Oliver =
October
©
ESE
By
Copyright, Bell Syndicate (WINU Service)
(Continued from last week.)
Mr. Sage paused aghast half way
down the steps of the last coach but
one. He stared, open-mouthed, out
over the sea of faces; his knees seemed
about to give way under him; his
nervous fingers came near relaxing
their grip on the suitcase handles; he
was bewildered, stunned.
«In heaven's name—" he groaned,
and then, poor man, over his shoulder
fn helpless distress to the girl behind
him—“Oh, Jane, why didn't we walt
for the midnight—"
But someone had seized the bags and
with them he was dragged ingloriously
to the platform. Jane came next, crim-
son with embarrassment. She hurried
down the steps and waited at the bot-
tom for her mother to appear. AS
might have been expected of one 80
truly theatric, Josephine delayed her
appearance until the stage was clear,
go to speak. She even went so far as
to keep her audience waiting. Pre-
ceded by the Pullman porter, who up
to this time had remained invisible
but now appeared as a proud and shin-
ing minion bearing boxes and traveling
cases, wraps and furs, she at length
appeared, stopping on the last step to
survey, with well affected surprise and
a charming assumption of consterna-
tion, the crowd that packed the plai-
form.
Now, a great many—perhaps all—of
those who made up the eager, curious
crowd, expected to behold a young and
radiant Josephine Judge; they had
seen her in the illustrated Sunday sup-
plements and in the pictorial maga-
sines; always she was sprightly and
vivid and alluring. They were con-
fronted instead, by a tall, angular
woman of fifty-two or fifty-three, care-
lessly—even ‘‘sloppily”—dressed in a
slouchy two-piece pepper and salt
tweed walking costume, What most of
the observers at first took to be a wad
of light brown fur tucked under her
right arm was discovered to be a
beady-eyed “Pekinese.” 3
p22
But the minister's wife was still
vividly handsome woman. She had
taken good care of herself; she had
made a business of keeping young in
looks as well as in spirit.
In a clear, full voice, trained to
reach remote perches in lofty theaters,
she spoke to her husband from the
coach steps:
“Herbert, dear, have you the checks
for my baggage, or have 1?”
#]—1 will attend to the truaks—"
fe began huskily, only to be inter-
rupted by the indefatigable Sammy.
“Don’t give ’em another thought, Mr.
Sage. I'll see to everything. Give me
the checks and—right this way, please,
Mrs. Sage.”
“Thank you—thank you so much,”
said Mrs. Sage graciously, and, as
Sammy bustled on ahead, inquired in
an undertone of Jane at whose side
she walked: “Is that the wonderful
Oliver October I've been hearing so
much about?”
“No, mother—that is Sammy Parr.
—I don't see Oliver anywhere. I
wrote him the train we were com-
fng—"
A few paces ahead Sammy was ex-
plaining loudly to Mr. Sage: “I guess
something important of a political na-
ture must have turned up to keep Oli-
ver from meeting the train. We had
it all fixed up to meet you with my car
and he was to be nere at four sharp.
Doc Lansing’s up at Harbor Point,
Mich., for a little vacation. Won't be
back till Sunday week. Muriel’s out
here in the car, Mr. Sage. She'll drive
you home while I see about the bag-
gage.”
Mr. Sage had recovered his com:
posure by this time. He leaned close
to Sammy's ear and said gravely:
“Luggage, Sammy—Iluggage.”
“Sure—I get you,” said Sammy,
winking. “But just the same I'll call it
baggage till I've got it safely out of
the hands of Jim O’Brien, the baggage
master. Here we are! Hop right in,
Jane. Permit me to introduce myself,
Mrs. Sage. I am—"
“I remember you quite well,” inter
rupted the great actress (pronouncing
it “quate”). “You are Sammy Parr—
little Sammy Parr.
