ILLUSTRATIONS
BY CLARK AGNEW,
Copyright b,
Doubs ght BY Ce.
WNU Service,
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS
APTEBR §i2hirogucing “So Big”
k DeJong) in his infancy. And his
ther, Selina DeJong, daughter of
meon Peake, gambler and gentleman
$ rune er life, to young woman-
in Chicago in 1888, has been un-
conventional, somewhat seamy, but
generally piloyakis, t school her
Chum ie Sulle, Hempe eay hter of
8 empel, mecn is
EE tn a quarrel that is not his own,
and Selina, nineteen years old and
Tactically destitute, becomes a school-
ras er.
butcher.
CHAPTER II—Selina secures a posi-
tion as teacher at the High Prairie
hool, in the outskirts of Chicago,
living at the home of a truck farmer,
laas Pool. In Roelf, twelve years
1d, son of Klaas, Selina perceives a
j5ares spirit, a lover of beauty, like
reelf.
CHAPTER II1.—The monotonous life
of a country school-teacher at that
ime, is Selina’'s, brightened somewhat
y the companionship ot the sensitive,
artistic boy Roelf.
CHAPTER IV.—Selina hears gossip
ncerning the affection of the “Widow
Be rich and good-looking,
for Pervus DeJong, poor truck farmer.
who is insensible to the widow's at-
ractions. For a community “sociable”
elina Jrepares a lunch basket, dainty,
ut not of ample proportions, which Is
“auctioned,” according to custom. The
Soannes f the hineh 23 a:
sion, and in a pen un t, n
Jecom 8 spir, ted, Fone aig ROE
ng it for §10, a ridiculously high price.
Over their lunch basket, whic elina
and DeJong share together, the schoo]-
teacher arranges to instruct the good-
patyred farmer, whose education has
een neglect
OE
CHAPTER V.—Propinquity, in thelr
eitions of “teacher” and ‘pupil,” and
elina’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) har
plans for building up the farm, which
are ridiculed by her husband. Maartje
Pool, Klaas’ wife, dies, and after the
requisite decent interval Klaas marries
the “Widow Paarlenberg.” The boy
Roelf, sixteen years old now, leaves
his home, to make his way to France
@nd study, his ambition being to be-
oome a sculptor.
CHAPTER VIL-—Dirk is eight years
old when his father dies. Selina, faced
with the necessity of making a living
for her boy and herself. rises to the
occasion, and, with Dirk, takes a truck-
Joad of vegetables to the Chicago mar-
ket. A woman selling in the market
place is an innovation frowned upon.
CHAPTER VIIL.—As a disposer of
the vegetables from her truck Selina is
a flat failure, buyers being shy of
dealing with her. To a commission
dealer she sells part of her stock. On
the way home she peddles from door
to door, with indifferent success. A
oliceman demands her license. She
as none, and Suring the ensuing alter-
cation Selina's girlhood chum, Julie
Hempel, now Julie Arnold, recognizes
er.
CHAPTER IX.—August Hempel, risen
to prominence and wealth in the busi-
ness world, arranges to assist Selina
in making the farm something more of
a jayne proposition. Selina grate-
fully accepts his help, for Dirk's sake.
“You want to drain and tile. Plant
high-grade stuff. You got to have a
man on the place that knows what's
what, not this Rip Van Winkle we saw
in the cabbage field. New horses. A
wagon. 1 will get you the horses, a
bargain, at the yards.” He took out a
‘long flat check book. ‘He began writ-
ing in it with a pen that he took from
his pocket—some sort of marvelous
pen that seemed already filled with
Ink and that you unscrewed at the top
and then screwed at the bottom. He
squinted through his cigar smoke, the
check book propped on his knee. He
tore off the check with a clean rip.
“For a starter,” he said. He held it
out to Selina.
“There now!” exclaimed Julie, in
triumphant satisfaction. That was
more like it. Doing something.
But Selina did not take the check.
She sat very still in her chair, her
hands folded. “That isn't the regular
way,” she said.
August Hempel was screwing the top
on his fountain pen again. “Regular
way? for what?”
