looking,
for Pervus DeJong, poor truck farmer,
who is insensible to the widow's at-
tions. For a community “sociable”
elina prepares a lunch basket, dainty,
ut not of ample proportions, which is
“auctioned,” according to custom, The
tes deri-
gion, 884 &f S33 "A,
ossip
of fu e bidding
comes spirited, DeJong finall gecur-
ing it for $10, a ridiculously h price.
Over their lunch basket, whic elina
and DeJong share together, the school-
teacher arranges to instruct the good-
Jarured farmer, whose education has
en neglected.
CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in their
EoRtions of “teacher” and “pupil,” and
lina’s loneliness in her uncongenial
urroundings, lead to mutual affection.
ervus DeJong wins Selina’s consent
to be his wife.
CHAPTER VI.—Selina becomes Mrs.
Delong, a “farmer's wife,” with all the
hardships unavoidable at that time.
Dirk is born. Selina (of Vermont
stock, businesslike and shrewd) has
plans for building up the farm, which
are ridiculed by her husband. Maartje
Pool, Klaas’ wife, dies, and after the
requisit@ decent interval Klaas marries
the “Widow Paarlenberg.” The boy
Roelf, sixteen years old now, leaves
his home, to make his way to France
and study, his ambition being to be-
come a sculptor.
At this seeming pleasantry Jan Si{een
smiled uncertainly, shrugged his si:onl-
RJ
ders, and was off to the barn. She
was always saying things that didn’t
make sense. His horror and unbelief
were shared by the rest of High Prairie
- when on Monday Selina literally took
the reins in her own slim work-scarred
handes.
“To market!” argued Jan as excited-
ly ss his phlegmatic nature would per-
mit. “A woman she don’t go to market.
A woman—"
“This woman does.” Selina had
risen at three in the morning. Not
only that, she had got Jan up, grum-
bling. Dirk had joined them in the
fields at five. Together the three of
them hed pulled and bunched a wggon
load. “Size them,” Sell’ . ordered. as
they started to bunch radishes, beets,
turnips, carrots. “And don't leave
them loose like that. Tie them tight at
the heads, like this. Twice around
with the string, and through. Make
bouquets of them, not bunches. And
we're going to scrub them.”
Selina, scrubbing the carrots vigor-
ously under the pump, thought they
emerged from their unaccustomed bath
looking like clustered spears of pure
gold. Jan, by now, was sullen with
bewilderment. He refused to believe
that she actually intended to carry out
her plan. A woman—a High Prairie
farmer's wife—driving to market like
a man! Alone at night in the market
place—or at best in one of the cheap
rooming houses! By Sunday somehow,
mysteriously, the news had filtered
through the district. A fine state of
things, and she a widow of a week!
High Prairie called at the DeJong
farm on Sunday afternoon and was
told that the widow was over in the
wet west sixteen, poking about with
the boy Dirk at her heels.
By Monday afternoon the parlor cur-
tains of every High Prairie farmhouse
that faced the Halsted road were agi-
tated -as though by a brisk wind be-
tween the hours of three and five, when
the market wagons were to be seen
moving toward Chicago.
Selina, having loaded the wagon in
the yard, surveyed it with more sparkle
in her eye than High Prairie would
bave approved in a widow of little
more than a week. They had picked
and bunched only the best of the late
“crop. Selina stepped back and re-
garded the riot of crimson and green,
of white and gold and purple.
“Aren't they beautiful! Dirk, aren’t
they beautiful!”
Dirk, capering in his excitement at
the prospect of the trip before him,
shook his head impatiently.
“I don’t know what you mean. Let's
go, mother. Aren't we going now?
You sald as soon as the load was on.”
“Oh, Sobig, you're just exactly like
your—" She stopped,
“Like my what?”
“We'll go now, son. There's cold
meat for your supper, Jan, and pota-
TA
{4
2)
\
toes all sliced for frying and half an
apple pie left from noon. You ought
to get in the rest of the squash and
pumpkins by evening. Maybe I can
sell the lot instead of taking them in
by the load. I'll see a commission
man, Take less, if I have to.”