“] say, Herbert, old thing, you can’t
make me believe this is Rumley. You
are decelving me. I don’t recognize a
single— Oh, yes, I do! I take it al
back. I would know that man if I saw
him in Timbuktu. The old Johnnie in
the car we just passed. It was Gooch
—the amiable Gooch—and, my word,
what a dust he was raising!”
Oliver, pedaling furiously, arrived at
the parsonage ten minutes behind the
Sages. The minister greeted him as he
came clattering up the front steps.
“Sh!” he cautioned, his finger to his
lps. “Don’t make such a noise, Oli-
ver—if you please. She's—sl.e's rest-
ing. Sh! Do you mind tiptoeing, lad?”
“Where is Jane, Uncle Herbert?"
broke in Oliver, twiddling his bat. He
was struck by the dazed, beatific, and
» aninig.
yet harassed expression in une uu.
ter's eyes.
“Jane? Oh, yes, Jane. Why, Jane Is
upstairs with her dear mother—help-
ing her with her hair, I think. I am
sure she will not be down for some
time, Oliver. After the hair I think
she rubs her back or something of that
gort. Do you mind strolling around
the yard with me, Oliver? I was on
the point of taking Henry the Eighth
out for a little exercise.”
“Henry the what?” inquired Oliver.
still gripping the pastor’s hand.
“The Eighth,” said Mr. Sage, look-
ing about the porch and shifting the
position of his feet in some trepidation.
“Bless my soul, what can have become
of him? I hope I haven't been stand-
ing en him. I should have squashed
him— Ah, I remember! The hat-
rack!”
He dashed into the hall, followed by
Oliver, and there was Henry the Eighth
suspended from the hatrack by his
leash in such a precarious fashion that
only by standing on his hind legs was
he able to avoid strangulation,
“I am so absent-minded,” murmured
Mr. Sage, rather plaintively. “Poor
doggie! Was he being hanged like a
“horrid old murderer? Was he—" I
don’t you
“I say, Uncle Herbert,
think Jane may have finished—er—
‘da
—
tor’s distress. “I'm sorry I spoke as I
Tell June I'll call her up this:
evening. And please tell Aunt Jo-
sephine I am awfully keen to see her.
I used to love her better than any-
thing going, you know.” :
Then he pedaled slowly away on
Marmaduke’s wheel, looking over his!
shoulder until the windows of the par-
sonage were no longer visible,
CHAPTER VII
Oliver Is Worried
Three days later, the sheriff of the
county served papers on Oliver Octo-'
ber. The prosecuting attorney had re-
fused to lay the matter before the
grand jury, as requested by Horace
Gooch, but had grudgingly acceded to
his demand that an official investiga-
tion be instituted and carried to a
definite conclusion by the authorities.
“I want you to understand, Oliver,”
explained the sheriff, “that this is none
of my doing. Gooch has obtained an
order from the court, calling for a
search of the swamp and your prem-
. ises, basing his aflidavit on the sus-
picion that his brother-in-law came to
. his cGeath by foul means and --er—so
rubbing Mrs. Sage’s back by this time?” |
interrupted the impatient Oliver.
“Possibly,” said the other.
along, doggie—let’s romp a bit.”
Meanwhile, Jane, having brushed her
mother’s hair, was now employed in
the more laborious task of rubbing
the lady’s back.
“Come '
on. He agrees to pay all the costs
arising from this investigation in case
nothing comes of it. On the other
hand, if your father’s body Is found,
and there is any evidence of foul play, i
| the county naturally is to assume all
“You have a great deal of magnetism |!
in your hands, my dear,” droned Mus.
Sage, luxuriously. “As I say, my maid
always did it for me in London, but she
never had the touch that you have.
The right shoulder now, please.”
“IT think Oliver is downstairs with
father,” began Jane wistfully.
“She was my dresser, too,” went on
Mrs. Sage drowsily. “Really, I wonder
now that I endured her as long as I
did. And I shouldn't if she hadn’t been
so kind to Henry the Eighth. I do hope
your father is giving him a nice little
romp in the front—"
“Shall I run down and see, moth-
er?” broke in Jane eagerly.
