Bellefonte, Pa., May 14, 1926.
“OUR KIND OF A GIRL.”
‘Written for the Watchman by Thomas
F. Healy, Philipsburg, Pa.
The kind of a girl for you and I,
She holds her head about so high,
And pleasantly as she goes along—
Her lips give way to a cheerful song.
She strays unfar from the paths untrod,
Nor soon forgets the ways of God;
Her tender heart is always kind,
To the poor, the sick, the weak and blind
And thus each day she says a prayer,
For the weaker ones that need some care.
She will count her pay by the good she’s
done
The smiles she made and the friends she
won.
She works each day untiringly,
A true friend to humanity;
Her motherly heart is always dear,
To a childish wrong, or a baby's tear:
An so she strives each day anew—
To be the kind for mie and you!
The kind of a girl for you and I,
She smiles your way as she passes by;
And then you feel as you go your way,
Feeling happy as the saddened may—
That she was sent from the heavens
down,
To cheer the sad and smite the frown;
And thinking this, you are then inspired,
To toil hard at your work untired—
You'll sympathize with the folks you
meet,
As with the smile you have learned to
greet;
And they in turn will worship you.
For being a man, through and through.
And hence the world learns of those—
Spreading seeds of love that grows;
Seeing her we should think of that,
Step aside and tip our hat:
She's a model lady thorugh and through,
, And the kind of a girl for me and you!
The kind of a girl for you and I,
She'll be a pal until you die—
If the whole darn world is sore at you,
She, alone, will remain most true.
Tears in her eyes will blind her when—
You are most scorned by your fellow
men ;
And right there's when she will show her
stuff, \
Backing you up, she will call their bluff,
Facing a judge and a jury too—
She will tell the world how she think's
of you:
A robber, a tramp, or a no account—
But nevertheless you are paramount,
Over the judge and the jury too,
And its just because she loves you true,
Only fault we can find in she—
She’s to darn good for the likes O we:
God bless her heart for it acts like glue,
To the broken parts o’ me and you!
—By Thomas F. Healey.
THE THIRD L.
In late June, when the cicadas
along the old mill stream were begin-
ning to tune up for their summer
symphonies, Ann Minot came home.
She had wired her father and he was
waiting at the station when the after-
noon local achieved its daily miracle.
From the single passenger coach, be-
fore it had come to full stop, Ann
swung off with a careless grace that
revealed to her father and such of the
world as was at large—comprising the
station-agent and two anything but
disinterested bystanders—that in New
York the female of the intelligentsia
still rolled its stockings.
To the station-agent she granted
a smile and nod; to her father she
presented a presumably filial kiss on
the tip of his nose, which latter in-
formed him that Ann had recently
smoked a cigaret. This neither sur-
prised nor shocked him. David Minot
took the world,
daughter as he found them.
“Hot in New York?” he asked as
she surrendered her smart suitcase.
Ann replied that it was hotter than
the hinges of a place young women
never referred to in the days of his
youth, but he merely remarked that
he had suspected as much when he
got her wire.
“You look a bit wilted,” he added.
Ann grimaced expressively. There
were little shadows under her eyes
and a certain weariness underlying
the smart sophistication of her face,
but she was still young and pretty
enough to override such minor defects
triumphantly.
“I've been working like the devil,”
she informed him. “Van ran over to
Europe to study conditions there first
hand and I had to carry the magazine
on my shoulders.”
Ann was associate editor of “Dawn,
A Magazine of Tomorrow.” When
anybody was inept enough to tell her
he had never heard of Dawn, Ann,
with superb disdain, was apt to look
at him thoughtfully and answer that
she would have assumed as much.
“It’s one of those magazines, Ed-
die,” Ann’s father had just informed
the station-agent, “that are publish-
ed for people whose brows are so high
that even their feet are in the clouds.
It’s edited by a young chap named
Van Fleck who wears horn glasses
and so can see truths that escaped
Solomon and Socrates.”
“Umph,” Eddie had grunted, “and
what does he aim to do about it?”
“Educate people, Eddie. When
they get educated they'll see the truth
and act accordingly. Blow up Con-
gress one day and shoot the President
the next. After that they'll consid-
er the cases of ordinary people like
you and me. I suspect I'll be shot,
because I'm a capitalist—own a mill,
you see.”