She had dressed the boy in his home-
made suit cut down from one of his
father’s. He wore a wide-brimmed
straw hat which he hated. Selina her-
self, in a full-skirted black-stuff dress,
mounted the wagon agilely, took up the
reins. jooked down at the boy seated
beside her, clucked to the horses. Jan
Steen gave vent to a final outraged
bellow.
“Never in my life did I hear of such
a thing!”
Selina turned the horses’ heads
toward the city. “You'd be surprised,
Jan, to know of all the things you're
going to hear of some day that you've
never heard of before.”’ Still, when
twenty years had passed and the Ford.
the phonograph, the radio, and the
rural mail delivery had dumped the
world at Jan’s plodding feet he liked
to tell of that momentous day when
Selina DeJong had driven off to market
like a man with a wagon load of hand-
scrubbed garden truck and the boy
Dirk perched beside her on the seat.
If, then, you had been traveling the
Halsted road, you would have seen a
decrepit wagon, vegetable laden, driven
by a too-thin woman, sallow, bright-
eyed, in a shapeless black dress, a bat-
tered black felt hat that looked like
a man’s old “fedora” and probably
was. On the seat beside her you
would have seen a farm boy of nine or
thereabouts—a brown freckle-faced lad
in a comically home-made suit of
clothes and a straw hat with a broken
and flopping brim which he was for-
ever jerking off only to have it set
firmly on again by the woman who
seemed to fear the effects of the hot
afternoon sun on his close-cropped
head,
_ At. their feet was the dog Pom, a
mongrel whose tail bore no relation to
his head, whose ill-assorted legs ap-
peared wholly at variance with his
sturdy barrel of a body. He dozed
now, for it had been his duty to watch
the wagon load at night, while Pervus
slept.
A shabby enough little outfit, but
magnificent, too. Here was Selina De-
Jong, driving up the Halsted road
toward the city instead of sitting,
black-robed, in the farm parlor while
High Prairie came to condole. In Se-
lina, as they jogged along the hot
dusty way, there welled up a feeling
very like elation. More than ten years
ago she had driven with Klaas Pool up
that same road for the first time, and
in spite of the recent tragedy of her
father’s death, her youth, her loneli-
ness, the terrifying thought of the
new home to which she was going, a
“stranger among strangers, she had
been conscious of a warm little thrill
of elation, of excitement—of adven-
ture! That was it. “The whole thing's
just a grand adventure,” her father,
Simeon Peake, had said. And now the
sensations of that day were repeating
themselves. Now, as then, she took
stock. Youth was gone, but she had
health, courage; a boy of nine; twenty-
five acres of wornout farm land;
dwelling and outhouses in a bad state
of repair; and a gay adventuresome
spirit that was never to die, though it
led her Into curious places and she
often found, at the end, only a.track-
less waste from which she had to re-
trace her steps painfully. Put always,
to her, red and green cabbages were to
be jade and burgundy, chrysoprase and
porphyry. Life hag no weapons against
a woman like that.
Down thie hot dusty country road.
She was serious enough now. The cost
of the funeral to be paid. The doctor's
bill, Jar» wages. All the expenses,
large and small, of the poor little farm
holding.
On down the road. Here a head at a
front room window. There a women’s
calicoed figure standing in the door
way. Mrs. Vander Sijde on the porch,
fanning her flushed face with her
apron; Cornelia Snip in the yard pre-
tending to tie up the drooping stalks
of the golden glow and eyeing the ap-
proaching team with the avid gossip’s
gaze. To these Selina waved, bowed,
called.
“How d'you do, Mrs. Vander Sijde!”
A prim reply to this salutation. Dis-
approval writ large on the farm-wife's
flushed face.
“Hello, Cornelia!”
A pretended start, notable for its bad
acting. “Oh, is it you, Mrs. DeJong!
Sun’s in my eyes. I couldn’t think it
was you like that.”