“Presently, my dear, presently. I
shall be taking my tub in a few—you
say we have a bathroom now? Dear
me, how the house has grown. How
many servants have we?”
“One,” said Jane succinctly.
“One?” gasped Josephine. “I never
heard of such a thing.”
“One is all we need, and besides one
is all we can afford. I am afraid you
will have a lot to put up with, mother
dear.”
Josephine was silent for a long time.
Suddenly she lifted her head and
looked up into her daughter's face.
“My dear,” she said, with a wry little
twist at the corner of her generous
mouth, “I’ve come home to stay. I
“Sh! The Windows Are Open, Oliver.”
daresay you will find me capable of
taking things as they are. I did it
once before, and I can do it again.”
The express wagon with Mrs. Sage’s
trunks arrived as Oliver, in despair,
was preparing to depart as he had
come, on Marmaduke Smith’s bicycle.
He took fresh hope. Here was a
chance to see Jane after all,
“Where do you want the trunks,
Jane?” he shouted frém the bottom of
the stairs. There was no answer,
“Where shall we put them, Uncle Her-
bert?” he asked. his hands jammed
deep in his pockets.
“Bless my soul, I—I haven't an idea,”
groaned Mr. Sage, passing his hand
over his brow. “Unless you put them
fn my study,” he suggested brightly.
Fifteen minutes later, the trunks be-
ing piled high in the pastor’s little
study, Oliver mopped his brow and ex-
pressed himself feelingly to Mr. Sage
from the bottom of the porch steps.
“Uncle Herbert, I think Jane might
have been allowed a minute or two to
say hello ty a fellow. Good Lord, sir,
is—is this to be Jane's job from now
on?”
“Sh!
ver.”
“Is she to be nothing but a lady's
maid to Aunt Josephine?”
“We are so happy to have her with
us, my dear boy, that—er—nothing—
er—"
“I understand, Uncle Herbert,” broke
in Oliver contritely, noting the pas-
The windews are open, Oli-
the costs. The old man has hired two
detectives to come down here and take
active charge of the work. I hope you
won't have any hard feelings toward
me, Baxter. I am only doing my duty
as ordered by the court.”
“Not the slightest feeling in the
world, sheriff,” said Oliver warmly. “I
wish you would do me a favor, how- |
ever. The next time yo® see my uncle,
please remind him that my offer to
give $5,000 if he finds my poor father—
dead or alive—still holds. You can
start digging whenever you are ready,
sheriff. If any damage is done t6 the
property, however, I shall be obliged to
compel my uncle to pay for it. Don’t
forget to tell him that, will you?"
The sheriff grinned. “I wonder if
this old bird knows how many votes '
he’s going to lose by this sort of thing.”
Oliver frowned. “His scheme is to
throw suspicion on ma, sheriff. That's’
what he is after. It is possible that a !
good many people will hesitate about ,
voting for a man who is suspected of
killing his own father.”
“Don’t you worry, Oliver,” cried the
sheriff, slapping the young man on the
back. “Things are coming out all right
for you!” |
Fully a week passed before a move
was made by the authorities. The
newspapers devoted considerable first
page space to the new angle in the:
unsolved Baxter mystery, but not one
of them took the matter up editorially. '
Notwithstanding the reticence of tha |
press, the news spread like wildfire
that Horace Gooch was actually charg.
ing his nephew with the murder of his
father. The town of Rumley went Wild
with anger and indignation. A few hot-
heads talked of tar and feathers fe»
old man Gooch,
And yet deep down in the soul of
every one who cried out against Hor-
ace Gooch’s malevolence lurked a
strange uneasiness that could not be
shaken off.
The excitement over the return of
Mrs. Sage was short-lived on account
of the new and startling turn in the |
Baxter mystery. Acute interest in the !
pastor's wife dwindled into a mild, al- '
most innocuous form of curiosity.