“Wouldn't being Ann's father save
you?” Eddie had demanded.
“Ann couldn’t interfere. It would
be against her principles. As for
you, Eddie, they’ll decide whether
youre a worker or a shirker. If
you're a worker or a shirker they'll
give you the railroad.”
“Wouldn't take it as a gift,” Eddie
had commented contemptuously; “it’s
on the rocks right now.”
“They’ll make you, Eddie. They're
so plumb, full of love for people like
you that your wife would be a widow
if you tried to argue with them.”
the flesh and his |
“Bunk!” Eddie had suggested
scornfully. :
“Maybe you're right, but don’t tell
Ann so—'less you want your head
snapped off.” ;
Now, the associate editor of Dawn
and her father moved toward his car.
| It took them smoothly and easily over
the familiar old .road, elm-shaded
from the flooding brilliance of the
afternoon sun, to the house in which
five generations of Minots had been
born, a comfortable, rambling old
New England brick-ender. 2
“Pll bring your suitcase up in a
minute,” he said as he stopped the
car.
“I can carry it myself. I want to
swim before dinner anyway.”
‘Before supper,” he amended “We
had dinner four hours ago.”
From the barn, as he puttered
around his car, he saw her emerge
from the house ready for her swim.
The sun was on her bright hair; bob-
bed in a new way, shingled, he sup-
posed. As for her costume he, in his
own words, no longer shied when he
saw her so. It left much of her frank-
ly visible, revealed as of the hipless,
flat-backed generation, slim and sup-
ple and graceful as a Tanagra figure.
Transiently, he wondered how women
managed to change even their shape
according to the prevailing fashion.
For the rest he remained philosophic.
“I quite agree with you,” he had as-
sured Hitty Marston, his housekeeper,
who after reminding him that she had
known him all her life and guessed
she had the right to speak her mind,
had done so on the subject of Ann
generally and Ann's bathing costume
particularly.
“Well,” Hitty had demanded, “why
don’t you do something about it?”
“It’s this way, Hitty,” he had sooth-
ed her. “Ann’s too old to be spanked
and she’s not old enough yet to be
reasoned with.”
“She’s old enough to know better!”
He had given her a slow, tolerant
glance.
“I remember,” he had reminisced,
“a young chap named Charley Em-
mons, who lived around here when I
was a boy. He was counted pretty
wild, and when a girl you may re-
member, too, went buggy-riding with
him, her mother had conniptions.”
“She was right, too!” Hitty inter-
rupted. “I can see that now.”
“Yes, but you couldn’t see it then,
Hitty, though your mother said you
were old enough to know better. You
were young and young folks have to
learn by experience. You can’t tell
them anything because it never proves
anything to them except that you are
an old fogy.” . -
“I should think Ann would blush
to see herself in such a rig!”
“She says it’s a sensible costume
for swimming, Hitty.”
“Yes, and it’s a sensible costume
that people wear when they take a
bath in the tub, but at least they have
sense enough to do it in private—
hereabouts anyway. Perhaps in New
York——" :
“Why, Hitty,” he had remonstrat-
ed, “you're making me blush now!”
“You're a fool,” she had assured
him and flounced off, Eos
Tonight Hitty, with an air of aus-
tere disapproval, served Ann and her
father their supper. Ann, as usual,
did most of the talking, slyly prodded
by her father. After supper he rose
and took his pipe from the mantel.
“Guess I'll go over to the mill for
a spell,” he said.
The mill was very old. Once it had
sawed and planed solid tree trunks
with the power furnished by the wa-
ters of Long Pond Brook. Now elec-
tricity had replaced the old mill-
wheel, but the latter remained in
place. A little porch was perched
over it. There it was David Minot’s
habit to sit and smoke his pipe after
supper, whenever the weather per-
mitted.