Women’s eyes, hostile, cold, peering.
Five o'clock. Six. The boy climbed
over the wheel, filled a tin pail with
water at a farmhouse well. They ate
and drank as they rode along, for there
was no time to lose, |. _ _
The boy had started out bravely.
enough in the heat of the day, sitting
up very straight beside his mother,
calling to the horses, shrieking and
waving his arms at chickens that flew
squawking across the road. Now he
began to droop.
“Sleepy, Sobig?
“No. Should say not.” His lids
were heavy. She wrapped the old
black fascinator about him. In the
twilight the dust gleamed white on
weeds, and brush, and grass. The far-
off mellow sonance of a cowbell.
Horses’ hoofs clopping up behind them,
a wagon passing in a cloud of dust, a
curious backward glance, or a greeting
exchanged. : :
One of the Ooms boys, or Jakob
Boomsma. “You're never going to mar-
ket, Mis’ DeJong!” staring with china-
blue eyes at her load.
“Yes, I am, Mr. Boomsma.”
“That ain't work for a woman, Mis’
DeJong. You better stay home and let
the men folks go.”
Selina’s men folks looked up at her
—one with the asking eyes of a child.
one with the trusting eyes of a dog.
“My men folks are going,” answered
Selina. But then, they had always
thought her a little queer, so it didn't
matter much.
She urged the horses on, refusing to
confess to herself her dread of the
destination which they weré approach-
ing. Lights now, In the houses along | .
the way, and those houses closer to-
gether. The boy siept. Night had
come an» ;
The figure of the woman drooped a
little now as the old wagon creaked
on toward Chicago. A very small fig-
ure in the black dress and a shawl over
her shoulders. She had taken off her
old black felt hat. The breeze ruffled
her hair that was fine and soft, and it
made a little halo about the white face
that gleamed almost luminously in the
darkness as she turned it up toward
the sky.
“I'll sleep out with Sobig in the
wagon. It won't hurt “either of us.
It will be warm in town, there in the
Haymarket. Twenty-five cents—maybe
fifty for the two of us, in the rooming
house. Fifty cents just to sleep. It
takes hours of work in the fields to
make fifty cents.”
She drove along in the dark, a dowdy
farm woman in shapeless garments;
just a bundle on the rickety seat of
a decrepit truck wagon. The lights of
the city came nearer. She was think-
ing clearly, if disconnectedly, without
bitterness, without reproach.
“My father was wrong. He said that
life was a great adventure—a fine
show. He said the more things that
happen to you the richer you are, even
if they're not pleasant things. That's
living, he sald. No matter what hap-
pens to you, good or bad, it’s just so
much—what wag that word he used?
—s0 much—oh, yes—‘velvet.’ Just so
much velvet. Well, it isn’t true. He
had brains, and charm, and knowleilge
and he died in a gambling house, shot
while looking on at someone else who
was to have been killed. . . . Now
we're on the cobblestones. Will Dirk
wake up? My little So Big. . .. No,
he's asleep. Asleep on a pile of po-
tato sacks because his mother thought
that life was a grand adventure—a
fine show—and that you took it as it
came. A lie! I've taken it as it came
and made the best of it. That isn’t
the way. You take the best, and make
the most of it. . . . Thirty-fifth
street, that was. Another hour and a
half to reach the Haymarket. . . .
I'm not afraid. After all, you just sell
your vegetables for what you can get.
Well, it's going to be different
with him, I mustn't call him Sobig any
more. He doesn’t like it. Dirk. That's
a fine name. Dirk DeJong. . . . Neo
drifting along for him, I'll see that he
starts with a plan, and follows it.
He'll have every chance, Every chance.
Too late for me, now, but he'll be dif-
ferent. . . .. Twenty-second street
vas tu Twelfth, ..7. .. iLook at: all
the people! . .. I'm enjoying this.
No use denying it. I’m enjoying this.
Just as I enjoyed driving along with
Klaas Pool that evening, years and
years ago. Scared, but enjoying ft.