“I'm borrowing this money, not tak-
ing it. Oh, ges, I am! I couldn't get
along without it. I realize that now,
after yesterday. Yesterday! But in
five years—seven—I’ll pay it back.”
Then, at a half-uttered protest from
Julie, “That’s the only way I'll take it.
It’s for Dirk. But I'm going to earn it
—and pay it back. I want a—" she
was being enormously businesslike, and
unconsciously enjoying it—“a—an I. O.
U. A promise to pay you back just as
—as soon as I can. That's business,
isn’t it? And I'll sign it.”
“Sure,” sakd Aug Hempel, and un-
screwed his fountain pen again. “Sure
that’s business.” Very serious, he
scribbled again, busily, on a piece or
paper. A year later, when Selina had
learned many things, among them that
simple and compound interest on
money loaned are not mere problems
devised to fill Duffy’s arithmetic in
her school-teaching days, she went to
August Hempel between laughter and
tears.
“You didn’t say one word about in-
terest, that day. Not a word. What a
little fool you must have thought me.”
“Between friends,” protested August
Hempel.
ZS oh |
-
NN
Td
But—*“No,” Selina insisted.
est.”
“lI guess I better start me a bank
pretty soon if you keep on so business-
like.”
“Inter-
Ten years later he was actually the
controlling power in the Yards & Rang-
er's bank. And Selina had the origi-
nal I. O. U. with its “Paid in Full.
Aug Hempel,” carefully tucked away
with other keepsakes that she foolishiy
treasured—ridiculous scraps that no
one but she would have understood or
| valued—a small school slate such as
| little children use (the one on which
she had taught Pervus to figure and
parse) ; a dried bunch of trilliums: a
bustled and panniered wine-red cash-
mere dress, absurdly old-fashioned; a
letter telling about the Infanta Eulalie
of Spain and signed Julie Hempel Ar-
nold; a pair of men's old side-hoots
with mud caked on them: a crude
sketch, almost obliterated now, done
on a torn scrap of brown paper and
showing the Haymarket with the wag-
ons vegetable-laden and the men
gathered beneath the street-flares, and
the patient farm horses—Roelf's child-
ish sketch.
Chapter X
If those vague characteristics called
(variously) magnetism, manner, grace,
distinction, attractiveness, fascination,
go to make up that nebulous quality
known as charm; and if the possessor
of that quality is accounted fortunate
in his equipment for that which the
class-day orators style the battle of
life, then Dirk DeJong was a lucky lad
and life lay promisingly before him.
Undoubtedly he had it; and undoubt-
edly it did. He was not one to talk a
great deal. Perhaps that was one of his
most charming qualities. He listened so
well.
was a smart young feller and would
make his mark. This, surprisingly
Older men especially said he
enough, ‘after a conversation to which |
he had contributed not a word other
than “Yes,” or “No,” or. “Perhaps
you're right, sir,” in the proper places. |
It was during those careless years
of Dirk’s boyhood between nine and
fifteen that Selina changed the DeJong '
acres from a worn-out and down-at-
heel truck farm whose scant products
brought a second-rate price in a sec-
ond-rate market to a prosperous and
blooming vegetable garden whose out-
put was sought a year in advance by
the South Water street commission
merchants.
These six or seven years of relent-
less labor had been no showy success
with Selina posing grandly as the New
Woman in Business. No, it had been
a pafurc!, grubbing, heart-Yreaking
procest as Is any project that depends
on the actual soil for its realization.
She drove herself pitilessly. She lit-
erally tore a living out of the earth
with her two bare hands. Yet there
was nothing pitiable about this smali
energetic waman of thirty-five or forty
with her fine soft dark eyes, her clean-
cut jaw-line, her shabby decent clothes
that were so likely to be spattered
with the mud of the road or fields, her
exquisite nose with the funny little
wrinkle across the bridge when she
laughed. Rather, there was something
splendid about her! something rich,
prophetic. It was the splendor and
richness that achievement imparts.
It is doubtful that she ever could
have succeeded without the money
borrowed from August Hempel; with-
out his shrewd counsel. She told him
this, sometimes. He denied it. “Easier,
yes. But you would have found a
way, Selina. Some way. Julie, no.