Evenings such as this had always
been subtly precious to him. They
filled him with a sense of abiding
peace. The waters of Long Pond
Brook, flowing almost noiselessly be-
low him, were no less peaceful than
his life had been, in the main. The
slow slap of the idle wheel was music
to him. From the mill he drew a com-
fortable income. It made “gimeracks”
now, miniature windmills and stuff
like that. He was, in the New Eng-
land sense of the word, “well fixed,”
and content. The call of the city had
never held an allure for him. The
best friend of his youth, Billy Digh-
ton, had discussed that with him on
this same porch more than thirty
years ago, the week after Billy's
mother had died.
“There is nothing to hold me now,”
Billy had said. ‘New York for me,
Dave!”
“Going to sell the old place, Billy?”
“No. One of these days, when I’ve
made my pile, I'll come back again.”
“What for?”
“Oh, to enjoy myself, fish and
hunt.” .
Even so long ago Ann’s father had
had that philosophic twist of mind
that the gathering years were to
deepen and mellow.
“Make a million, and then come
back to enjoy yourself,” he had com-
mented. “If that’s what you want,
why not stay here? You don’t need
a million to fish and hunt!”
“Why, you old stick-in-the-mud, do
you think I'd be content around here
all my life?”
“Guess not, Billy. We're different
kind of pegs, you and me.”
Last night the old Dighton place,
long since modernized with pergolas,
dormers and baths, had been dark.
Tonight it was brilliantly lighted.
“Guess Billy is back,” mused Ann’s
father. He grinned. “I'll have to
spring some of Ann's latest on him!”
Nevertheless he did not stir. If
Billy had come he would be over be-
fore long. They would sit together
and smoke as they had so many other
summer nights through the years,
their conversation casual, fragment-
ary, yet precious to both. _ In the
meantime there were the embers of
the dying sunset in the sky, the soft
noises of the night to key his mood.
He sucked at his pipe and pondered, | sp
mostly about Ann.
He had sent Ann to Wellesley; from
Wellesley she had gone straight to
New York to achieve what she called
economic independence. The strange
. : . ¢ | :
et perhaps not incredible sequel was he said. His voice changed. “Honest- | tal capacity:
oe ly The crowd with which ly, Ann, I'll admit there’s something :
she had fallen in was that from which
editors and contributors for such
magazines as Dawn are most often |
drafted. They are gloriously, intrep-
idly young. To them has been vouch-
ed breadth of vision never before
achieved by human eyes. They see
the world as it really is!
“Then we'll say it’s take a ride,” "merely by admiration for her men- ;
in what you say. You're not all
wrong.”
“All wrong? I'm not wrong at all;
; can you believe this world is a decent
place? Look around you. Poverty
and prostitution and every sort of
social injustice on one side; on the
| other, a favored few, fattening and
“Are you trying to
erately insulting than usual 7”
FARM NOTES.
be more delib- | ~—Purebred sires should be, judged
by their progeny rather than by their
“You are off form, Ann—you haven’t ancestors.
scored a conversational ace
{ night. Which is one reason why I
knew there was something the matter
with you.”
Ann bit her lip. Van had said much
: the same thing to her only a few days
In New York Ann had fallen in battening themselves, like your fath- before.
with Van Fleck—her father grimaced
instinctively—and he, editor of Dawn
and so a king of sorts in New York’s
er, on the sufferings of others.”
“Granted, but just what would you
suggest I do about it?”
“You're a woman, Ann,” he had re-
minded her, “and you are not living
the complete life.”
little Babylon, had elevated her to at | “Nothing!” she assured him with | They, Van and Ann and all their
least the foot of his throne. Dawn,
incidentally, was financed by a
wealthy widow who fainted at the
sight of blood, but who loved to talk
of anything but bloodless revolutions.
This was all the current of David
Minot’s thoughts when he heard foot-
steps behind him. Turning, he saw ed
the bulk of his old friend silhouetted «
against the murk of the door.
“Thought you had arrived,” he said.
“Chair there for you.”
The other sank into the chair.
“Whew!” he grunted. “I'm glad to
get here; it's been hotter than Tophet
in New York.”
“Judged as much from what Ann
said. when she arrived this afternoon,
replied David dryly. “Only she didn’t
use old-fogy terms like Tophet. What
are you fishing for, a match?”