Perhaps 1 oughtn’t to be—but that’s
hypocritical and sneaking. Why not,
if I really do enjoy it! I'll wake
him. . . . Dirk! Dirk, we're al-
most there. Look at all the people,
and the lights. We're almost there.”
The boy awoke, raised himself from
his bed of sacking, looked about,
blinked, sank back again and curled
into "a ball. “Don’t want to see the
Nghts. . .'.'penple. . .'
He was asleep again. Selina guided
the horses skillfully through the down-
town streets. They were within two
blocks of the Haymarket, on Ran-
dolph street.
“Dirk! Come, now. Come up here
with mother.” Grumbling, he climbed
to the seat, yawned, smacked his lips,
rubbed his knuckles into his eyes.
Soon he was awake, and looking
about him interestedly. They turned
into the Haymarket, The wagons were
streaming in from the German truck
farms that lay to the north of Chicago
as well as from the Dutch farms that
lay to the southwest, whence Selina
came. Fruits and vegetables—tons of
it—acres of it—plled in the wagons
that blocked the historic square.
Through this little section, and South
Water street that lay to the east, passed
all the verdant growing things that fed
Chicago’s millions. Something of this
came to Selina as she maneuvered her
way through the throng. She felt a
little thrill of significance, of achieve-
ment. She knew the spot she wanted
for lier own. It was just across the
way from Chris Spanknoebel’s restau-
rant, rooming house, and saloon. Chris
knew her; had known Pervus for years
and his father before him; would be
kind to her and the boy In case of
need.
———
excited. He called to the horses;
Stood up in the wagon ; but clung closer
to her as they found themselves in the
thick of the melee.
“Here’s a good place, mother. Here!
There's a dog on that wagon like Pom.”
Pom, hearing his name, stood up,
looked into the boy's face, quivered,
wagged a nervous tail, barked sharply.
“Down, Pom! Quiet, Pom!” She did
not want to attract attention to herself
and the boy. It was still early. She
had made excellent time. Pervus had
often slept in snatches as he drove into
town and the horses had lagged, but
Selina had urged them on tonight.
Halfway down the block Selina espied
the place she wanted. From the oppo-
site direction came a truck farmer's
cart obviously making for the same
stand. For the first time that night
Selina drew the whip out of its socket
and clipped sharply her surprised nags.
With a start and a shuffle they broke
into an awkward lope. Ten seconds
too late the German farmer perceived
her intention, whipped up his own tired
team, arrived at the spot just as Se-
lina, blocking the way, prepared to
back into the vacant space.
“Heh, get out of there you—" he
roared; then. for the first time, per-
ceived in the dim light of the street
that his rival was a woman. He fal-
tered. stared open-mouthed, tried other
tactics, “You can't go in there,
missus.”
‘Oh, yes, 1 ean.”
team’ dexterously.
“Yes, we can!” shouted Dirk in an
attitude of fierce belligerence.
“Where's your man?’ demanded the
defeated driver, glaring.
“Here,” replied Selina; put her hand
on Dirk’s head.
The other, preparing to drive on, re-
ceived this with incredulity. He as-
sumed the existence of a husband in
the neighborhood—at Chris Spanknoe-
bel’s probably, or talking prices with a
friend at another wagon when he
should be here attending to his own.
In the absence of this, her natural pro-
tector, he relieved his disgruntled feel-
ings as he gathered up the reins.
“Woman ain't got no business here in
Haymarket, anyway. Better you're
home night time in your kitchen where
you belong.”
This admonition, so glibly mouthed
by so many people in the past few
days, now was uttered once too often.
Selina’s nerves snapped.
“Don’t talk to me like that, you great
stupid! What good does it do a wom-
an to stay home In her kitchen if
she’s going to starve there, and her
boy with her! Staying home in my
kitchen won’t earn me any money. I'm
She backed her
“I'm Here to Sell the Vegetables |
Helped Raise. Get Out of My Way,
Youl”
aere to sell the vegetables I helpea
raise and I'm going to do it. Get out
of my way, you!”