But you, yes. You are like that. Me,
too. Say, plenty fellers that was butch-
ers with me twenty years ago over on
North Clark street are butchers yet,
cuiting off a steak or a chop.”
Dirk had his tasks on the farm. Se-
lira saw to that. But they were not
heavy. By the time he returned from
school the rough work of the day was
overt. His food was always hot, ap-
petizing, plentiful. The house was
neat, comfortable. #elina had installed
a bathroom—one of the two bathrooms
in High Prairie. The neighborhood
was still rocking with the shock of this
when it was informed by Jan that
Selina and Dirk ate with candles light-
ed on the supper table. High Prairie
slapped its thigh and howled with
mirth,
“Cabbages is beautiful,” said old
Klaas Pool when he heard this. “Cab
bages is beautiful I betcha.”
Selina, during the years of the boy's
adolescence, had never urged him to
a decision about his future. That, she
decided, would come. As the farm
prospered and the pressure of neces-
sity lifted she tried, in various in-
genious ways, to extract from him
some unconscious sign of definite
preference for this calling, that pro-
fession,
Until Dirk was sixteen she had been
content to let him develop as naturally
as possible, and to absorb impressfons
uncensciously from the traps shé so
guilefuily left about him. There was a
shed which he was free to use as a
workshop, fitted up with all sorts of
tools. He did ngt use it much, after
the first few weeks. He was pleasantly
and mildly interested in all things;
held by none. Selina had thought of
Roelf when they were fitting up the
workshop. The Fools had heard from
Roelf just once since his flight from
the farm. A letter had come from
France. Selina had never heard from
him. But one day years later she had
come running to Dirk with an fllus-
trated magazine in her hand.
“Look!” she cried, and pointed to a
picture. He had rarely seen her so ex-
cited, so stirred. The Illustration
showed a photographic reproduction of
a piece of sculpture—a woman's fig-
ure. It was called The Seine. A
figure sinuous, snake-like, graceful, re-
voiting, beautiful, terrible. The face
alluring, insatiable, generous, treach-
erous, all at once. It was the Seine
that fed the fertile valley land; the
Seine that claimed a thousand bloated
lifeless fioating Things; the red-eyed
kag of 1792; the dimpling coquette of
1650. Beneath the illustration a line
or two—Roelf Pool. Salon.
. . American. future.
“It’s Roelf!” Selina had cried.
“Roelf. Little Roelf Pool!” Tears in
her eyes. Dirk had been politely inter-
ested. But then he had never known
Lim, really. He had heard his mother
speak of him, but—
: less.
At seventeen Dirk and Selina talked
of the year to come. He was going to
he
i
L
AL
\
At Eighteen It Had Been
University for Dirk.
Midwest
a university. But to what university?
And what did he want to study?
We-e-l1, hard to say. Kind of a general
course, wasn't there?
“Oh,” Selina had said. “Yes. Gen-
eral. Or course, if a person wanted to
pe an architect, why, I suppose Cor-
nell would be the place. Or Harvard
for law. Or Boston Tech for engineer-
ing, or—"
Gh, yeh, If a fellow wanted any of
those things. Good idea, though, to
tzke a kind of general course until you
found out exactly what you wanted
to do. Languages and literature and
that kind of thing.
At eighteen. it had been Midwest
university for Dirk. High Prairie
heard ...et Dirk DeJong wos going
away to college. A neighbor's gon
sald, “Going to Wisconsin? Agricll-
tural course there.”
“My gosh, no!” Dirk had answered.
He told this to Selina, laughing. But
she had not laughed.
“I'd like to take that course myself,
if you must know. They say it's wou-
derful.” She looked at him, suddenly.
“Dirk, you wouldn't like to take It,
would you? To go to Madison, I
mean. Is that what you'd like?”
He stared. “Me! No! Un-
less you want me to, mother. 'Ihen
I would, gladly. I hate your working
like this, on the farm, while I go off
to school. It makes me feel kind of
rotten, having my mother working for
me. The other fellows—"
“I'm doing the work I'm interested
in, for the person I love best in the
world. T'd be lost—unhappy—without
the farm. If the city creeps up on me
here, as they predict it will, I don’t
know what I shall do.”