“Got one!” announced Billy, and
briefly the glow of it lighted his face,
accentuating its solid strength and
force.
he settled back in his chair, lifting his
feet to the rail. For a moment there
was silence.
“Well,” demanded Ann’s father
then, “how many souls have you
sacrificed to your capitalistic ambi-
tions since I saw you last?”
The other’s feet came to the floor
with a bang. “Has Bob been around
here so soon?” he demanded irately.
He referred, Ann’s father knew, to
his son.
“Bob ?
Why?”
“That sounds like some of the stuf!
he gets off. Dave, what in time has
bitten young folks nowadays, any-
way 7”
“Something bitten Bob?”
“Bitten him! I should say some-
thing had. I told him tonight he talk-
ed like a Bolshevist, and what do you
suppose he said?”
“That he’d rather be a Bolshevist
than a capitalist any day,” suggested
Ann’s father.
“How did you know that?” de-
manded Bob’s father, surprised:
“Ann talks the same way. She's
getting pretty discouraged about men
like you. And me, too.
bling-blocks, with our outworn notions
about things.”
The slow drawl broke off abruptly.
Haven't seen him yet?
From below, where a path led along .
the brook to a foot-bridge across the
dam, Ann’s incisive voice came up to
them.
“The trouble with you,” she was
saying, “is that you are of a piece
with your father. At heart you're a
born conservative, and you get moze
so every year.” oA
They both guessed who her com-
panion was; Bob Dighton, arriving
with his father, had strolled over to
pay his disrespects to Ann. They
were ancient enemies, their battles
extending back to Bob’s first appear-
ance here, the summer when he was
seven and Ann five. Whenever they
met the sparks flew.
“Tell that to dad,” suggested Bob
lazily. “It will buck him up a lot. He
has an idea that I'm acting under
sealed orders from Lenine, simply be-
cause I refuse to prostrate myself ut-
terly before his ancient idol, the Gold-
en Calf.”
“I should think he’d be satisfied,
now that you’ve gone in with him!”
‘You speak as if you thought I had
conferred honor upon him by asso-
ciating myself, ever so humbly, with
his organization. I grieve to report
that if there were not a blood tie be-
tween us he’d take great joy in giv-
ing me the gate!”
“And I would!” muttered his fath-
er with great feeling.
“That’s the trouble with you,” said
Ann scornfully. “You know the
whole capitalistic system is rotten to
the core and yet——"
“I fall for it!” he suggested, un-
ruffled, “just as I fall for lots of other
things. I've got to eat and: be cloth-
ed, remember, and my old man refus-
es to endow me so that I can live like
the lilies of the field.”
“You could be independent, strike
out for yourself, anyway.”
“And tie up to some other capitai-
istic enterprise! What’s the differ-
ence? I can at least get back at my
persecutor by airing a few opinions
about business. He’s my father and
he has to stand for it.”
“Oh, I do, do 1?” grunted his fath-
er ominously.
“In fact,” Bob went on, “I even
pass on a lot of that tosh you print.”
“Tosh!” broke in Ann indignantly.
“What do you mean by tosh?”
“It’s a four-letter word meaning
flapdoodle, poppycock, nonsense, what-
ever you choose along that line.
Haven’t you heard it before ?”
“I hear it now! It seems to me a
perfect definition of what you are
saying.”
“That,” he commented, “would be
all very well for a small girl, but it’s
hardly worthy of the associate editor
of Dawn!”
“Oh, well,” said Ann, “I suppose
all this was to be expected. You've
taken your place in society as an elig-
ible young bachelor. Next, youll
marry some sweet young moron out
of the Social Register, have three or
four children, become a solid citizen,
end up by thinking that God created
the world for you and your class.”
Evidently he grinned, for she added,
“Oh, it’s very funny to you, but you're
laughing at your own funeral. You're
already dead.”
“From the neck up!” he suggested.
“Still, there’s a lot of kick in the rest
of me yet. Let's go over to the house,
take one of the cars and go for a
in.
“No, thanks, I'd rather go to bed.”
“Than. take a ride, or associate
longer with me?” re
“Take your choice!”
Then, blowing the match out, |
We're stum-
fiery scorn. ; ,
i “There's no use arguing with you.