Now she clambered over the wagon
wheel to unhitch the tired horses. It is
impossible to tell what interpretation
the dumfounded north-sider put upon
her movements. Certainly he had
nothing to fear from this small gaunt
creature with the blazing eyes. Never-
theless as he gathered up his reins ter-
ror was writ large on his rubicund
face.
“Teufel! What a woman!” Was
off in a clatter of wheels and hoofs on
the cobblestones.
Selina unharnessed swiftly. “You
stay here, Dirk, with Pom. Mother’ll
be back in a minute.” She marched
down the street driving the horses to
the barns where, for twenty-five cents,
the animals were to be housed in more
comfort than their owner.
She was back soon. “Come, Dirk.”
“Are we going to sleep here!” He
was delighted.
“Right here, all snug in the hay, like
campers.”
The boy lay down, wriggling, laugh-
ing. “Like gypsies. Ain't it, mom?”
“Isn't it, Dirk—not ain't it.” The
school teacher.
She lay down beside him. put one
arm around him and drew him to her,
close. And suddenly he was asleep,
deeply. The street became quieter.
The talking and laughter ceased. The
lights were dim at Chris Spanknoebel's.
Selina lay looking up at the sky.
There were no tears in her eyes. She
was past tears. She thought, “Here
I am, Selina Peake, sleeping in a
wagon, in the straw, like a dog with
its puppy snuggled beside it. I was
going to be like Jo in Louisa Alcott’s
book. How terribly long it is going to
be until morning, , ... I must try
to sleep. . . . 1 must try to
sleep. . . ,.”
fast.
| for the day, and a deceptive.
She did - sleep, miraculously. As
she lay there, the child in her arms,
asleep, peace came to the haggard face,
relaxed the tired limbs. Much like an-
other woman who had lain in the straw
with her child in her arms almost twe
thousand years before.
Chapter VIII
It would be enchanting to be able
to record that Selina, next day, had
phenomenal success, disposing of her
carefully bunched wares to great ad-
vantage, driving smartly off up Hal-
sted street toward High Prairie with
a goodly profit jingling in her scuffed
leather purse. The truth is that she
had a day so devastating, so catas-
trophic, as would have discouraged
most men and certainly any womap
'ess desperate and determined.
She had awakened, not to daylight,
but to the three o'clock blackness. The
street was already astir. Selina
brushed her skirt to rid it of the cling-
ing hay, tidied herself as best she
could. Leaving Dirk still asleep, she
called Pom from beneath the wagon
to act as sentinel at the dashboard, and
erossed the street to Chris Spank-
noebel’s. She knew Chris, and he her.
He would let her wash at the faucet
at the rear of the eating house. She
would buy hot coffee for herself and
Dirk to warm and revivify them. They
would eat the sandwiches left from the
night before.
AS”Sélina entered the long room
there wis something heartening, reas
suring about Chris’ clean white apron,
his ruddy color. From the kitchen at
the rear came the sounds of sizzling
and frying, and the gracious scent of
coffee and of frying pork and pots-
toes.
Selina approached Chris. His round
face loomed out through the smoke
like the sun in a fog. “Well, how goes
it all the while?” Then he recognized
her. “Um Gottes!—why, it's Mis’ De-
Jong!” He wiped his great hand on
a convenient towel, extended it in
sympathy to the widow. “I heerd,” he
said, “I heerd.” His inarticulateness
made his words doubly effective,
“I've come in with the load, Mr.
Spanknoebel. The boy and I. He's still
asleep In the wagon. May I bring him
over here to clean him up a little be-
fore breakfast?”
“Sure! Sure!” A sudden suspicion
struck him. “You ain’t slept in the
wagon, Mis’ DeJong! Um Gottes!—"
“Yes. It wasn’t bad. The boy slept
the night through. I slept, too, quite
a little”
“Why you didn’t come here? Why—"
At the look in Selina’s face he knew
then. “For nothing you and the boy
could sleep here.”
“I knew that! That's why.”