Ladies of the congregation, after a
dignified season of hesitation, called
on her—that is to say, after forty-eight
hours—and were told by the servant
that Miss Judge was not at home.
She would be at home only on Thurs-
day from three to six. Some little
confusion was caused by the name,
but this was satisfactorily straight-
eed out by the servant, who ex-
plained that Miss Judge and Mrs. Sage
were one and the sams person, and
that she was married all right and
proper except, as you might say, in
name. Mrs, Serepta Grimes, being an
old friend, was one of the first to call.
And this is what she sald to Oliver
October that same evening:
“You ask me, did I see her? I did.
I told the hired girl to say who it was,
and in a minute or two she came back
and told me the barefacedest lie I ever
heard. She said Mrs. Sage wasn’t at
home. Well, do you know what I did,
Oliver? I just said ‘Pooh’ and walked
right up the stairs and into her room.
She got right up and kissed me five or
six times and—well, that’s about all,
except 1 stayed so long I was afraid
I'd be late for supper.”
“Did you see Jane?’ broke in
Oliver.
“Certainly. Do you want to hear
what Josephine said about you?”
“NH, I-can’t say that I do. By the
way, Aunt Serepta, there is something
I've been wanting to ask you for quite
a while. Do you think Jane is pretty?”
Mrs. Grimes pondered. “Well,” she
sald judicially, “it depends on what
you mean by pretty. Do you mean,
is she beautiful?”
“I suppose that’s what I mean.”
“What do you want to know for?”
“Eh?
“I mean what's the sense of asking
me that question? You wouldn't be-
lieve me if I said she wasn't pretty,
would you?”
“Well, I'd just like to know whether
you agree with me or not.”
“Yes, sir,” said she, “fixing him’
with an accusing eye, “I do agree with |
you—absolutely.”
“The strange thing about it,” he
pursued defensively, “is that I never
thought of her as being especially
good-looking until recently. Funny.
isn’t it?”
“There are a lot of things we don’t
notice,” sald she, “until some one else
pinches us. Then we open our eyes.
. her.
guile.
(Ml
I guess some one must have pinched
you. It hurts more when a man
pinches you—'specially a big, strong
fellow like Doc Lansing.”
A pained expression came into Oli-
ver's eyes. “The trouble is, I've al-
| ways looked upon her as a—well, as
' a sort of sister or something like that.
We grew up just like brother and sis-
ter. How was I to know that she was
pretty? A fellow never thinks of his
sister as being pretty, does he?”
“I suppose not. But, on the athet
hand, he never loses his appetite aad
hopes and has the blues if his sister
happens to take a fancy to a man who
isn’t her brother. That's what you've
been doing for two or three weeks. If
you had the least bit of gumption,
you'd up and tell her you can’t stand
being a brother to her any longer and
you'd like to be something else—if it
isn't too late.”
“Gee!” exclaimed he ruefully. “But
suppose she was to say it is too late?”
“That's a nice way for a scldier to
talk,” said Mrs. Grimes scathingly.
Oliver saw very little of Jane during
the days that followed Mrs. Sage’s re-
turn. Her mother demanded much of
her; she was constantly in attendance
upon the pampered lady. Oliver
chafed. He complained to Jane on
one of the rare oceasions when thev
were alone together.
“Why, you're nothing but a lady's
maid, Jane. You've been home five
days and I haven't had a chance to
say ten words to you. Now, don't mis-
understand me. I'm fond of Aunt Jo-
sephine. She's great fun, but, hang it
all, she's right smack in the center
of the stage all the time. It isn’t fair,
Jane. You can't go on being a slave
to her. She—"
“She has always had some one to
wait on her, Oliver,” said Jane. “I
don’t mind. I am really very fond of
And she is just beginning to
care for me. At first, I think she was
a little afraid of me. She couldn’t be-
lieve that I was real. The other day—
in Chicago—she suddenly reached out
and touched my arm and said: ‘It
| doesn’t seem possible that you ever
squalled and made the night hideous
for me and your poor father. I can't
believe that you are the same little
baby I used to fondle and spank when
I wasn’t any older than you are now.’