I'm tired and I'm off to bed!” -
i “To lie awake half the night? Don’t
be foolish, Ann. Come for a ride—
it will clear your brain.”
| “Will you let me drive?” Ann ask-
“Whenever you drive,” he replied,
I cease to wonder what the future
holds for me. I feel so sure that I'll
come to with a harp in my hands.”
Evidently Ann turned her back on
him and started off at that, for:
“Oh, Ann!” he protested. “What
has come over you? You're a bunch
,of nerves tonight. Come back—you
‘can grive!”
| This must have appeased her, for
they passed over the foot-bridge to-
gether and were lost in the dark.
“Fattening and battening on other
| people's sufferings!” exploded Bob’s
‘father then.
“They’re young, awfully young,
: Billy,” Ann's father soothed him.
“Young! What has that to do with
(it? When we were young a man who
had made some money was looked up
ito. He was held up as a commend-
; able example. We young chaps want-
i ed to be like him, to succeed, but now- !
‘adays——" Words failed him, he
‘gestured his scorn of these degener-
ate days.
t “I worked eighteen hours a day,
| with Sundays and holidays thrown in,
i to get my start,” he went on irately.
| “I’ve built up something that's big
and vital. It gives employment to
‘thousands. I've played the game as
straight as I could and—well, when
somebody says, in effect, that I am
ia crook and a thief, my son agrees!”
“Bob talked pretty sensibly most
of the time, I thought,” protested
Ann’s father. “Sounded to me as if
he were growing up.”
“Sensibly! He’s an ass. What's
going to come out of all this sort of
talk? What are we headed for?”
“Ask somebody else,” suggested
Ann’s father. His lips quirked. “Ask
Ann—she’s a specialist.
you that the day will come when the
elevator man will get more pay than
ia bank president, because his work
is more wearing and soul-stultifying.
She'll tell you that marriage will pass
' forms of slavery——"
Bob’s father accused him.
“It is sort of amusing when you
think of it.”
morrow ?”
Ann’s father chuckled. “Thought
that would get you,” he commented.
been waiting for you to show up.”
The other, with an impulsiveness
that would have surprised those who
thought they knew him, put out his
hand to clasp his old crony’s
“Good old Dave!” he said simply.
The search-lights of a car, emerg-
ing from the Dighton garage, swept
a beam across them and then shot
down toward the State highway.
“Guess Ann is driving, all right,”
commented her father.
Ann was. In the manner Bob had
protested she would. The state road
swept down upon them like a dark
torrent; squares of lights cast by
farmhouse wind ws shot by like
sparks driven before a gale. Mile
after mile Ann drove so. Then she
began to slacken speed. The rush of
air had been like some soothing drug;
she was less taut. The JPesdometer
dropped from sixty to forty. Bob
made a little noise.
“What did you say?” demanded
Ann, turning toward him.
“I didn’t say anything,” he answer-
ed meekly. “I was just catching
my first full breath since we started.”
Ann scorned that in silence. He,
unabashed, studied her profile. Then:
“Well—what is it?” he asked deliber-
ately.
She turned back toward him, her
eyes widened. “What is what?”
“The great problem that presses.”
“What makes you think there is
any ?” she replied, but he knew that
he had hit home and that she was
evading him.
Of Bob, his father had given an es-
timate. He had spoken in anger, yet
the truth was that Bob did talk like
a fool, at times, to his father. He did
so deliberately. It was his way of re-
taliation when his father sought to
ride rough-shod over him. To the
rest of the world he revealed no lack
of brains. Even Ann, who so often
and so plainly expressed her scorn of
him, knew the quickness of his per-
ception. Now she instinctively pre-
pared herself for defense. He thrust
home more quickly and acutely than
she had anticipated.
“What new ideas that he wants to
try out on you has Van Fleck picked
up among the intelligentsia of Eu-
rope ?”” he demanded.
“What makes you think he has
picked up any—or that he wants to
try them out on me?”
“My child,” he said, “I know Van
Fleck! An I know his methods. I="
“I prefer,” she cut in with a shade
too much dignity, “that you stop try-
ing to drag Van’s name into the con-
versation.”