“Don’t talk dumb, Mrs. DeJong.
Half the time the rooms is vacant. You
and the boy chust as well—twenty
cents, then, and pay me when you got
it. But anyway you don’t come in
reg'lar with the load, do you? That
ain't for womans.” .
“There's no one to do it for me, ex-
cept Jan. And he’s worse than no-
body. Just through September and
October. After that, maybe—” Her
voice trailed off. It is hard to be
hopeful at three in the morning, before
breakfast.
She went to the little wash room at
the rear, felt better immediately she
had washed vigorously, combed her
hair. She returned to the wagon to
find a panic-stricken Dirk sure of noth-
ing but that he had been deserted by
his mother. Fifteen minutes later the
two were seated at a table on whieh
was spread what Chris Spank-
noebel considered an adequate break-
A heartening enough beginning
The Haymarket buyers did not want
to purchase its vegetables from Selina
DeJong. It wasn't used to buying of
women, but to selling to them.
Selina had taken the covers off her
vegetables. They were revealed crisp,
fresh, colorful. But Selina knew they
must be sold now, quickly. When the
leaves began to wilt, when the edges
of the caulifiower heads curled ever
so slightly, turned brown and limp,
their value decreased by half, even
though the heads themselves remained
white and firm.
Down the street came the buyers—
little black-eyed swarthy men; plump,
short-sleeved, greasy men; shrewd, to-
bacco-chewing men In overalls. Stolid
red Dutch faces, sunburned. Lean, dark
foreign faces. Shouting, clatter, tur-
moll.
The day broke warm. The sun rose
red. It would be a humid September
day sueia as frequently came in the
autumn to this lake region. Garden
stuff would have to move quickly this
morning. Afternoon would find it
worthless.
The peddiers locked at her bunched
bouquets, glanced at her, passed her
by. It was pot unkindness that
prompted them, but a certain shyness,
a fear of the unaccustomed. Her
wares were tempting but they passed
her by with the instinct that the ig-
norant have against that which is un-
usual,
By nine o'clock trading began to fall
off. In a panic Selina realized that
the sales she had made amounted to
little more than two dollars. If she
stayed there until noon she might
double that, but no more. In despera-
tion she harnessed the horses, thread-
ed her way out of the swarming street,
and made for South Water street
farther east. Here were the commis-
sion houses. She knew that Pervus
had sometimes left his entire load with
an established dealer here, to be sold
on commission. She remembered the
name—Talcott—though she did not
kaow the exact location,
(Continued next week.)
——Get the Watchman if you want
the local news.
FARM NOTES.
—Out of the 202,250 farms in Penn-
sylvania 8,255 are owned by women.
—Keep the calves growing. They
are the future herd. Size, vigor, and
early maturity will thus be realized
and profits in dairying increased.
—Do not hold the broilers too long.
The supply is now increasing and the
price consequently decreasing. Addi-
tional weight is put on, therefore, at
great expense.
—Pennsylvania’s horse supply is
gradually decreasing, both in quality
and quantity. Why not plan to have
a few well bred foals next year?
They will be needed.
—Weeds killed when they are small
never worry any farmer. It is those
which escape early cultivation that re-
quire greater effort for eradication or
eventually bear seed for the weed
crops of following years. “Spare no
Weed” should be the farmer's slogan.
—Spray early and late to control
the aphis on ornamentals. Use nico-
tine or oil sprays. Also try to burn
all the tent caterpillar masses to be
found on the place. A torch for this
use can be made with a burlap bag
dipped in oil and tied to a long pole.
—Have you put a red ring around
June 18 on the calendar? It deserves
such a mark because itis Farmers”
Field day at The Pennsylvania State
College. It is a red letter day for
Keystone farmers. Judging contests,
sales, demonstrations, games, picnics,
and many other events will make it a
real day for all.