“Just you wait till I'm successful.
Then there’ll be no more working for
you.”
“What do you mean by ‘successful,’
Sobig?’ She had not called him that
in years. But now the old nickname
same to her tongue perhaps because
they were speaking of his future, his
success. “What do you mean by ‘suc-
sessful,’ Sobig?”’
“Rich. Lots of money.”
“No, no, Dirk! No! That's not suc-
sess. Roelf—the thing Roelf does—
that’s success.”
“Oh, well, if you have money enough
you can buy the things he makes, apd
pave 'em. That's almost as good isn’t
3
Dirk commenced his studies at Mid-
west university in the autumn of 1909.
His first year was none too agreeable,
18 is usually the case in first years.
He got on well, though. Before the
pnd of the first semester he was popu-
lar. He had great natural charm of
manner. The men liked him, and the
girls, too. He rarely “cut” a class, He
would have felt that this was unfair
and disloyal to his mother. Some of
his fellow students joked about this
faithfulness to his classes. “Person
would think you were an Unclass}-
fied,” they sald,
The ‘Unclassifieds were made up,
for the most part, of earnest and
rather middle-aged - students whose |
education was a delayed blooming. '
They usually were not enrolled for a
full course, or were taking double
work feverishly.
The professors found them a shade
too eager, perhaps; too inquiring; de-
manding too much. They stayed after |
class and asked innumerable ques-
tions. They bristled with interroga-
tion. They were prone to hold forth
in the classroom, “Well, I have found
it to be the case in my experience
that—"
But the professor preferred to do
the lecturing himself,
to be any experience related it should
come from the teacher's platform, not
the student’s chair.
In his first year Dirk made the al-
most fatal mistake of being rather
friendly with one of these Unclassi-
fieds—a female Unclassified, a large,
good-humored, plump girl, about thir-
ty-eight, with a shiny skin which she
vever powdered and thick hair that
exuded a disagreeable odor of oil.
She was sympathetic and jolly, but
her clothes were a fright, the Classi-
fieds would have told you, and no mat-
ter how cold the day there was al-
ways a half-moon of stain showing
under her armpits. She had a really
fine mind, quick, eager, balanced, al-
most judicial. She knew just which
references were. valuable, which use-
"Her name was Schwengauer—
Mattie Schwengauer. Terrible!
She and Dirk got in the way of
walking out of the classroom together,
across the campus. She told him
i something of herself.
“Your people farmers!” Surprised,
she looked at his well-cut clothes, his
slim, strong, unmarked hands, his
smart shoes and cap.
mine. Iowa.” She pronounced it
Ioway. “I lived on the farm all my
life till I was twenty-seven. I always
wanted to go away to school, but we
never had the money and I couldn't
come to town to earn because I was
the oldest, and Ma was sickly after
Emma—that’s the youngest—there are
nine of us—was born. Ma was
anxious I should go and Pa was will-
ing, but it couldn't be. No fault of
theirs. One year the summer would
be so hot, with no rain hardly from
spring till fall, and the corn would
just dry up on the stalks, like paper.
The next year it would be so wet the
seed would rot in the ground. Ms
died when I was twenty-six. The
kids were all pretty well grown up
by that time. Pa married again in a
year.
years ago. I've done all kinds
of work, I guess, except digging in a
coal mine.
had to.”
She told him all this ingenuously,
simply. Dirk felt drawn toward her,.
sorry for her. His was a nature quick
to sympathy.
He told his mother about her. |
Selina was deep®y interested and
stirred. “Do you think she’d spend
some Saturday and Sunday here with
us on the farm? She could come with
you on Friday and go back Sunday
night if she wanted to. Or stay until
Monday morning and go back with
vou. There's the spare room, all
quiet and cool. She could do as she
liked.”
Mattie came one Friday night. It
was the end of October, and Indian
summer, tae most beautiful
the year on the Illinois prairie. About
the countryside for miles was the
look of bounteousness, of plenty, of
prophecy fulfilled 2s when a beautiful
and fertile weman having borne her
children and found them good, now
sits gerene-eyed,
bosomed, satisfied.