Besides, Oliver, I like doing things
for her. It makes father happy.”
“But it doesn’t make me happy,” he
grumbled. Then his face brightened.
“Wasn't she great last night when she
got started on Uncle Horace and—and
all this hullabaloo he’s stirring up?”
The fourth day after his wife's re-
turn to Rumley, Mr. Sage blurted out
the question that had lain captive in
his mind for weeks.
“If it is a fair question, my dear,
would you mind telling me just why
you came back to me?”
She leaned back in her chair and
studied the ceiling for a few minutes
before answering,
“I may as well be honest about it,
Herby,” she said, changing her posi-
tion to meet his perplexed gaze with
one that was absolutely free from
“I came back because they
were through with me over there. I
was getting passe—in fact, I was
quite passe. They were beginning to
cast me for old women and character
parts. Two or three years ago they
_ started my funeral services hy seeing
what I could do with Shakespeare. I
was through. My musical comedy days
were over. The stage was crowded
with young women who could dance
without wheezing like a horse with
the heaves and whose voices didn’t
crack in the middle register. People
didn't want to see me in musical com-
edy any longer, and they wouldn't see
me in anything else. I'm fifty-three,
Herbert—between you and me, mind
you—and just the right age to be a
preacher's wife. So I made up my
mind to retire. You notice, Herby, I
didn’t cable to ask if I could come
home—I cabled that I was on the way.
Now, you know the secret of my home-
coming. By the way, I've put by a
little money—quite a sum, in fact—so
you mustn't regard me as a charity
patient. We'll pool our resources.
And when the time comes for you to
step down and out of the pulpit for
the same reason that I chucked the
stage—why, we'll have enough to live
on for the rest of our days. You won't
have to write sermons and preach ‘em,
and I shan’t have to listen to them.
It's an awful thing to say, but we'll
both have to mend our ways if we
want our grandchildren to love us.”
He laid his arm over her shoulder
and gently caressed her cheek.
“You are still pretty much of a
pagan, Jo,” was all that he said, but
he was smiling.
“But you are jolly well pleased to
have me back, aren't you?”
“More overjoyed than I can tell
you.”
“No doubts, no misgivings, no un-
easiness over what I may do or say to
shock tha worshipers?”
“I have confidence in your ability as
an actress, Josephine,” he said. “I am
sure you can play the part of a lady
as well as anything else.”
She flushed. “Score one,” she said.
Then she sprang to her feet, the old
light of mischief in her wonderful
eyes. “But, Herby, what's going to
happen when I spring all my spangles
on the innocent public?”
“I shudder when I think of it,” said
he, lifting his eyes heavenward.
“I saved every respectable costume
I've worn in the last ten years—and
some that sare shocking. Twelve
trunks full of them.
“Never mind, old dear. I shan’t
disgrace you. I've got a few costumes
I will put on in private for you. Bless
your heart, Herby, don’t look so hor-
rified. I've still got my marriage
certificate—though God only knows
where it is.”
He cleared his throat, “I've got it,
my dear. You neglected to take it
away with you when you left.”
She smiled. “Well, I daresay it was
safer with you than it would have
been with me.”
*® * * * * * ®
It was the fourth week in Septem-
ber when the detectives arrived in
Rumley. The city editor of the Des-
patch interviewed Detective Malone,
the chief operative in charge of what
the newspaper man was jocosely in-
clined to classify as the “expedition.”
“Where do you intend to begin ex-
cavating, Mr. Malone?’ inquired the
editor, notebook in hand.
Mr. Malone was very frank about it.
“In China,” said he. “We're going to
work from the bottom up. If you'll
go out to the swamp tomorrow and
put your ear to the ground you'll hear
men’s voices but you won't understand
a word they say. They’ll be speakir’
Chinese.”