—Seven-tenths of one per cent., or
3,632 horses, in Pennsylvania are pure
bred; 5.8 per cent. or 81,290, of the
cattle pure bred; 3.1 per cent., or 15,-
781 sheep pure bred, and 2.9 per cent.,
or 34,775 swine pure bred. On a per-
centage basis, Pennsylvania is ex-
celled in pure bred live stock only by
Nev York and the New England
S.
. —Farmers in Pennsylvania are buy-
ing more high grade fertilizer each
year, according to the Pennsylvania
Department of Agriculture which reg-
isters the brands and issues licenses
for fertilizer sold in the State. The
registrations received and accepted
for 1925 by the Bureau of Foods and
Chemistry have numbered to date 835
different brands covered by 96 licens-
es. The tendency for 1925 is in favor
of an increasing proportion of sales
of high grade mixed fertilizers over
tke low grade brand, states James W.
Kellogg, chief chemist. Reports from
fertilizer dealers covering the amount
of fertilizer sold in 1924, while incom-
plete for the total year, show likewise
that approximately 60 per cent. more
of the high grade brands of mixed fer-
tilizer was sold during the year than
low grade ones.
—This is the best time of the rear
to look for the tent caterpillar 2 kind
later feeds heavily upon the foliage of"
shade trees, according to entomolo-
gists in the Pennsylvania Department
of Agriculture.
Last year this insect was especially
prevalent in southeastern Pennsylva-
nia. These egg masses are usually
found on wild cherry and apple though
they may often be found on. many”
other plants. They are recognized as
a mass of eggs thickly set together
around a limb about the diameter of a
lead pencil. The masses should be cut
off and burned, otherwise each mass:
will produce about 800 caterpillars in
March or April. Every. egg mass de-
stroyed greatly decreases the number
of caterpillars which will later feed on
the foliage of shade trees and make
their characteristic “tents.”
Further information can be secur-
ed by writing the Department of Ag-
riculture and asking for bulletin No.
120 which gives an interesting discus-
sion of this insect.
—Frost is a condensation of moist-
ure on plants in the shape of minute
ice crystals. A clear, still night is apt
to be frosty, but frost may be pre-
vented by winds, which stir up the air
and prevent it forming in layers..
Clouds act as a blanket to the layers:
of air just above the earth and retain:
the heat.
Anything that will serve as a blan-
ket to assist the earth and plants to
hold the heat they have absorbed dur-
ing the day will tend to prevent frost..
This blanket may be water vapor, a
heavy cloud of smoke or coverings of’
straw, boards, earth, etc.
Orchards are frequently treated to:
smudges, created by using bags of
manure. The manure is tightly pack-
ed into bags and these distributed
through the orchard so as to be ready
for use if needed. When frost threat-
ens kerosene is poured on the bag and’
it is set on fire. It will burn slowly,
giving off a dense smoke and adding
moisture to the air, which will assist.
in forming an effective blanket.
—Too many varieties of wheat, lack
of uniformity in milling, and the con-
sequent preference of bakers for a.
western milled flour, are the principal
handicaps that the Pennsylvania.
wheat grower must overcome when he:
puts his wheat on the market, accord-
ing to the Pennsylvania Department:
of Agriculture.
After making an investigation of
the method in which wheat grown on
Pennsylvania farms has been mar-
keted during the past three years,
George A. Stuart, in charge of the
grain standardization work of the Bu--
reau of Markets, believes that the pro-
duction of this essential crop will not
return maximum profits to the Penn-
sylvania producer until certain condi-
tions, characteristic of the present
marketing system, are corrected.
These are the principal marketing
factors that now operate against the
wheat grower’s interests:
First—Farmers are growing too
many different varieties of wheat to
give uniform results in milling.
Second—Millers are not paying a
premium for quality and are not buy-
ing by grade nor storing by grade;
consequently, they are not milling a
uniform flour.
Third—Because uniform flour is not
being milled, bakers turn away from
the flour made from Pennsylvania
grown wheat and purchase their sup-
plies from the large mills in the Mid-
dle West.
Fourth—Since bakers do not use
the Pennsylvania milled fleur, this:
flour must find a market in the export
; trade or be shipped to other States.