Into the face of Mattie Schwengauer
there came a certain glory. When
she and Selina clasped hands Selina
stared at her. rather curiously, as
though startled. Afterward she said
to Dirk, aside: “But I thought you
said she was ugly!”
“Well, she is, or—well, isn’t she?”
“Look at her!”
Mattie Schwengauer was talking to
Meena Bras, the houseworker. She
was standing with her hands on her
ample hips, her fine head thrown back,
her eyes alight, her lips smiling so
that you saw her strong square teeth.
Something had amused Mattie. She
laughed. It was the laugh of a young
girl, carefree, relaxed, at ease.
For two days Mattle did as she
pleased, which meant she helped pull
vegetables in the garden, milk the
cows, saddle the horses; rode them
without a saddle in the pasture.
“It got so I hated to do all those
things on the farm,” she said, laugh-
ing a little shamefacedly. “I guess
it was because I had to. But now it
comes back to me and I enjoy it be-
cause it’s natural to me, I suppose.
Anyway, I'm having a grand time,
Mrs. DeJong. The grandest time I
ever had in my life.” Her face was
radiant and almost beautiful.
“If you want me to believe that,”
sald Selina, “you’ll come again.”
But Mattie Schwengauer never aid
come again,
(Continued next week.)
——————— lp e———
Too Much for Mike.
Mike, who was advancing rapidly in
his work, was stopped by the fore-
man one day who said: “Mike, you
are doing fine, I am going to raise
your wages.”
Mike, all excited, said: “No, no,
be jabbers no. I lose enough now
when I'm off a day.”
gracious, ample
——Because they disobeyed school
regulations by doffing their neckties,
200 boy students at Gladstone, Mich.,
High school were expelled. They
complained that the girls wouldn’t
stop wearing rolled stockings.
If there was ,
“Why, so are '
I came to Chicago about five
I'd have done that if I'd
time of |
- PRECAUTION NEEDED IN
VARNISHING IN WINTER.
The drying of varnish is retarded
by cold weather, extremely hot weath-
er and damp, muggy weather. Conse-
, quently, it should be applied, for best
| results, at an average temperature, if
possible, of approximately 70 degrees
Fahrenheit.
In reality varnish dries by oxida-
tion, and consequently plenty of cool,
dry air is necessary to make a varnish
dry properly. Therefore, after doing
inside work open the windows an inch
or two top and bottom so as to give
the room plenty of ventilation. It’s
a mistake to close a room tight after
it has been varnished.
If varnishing is done in cold weath-
er it is advisable to heat the building
properly during the work. It is also
important that the varnish itself
should be near 70 degrees Fahrenheit.
| Chilled varnish should never be
used. Watch this point carefully, as
it is liable to become chilled in a cold
shop, or room, or even in carrying it
outdoors for a distance in cold weath-
er. In this case, it should be warmed
up before used.
Always be very certain that the un-
dercoat of varnish is thoroughly dry
before applying the following coat.
This is very important, for if anoth-
er coat is put on partially dried var-
nish, the finished job will be very lia-
ble to turn out badly in the following
ways:
It may crack, as the undercoat will
continue to dry, and in so doing pull
the finishing coat apart, as all var-
nishes contract when drying.
It may lose its gloss in places, due
to the finishing coat sinking into the
soft undercoat.
It may form very minute wrinkles
in places, giving the appearance of a
cross-cut file to the surface.
i Never use a cheap or adulterated
varnish for an undercoat, as it is lia-
ble to cause the finishing coat to crack.
Never add linseed oil to varnish, as
|
it retards and even prevents it from |
drying.
i Never add turpentine to varnish, as
it tends to destroy the gloss of the
varnish and make the resulting coat
of varnish so thin that it will not wear
properly. Always remember that oil
, and turpentine in the proper amounts
i are added when the ingredients are
. boiling hot, and these ingredients be-
| come thoroughly amalgamated while
i the varnish is cooking and aging.
i However, after the varnish has be-
{ come cold, nothing can be added with-
| out materially hurting the qualities of
| the varnish.
rn ie
RUNVILLE.