The editor eyed him in a cold, inimi-
cal manner. “Umph!” he grunted,
flopping his notebook shut. “It's a
good thing you’ve got your Chinese
army, because you won't be able to
get arybody to work for you in this
town.”
“I guess that’s up to the authori-
ties,” said the detective coolly. “I'm
here to boss the job, that’s all.”
That afternoon the sheriff and the
prosecuting attorney stopped election-
eering long enough to pay a hasty
visit to Oliver.
Half an hour later they left. De-
tective Malone and his partner, who
had joined the county officials at the
Baxter house, remained behind. They
were smoking Oliver's cigars.
“How long do you figure it will take
you, Mr. Malone, to finish up the job?”
inquired the young man.
Malone squinted at the tree-tops.
“Our instructions are to work slowly
and surely. It may take six or eight?
weeks.”
“In other words, you are not ex-
pected te be through before election
day.”
“Unless we find what we are after
before that time, Mr. Baxter,” said the
other. “It’s a big job, as you can see
for yourself. Like looking for a needle
in a haystack, eh, Charlie?”
His partner nodded his head in silent
assent.
“We'll go out and take a walk
around the swamp tomorrow,” said
Malone. “If you've got the time to
spare, Mr. Baxter, you might stroll out
with us now to the place where you
last saw your father. Then I'll want
to question your servants. It seems
that he is supposed to have come home
to change his clothes after he said
good-by to you.”
“He did not say good-by to me,” cor
rected Oliver. “We parted in anger.”
“Do you know a man named Peter
Woonss
“Ag | Understand It, You and He Sat
for Some Time on That Log Over
There?”
Hines, Mr. Baxter?’
abruptly.
asked Malone
(To be Continued.)
Viviant’s Memory Prodigious
One of the sources of the late Rene
Viviani’s eloquence was his profound
knowledge of French literature. He
knew by heart thousands of verses
and could recite entire acts of the
classic tragedies without an error.
He demonstrated this at the time
of his baccalaureate, when he agree-
ably surprised the examiner by his ac-
curate analysis of “The Cid.”
“Can you recite a few verses of it?”
the examiner asked.
“Certainly,” said Viviani, and had
recited the whole of the first act be-
fore he was halted. On another occa-
sion he recited the whole of “Horatius”
and “Phedre” from beginning to end.
Ears That Tell Ages
To ascertain the age of a horse, it
not too old, it is usual to examine its
teeth. To tell the age of a fish, re-
gardless of age, you look into its ear.
In the internal ear of a fish there
is a little bony pocket. In this pocket
is a tiny stone called an otholith, which
rolls about as the fish tips this way
and that, and so helps it to know if
it is right side up. As the fish grows
older, says a writer in English Me-
chanics, the otholith grows larger, and
the age of the fish may be determined
‘rom {ts size.
MR,
FARM NOTES.
—Crude petroleum thinned with a
little kerosene is effective in eliminat-
ing hog mange or scurvy.
—At farrowing time the herdsman
should be at his post, for it is then
that he has the chance to save some
of the young pigs, and in some cases
the sow. When the pig is born it has
some small needle teeth, or artificial
tusks. Some of the best herdsmen
make it a practice to remove these.
After farrowing it is a good rule to
feed a thin slop containing a double
handful of ground feed the second
day, and gradually increase this
amount as the pigs are able to take
the milk.
—Lime is a soil corrective and not a
plant food. Hence, it cannot take the
place of commercial fertilizer. This
is not saying that lime is not just as
essential in the growing of crops.
Good virgin soil contains an abun-
dance of carbonate of lime. This grad-
ually becomes neutralized by the for-
mation of organic acids caused by the
decaying of organic matter in the soil.
When this natural supply of lime is
exhausted, then the soil becomes acid
because there is no more lime to neu-
tralize it. Many plants will not thrive
at all in acid soil; many more will not
do well, while some do not seem to be
affected much by a slight amount of
acid.