“I don’t doubt you do,” he retorted,
“and I'll humor you to this extent. A
certain preposterous bounder, whose
ego has been exaggerated by fegnin-
ine adulation—I mention no names,
please observe—selected a prepossess-
ing young acquaintance of mine as
his editorial associate. I would like
to believe that he was motivated
She'll tell
out of existence along with other
i “You sound as if that amused you!” i
Ann’s father emptied
the ashes from his pipe and then said
abruptly, “The muskies are biting. ,
Joe Stedman caught an eight-pounder
last week.”
“Eight-pounder!” echoed Bob’s
father. “Dave—can you get off to- ,
“I.can get off all right. In fact, I've '
| set discussed things like “the complete
: life” freely. They agreed that a wo-
‘man must live it, just as a man. Oth-
erwise women suffered from suppres-
sions and went stale. They agreed
that marriage was insufferable. They
agreed also that you couldn’t dodge
love or life. This theory Ann had
long since subscribed to—as a theory,
It was that which Van had stressed,
that she wasn’t being honest with
herself.
“You've lost your fire, Ann,” he had
said. impressively. “It shows in your
stuff, in your attitude toward every-
thing and everybody. The cold fact
is that you are twenty-five, a mature
woman and——"’
|" “You make me feel like Methuse-
lah,” Ann had cut in, striving desper-
ately to interject a bit of humor into
the scene.
“You know your Freud, your
. Strindberg,” he had pressed on re-
lentlessly. “What are you going to
do about it?”
What indeed! Ann had murmured
that she supposed she had a Puritan
complex. That, he had argued, was
the more reason why she must break
loose.
In the end he had charged her with
inconsistency. = Ann had had to admit
that was true. They had come close
to a break before she had pleaded that
she was so tired she simply couldn’t
think straight. Again he had used
that as an argument. Then abrupt-
ly the philosopher had become a man,
with a vehemence that had startled
Ann and left her more at sea than
ever. To get respite from him rather
than the heat, she had fled home. Van
had, perforce, assented.
i “Wire me the moment you come to
a decision,” he had pleaded as they
said good-by. “You know how much
| I want you. I’ve proved that to you.”
i “You have!” she had whispered,
and let him kiss her cold lips.
The complete life. And Van, who
wanted her so much that——
| “Besides,” Bob’s voice was going
on, “how long has it been an insult
to assure a woman that she has
beauty as well as brains?”
+ “It is an insult to say that Van
selected me as his associate for that
reason,” Ann went on.
“I would like to believe that Van is
perfectly satisfied with your present
relations. Is he?”
Ann flamed; for her the soft star-
red summer night had proved but a
temporary anodyne.
“What business of yours is that?”
she asked. :
““None;” he admitted; i*“but I’d hate
to see you fall for Van’s line, Ann.
' Marriage isn’t in his book, you know.
He doesn’t believe in it.”
“That,” flashed Ann, “shows how
much you. know about Van. Because
he has asked me to marry him!”
i She regretted that instantly, al-
, though the effect on Bob was all she
could have hoped for.
“What?” he gasped incredulously.
Ann merely bit her treacherous lip
in silence.
“Well,” confessed Bob, striving to
recover his equilibrium, “I'll admit
that knocks the wind out of my argu-
ment.Van married! The man has more
. said about marriage.”
“To marry me?” demanded Ann.
“In a way—yes,” he replied, “but
what I had in mind was how he could
ever hope to square himself with the
bunch he travels with after all he has
said about marriage.”
“I shouldn’t have told you,” Ann in-
jected desperately. “He—he would
marry me secretly and we wouldn’t
say anything about it. That was what
he proposed.”
“What!” Bob stared at her incred-
ulously. Then: “Good Lord, Ann, he’s
—he’s even less of a man than I
thought, To sneak off and get mar.
ried as if it were a crime just so he
could play both ends against the mid-
dle. To pretend to believe one thing
and then—"
“He doesn’t pretend anything,” pro-
tested Ann passionately, “He is
willing to sacrifice his own ideal be-
cause I am squeamish——"
“And so refuse to be his plaything
until he tires of you? He has pulled
the ‘complete life, no marriage’ stuff
with a half a dozen silly girls, and
you know it. When he became tired
of them he simply cut loose.”