E. R. Hancock and two daughters,
t of Philipsburg, visited at the home cf
: his parents on Saturday.
There will be children’s day serv-
ices at this place Sunday evening,
June Tth.
Mr. and Mrs. Grant Houseman, of
Altoona, spent the week-end with Mrs.
Annie Lucas.
Mrs. Alice Rodgers, son and daugh-
ter visited at Osceola Mills and Ty-
rone the forepart of last week:
Mr. and Mrs. Carl Garbrick and
Mrs. Annie Witherite, of Tyrone,
spent Saturday with Mrs. Alice
Rodgers.
| Mr. and Mrs. Carl Poorman and
family, of Johnstown, autoed to this
place and were the guests of Mr.
! Poorman’s sister, Mrs. Earl Kauff-
‘man.
Mr. and Mrs. James Flick and son
! Robert, of Altoona, came down on
‘last Friday and spent the week-end
with Mrs. Flick’s parents, Mr. and
. Mrs. Austin Walker.
{ Mr. and Mrs. W. A. Walker and
daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Toner Furl
and daughter, of Williamsport, were
entertained over Sunday by Mr. and
Mrs. James McClincey.
Those who called at the L. J. Hea-
i ton home last week were Mrs. Martin
Brower, son and daughter, of Philips-
| burgs Miles Heaton and Mrs. Ander-
son, of Yarnell; Mr. and Mrs. E. R.
Lucas, Mr. and Mrs. G. W. Heaton,
| Mr. and Mrs. Harold Kauffman and
two sons, of Altoona.
JACKSONVILLE.
Miss Sarah Vonada spent over Sun-
day with friends in Eagleville.
Miss Louise Gallagher, of Howard,
was an over Sunday guest of her
friend, Miss Eleanor Lucas.
Mr. and Mrs. Merrill Walker and
two children, of Howard, were Sun-
day visitors at the E. R. Lucas home.
Services next Sunday morning in
the Reformed church at 10:30. Sun-
day School at 9.30. Everybody in-
vited.
Two dozen guests, including some
of their children, grand-children and
friends, spent Sunday at the C. M.
Harter home.
Miss Kathryn Swope, who has been
away visiting, returned to her home
last Sunday to care for her mother,
who has been on the sick list but is
improving at this writing.
Mr. and Mrs. Walter Daily, of Al-
toona; Mr. and Mrs. Joseph Yingling,
of Roaring Springs; Miss Jeanette
Wingleman and friend, of Williams-
i port, were over Sunday guests at the
George Ertley home.
——A great many people who are
not farmers have taken up land in
western States. An old-timer rode
over to the outfit of one new-comer
and asked him what ke had been do-
ing before he came west.
“I was a wrestler.”
“How much land have you declared
on?”
“One hundred and sixty acres.”
“Well, you got something to wres-
tle with now, bo,” averred the old-
timer as he gave his steed a resound-
ing whack.
An Error by the Stork.
“Mom,” said little Bobby, bursting
into the house all out of breath,
“there’s going to be the devil to pay
down at the grocer’s. His wife has
got a baby girl, and he’s had a ‘Boy
wanted’ sign in the wigdow for a
week.”
SA
FARM NOTES.
—Thorough cleaning of barns and
barnyards now will prevent swarms of
flies in July and August.
—Removing cows from pasture
four to seven hours before milking
time will eliminate grassy and weedy
flavors in milk. The longer period is
necessary only in the case of leeks
and garlic.
—A garden free from weeds not
only produces more vegetables but is
a sight worth seeing. Straight rows,
also improve the appearance of the
garden spot and are a definite aid in
cultivating.
—Markets near the farmstead are
often not patronized as they should
be because of the poorly arranged and
unsightly grounds and buildings near-
by. Cleanliness, neatness, well-paint-
i: 25d well-labeled markets will draw
rade.
—Cabbage maggot is a common
pest of farm gardens. Use corrosive
sublimate at the rate of one ounce to
eight or ten gallons of water. Pour
a small cupful of the solution about
the stem of each plant within a week
after the plants are set out. Give a.
second treatment ten days later.