When crops are planted on this acid
soil, and fertilizer is used freely, they
will not do well. The plant cannot
use the fertilizer. It is sick. Use
lime to correct this acid condition of
the soil, then the plant can use its food
and become thrifty. But the plant
must have food, even though the acid
condition of the soil is corrected.
—Proper winter protection for bees
should be more carefully provided by
the average beekeeper. Statistics for
Iowa show that winter losses of bees
due to carelessness in wintering meth-
ods, often run as high as 18 per cent.
This tremendous annual loss could be
avoided for the most part if beekeep-
ers would give the matter of winter-
ing more thought.
Two general methods of wintering
are outdoor or cellar wintering. Of
these the former method is considered
superior. In either method the es-
sential things to provide are good ven-
tilation protection against rodents
and absorption of moisture given off
by the bees.
Complete information on wintering
bees by several methods as well as
much reliable information on practi-
cally all phases of agriculture is con-
tained in the report of the State api-
arist for 1923. This booklet of nearly
100 pages was compiled by F. B. Pad-
dock, state apiarist. Iowa State col-
lege, and will be mailed free upon ap-
plication to him.
—Nearly every farmer raises, or
should raise, enough pop corn for
home use, but many seem to have
difficulty in curing the finished prod-
uct, and usually consider it a matter
of luck. If the right procedure is
taken the curing is a simple process.
Pop corn, unlike other corn, should
i be allowed to remain on the stalks in
{ the field until thoroughly ripe and
hard.
It should then be cut and put
up in small shocks and a twine tied
around each shock near the top to
make it cone-shaped; this will help
shed the water and prevent molding.
After about two weeks it should be:
husked out and placed in an attic on
a piece of chicken netting or screen
suspended from the roof so that rats
and mice will not have access to it.
Later in the season when cold
weather comes and the corn has dried
thoroughly it should be removed to a
cold place—if the attic is not very
cold. This step has a very important
influence on the pepping quality of the:
corn. If allowed to remain where it.
is warm and dry there will not be
sufficient moisture left in the kernels
to more than crack the shells, but if
kept where it is cold it will become
slightly damp when brought to the
fire and will pop nicely.
Pop corn that has become too dry
can be aided somewhat by putting a
few drops of water on it before put-
ting into the popper.
—No one breed can be classed as
the best winter layers. There is much
variation in egg production in the:
same breed, owing to the develepment
of egg laying ability as a result of
breeding and selection for this pur-
pose. In establishing a flock select a
breed you favor. When securing your
foundation, get stock from a good, re-
liable source. For a straight commer-
cial egg production the small breeds
are usually preferred.
Calves coming in the fall of the year
usually are more welcome than those
coming at any other time, because
from the price standpoint this is the
most desirable time for the cows to
freshen. It is also realized that such
calves are often harder to raise since
they have to endure the rigors of win-
ter at an early age.
By using a few precautions, a min-
imum number of calves will be lost.
Among these safeguards may be sug-
gested the following:
A clean, well-bedded stall, should be:
provided the cow, so as to avoid trou-
ble during the first two days after
| birth while the calf is left with the
COW.
An abundant amount of sunlight is.
necessary for all calves and their
quarters should be cleaned daily and
kept well bedded.
The feeding of too much milk is a
common error. For the first three or
four weeks calves should receive not
more than 12 pounds daily of whole
milk, and after the gradual change to
skim milk is made, large quantities
should not be fed. Very few calves
are capable of properly digesting even
as little as 16 pounds of milk daily.
Bright green hay, ensilage and
grain should be fed as early as possi-
ble.
Calf pails should be kept scrupu-
lously clean, and calves should be fed
individually.
Adequate shelter from wind should
be provided as also should a run for
exercise.
The strict observance of a few es-
sentials will minimize danger from
scours and loss from other causes, in-
‘ suring a good healthy growth.—H. R.
| Lascelles, Fieldman, Colorado State
Dairy Commissioner.