_—A good mash for growing duck-
lings can be made of 2 parts cornmeal,
i1 part middlings, 1 part bran. Then
| 10 per cent. beef scrap can be added
and a liberal sprinkling of green feed.
| There is much variation in the care of
ducklings, depending on the condition
| of their range which may supply very
iste or nearly all of their food sup-
| Ply.
| —Becoming a member in the Key-
: stone 400-bushel potato club is not
| merely a matter of luck and season.
1 Just about one-third of the 400-bush-
el club members in 1924, including five
jout of the seven highest, also grew
1 400 bushels or more the previous
year. Preparation of soil, seed, fer-
tilizer, and spraying are the big four
of the 400-bushel club.
| —Attractive signs telling what is
i to be sold and how far itis to the
stand are an important part of the
roadside market. Place them far
enough on each side of the market so
that the motorist may slow down and
stop where the fruits, vegetables and
eggs are for sale. Sell only products
grown on your own farm so that you
can vouch for their quality. A satis-
fied customer always returns. Insure
satisfaction.
—Ton litter growers in Centre
county last year found that pasture
was an important part of the program
in producing pork economically. They
are profiting by that experience and
are again using pasture this year.
Under Pennsylvania conditions a num-
ber of forage crops can be grown for
hog pasture purposes. To have for-
age crops throughout the year, how-
ever, a rotation of crops must be
planted so that they will be ready for
pasture at different seasons. Some
forage crops run high in protein while
others are low. The mineral content
also varies considerably. Home-
grown grains, such as corn, oats, bar-
ley, and rye have a wide nutritive ra-
tio, "that is, they contain a small
amount of protein in comparison to
the carbonhydrates.
In addition to having narrow nutri-
tive ratio, an ideal forage crop should
be adapted to local soil and climate.
It should be palatable and succulent.
A long season which starts early,
withstands the hot, dry summer, and
lasts late should be the goal. A good
pasture should also endure tramping
and grazing well, and stay on the land
move than one year where practical.
It should also furnish quick pasture at
any time during the growing season
at a reasonably low cost. Finally a
leguminous plant should be grown to
insure upkeep of fertility and to sup-
ply protein to the ration.
—“When is the proper time to cut
alfalfa for hay and how many cut-
tings shall be made per year?” is a
question that troubles many Centre
county growers of this popular le-
gume. Experiments in Wisconsin
carried on several years showed that
when alfalfa was cut at the time the
new growth started from the crown of
the root that the stand was weakened
and after two or three years became
thinner and less productive than
where cutting was delayed until the
blossoms were well out. Cutting ear-
ly gave three crops per season in the
latitude of Wisconsin and cutting at
the full bloom age allowed only two.
Probably most of the alfalfa in
Pennsylvania is grown in a rotation
and allowed to stand for only one or
two years. Since this is the case
maintaining the vigor and longevity
of the stand is not an important ques-
tion. Where the stand is to be held as
long as possible, as where only a lim-
ited area on the farm is adapted to
the crop, or for any other reason, de-
layed cutting and two crops per year
would probably help to maintain the
vigor and thickness of the stand and
would leave a good fall growth on the
ground for winter protection. In
most cases, however, three or four
years is about as long as we can ex-
pect a stand of alfalfa to remain
thick and productive.
Saving in labor and better curing
weather for the first and last cuttings
have been advanced as arguments for
the two crops system. Against these,
however, cuttings give better quality,
digestibility, higher protein content,
and for the first year at least, larger
yields from three crops than two, at
least in the southern half of the State
where the season is long and where
even four crops have been cut in :a-
vorable years.
From a practical standpoint the
first crop should generally be cut as
soon after the new shoots start as the
weather promises to be fair. Delay is
apt to result in loss of leaves through
dropping and rotting, more stemming,
and less digestible and palatable hay.
The second and third crops may be al-
lowed to stand until partly in bloom
if desired, since the quality is apt to
deteriorate. Fairly prompt cutting,
however, allows for a better full crop
for winter covering. If any time the
second crop turns yellow or spotted
and growth stops it seems best to cut
it and allow the next crop to develop.
If the yellowed crop is not worth
gathering, cut it anyway and leave it
on the ground.