(Concluded next week.)
State College Scene of Many Activi-
ties.
The Pennsylvania State College will
play host to the directors of the agri-
cultural experiment stations in the
northeastern States, May 20, and 21,
Dean R. L. Watts announces. Part
of the first day will be devoted to
business matters and the remainder
of the period will be spent in study-
ing the experimental work accom-
plished and in progress at the Penn-
sylvania station.
Pennsylvania farm organizations
will send more than thirty delegates
to a conference at the Pennsylvania
State College, Wednesday, May 19.
The group will visit the college prim-
arily to study the research work of
the experiment station. Miles Horst,
Lebanon, secretary-treasurer of the
Pennsylvania Potato Growers’ Asso-
ciation, will head the group.
Students of the school of agricul-
ture at the Pennsylvania State Col-
lege are planning a big: agricultural
field day for Saturday, May 22. Bvery
department. and club in the school
will display exhibits. On the prev-
ious night the students will have an
old-fashioned barn dance in the col-
lege beef cattle barn.
——~Subscribe for the “Watchman.”
to- |
—Legume hay increases yields and
cheapens cost of producing milk.
Plan now for a clover, alfalfa, or
soybeans field or to extend acreage
already started. More milk per acre
and more dollars in the pocket will
follow.
—Continue grain feeding when the
cows are turned out to pasture. Early
pasture grass is very watery and
grain supplements are necessary.
Equal parts of corn, oats, and wheat
bran make a good mixture for this
type of feeding.
—June 16 to 19 are the dates chos-
en for the seventh annual Young
Farmers’ Week at the Pennsylvania
State College. Boys and girls from
‘all over the State are invited to at-
tend this big event. It educates, re-
: creates, and inspires.
—High explosives cannot do every-
thing even if they do have a lot of
energy stored up in small packages.
Inexperienced persons often expect
that they will in some mysterious way
accomplish the impossible. Better
id your explosives before using
them,
—Do not turn the cows out to pas-
ture too early. The first grass is
watery and contains little feeding
value. Pastures are injured by the
tramping of the cattle when the
ground is soft. Better wait until the
grass is well started before opening
the pasture gate.
—Weeds take a tremendous toll
from the farmers of the State every
year. The Pennsylvania State Col-
lege has a series of weed leaflets
which tell how to control the most
troublesome weed pests. Write for
them to the Agricultural Publications
Office, State College, Pa.
—Mark a red ring around Friday,
June 18. That is Farmers’ Field Day
at the Pennsylvania State College, a
day for the whole family. To miss
it is to be sorry. For those who come
there will be hundreds of useful hints
for farm and home, and having come
all will enjoy life more because knowl-
edge precedes improvement.
—Start the chicks off on liquid
milk, say Pennsylvania State College
poultry specialists. It is easier to
teach a young thing to drink than to
eat, and by starting the chicks off on
a liquid diet, they will make a good
“getaway.” It is very undesirable,
however, to overfeed on protein and
when liquid milk is supplied, the mash
should contain little high protein food.
—The disc harrow should be run
over the asparagus bed before cutting
season starts to loosen the soil zd
to help destroy the small weeds * at
will be starting at this time. Plant-
ings that have not yet reached cut-
ting age may be fertilized early in the
season, but for the older plantings
it is preferable to wait to apply the
commercial fertilizer until the close
of the cutting season.
—Sweet corn should not be plant-
ed in single rows as poor pollination
is likely to cause malformed ears.
Plant at least two rows of any va-
riety, or better yet plant in blocks.
Gardeners generally agree that no
sweet corn variety has been found
to equal Golden Bantam in flavor.
You may have the finest of corn all
season by planting a block every ten
days from now until July 1.
—At this time of the year many
little things which might have been
done last fall show up. Bees not
properly protected from winter's
stormy blasts are dead. Rabbits and
mice took advantage of the fruit
trees left exposed to their attacks.
Some of the farm machinery is bad-
ly rusted and hard to start because
it stood in a big shed with the sky
for a roof. Maybe the seed does not
want to grow. Perhaps it will not
happen another year.
—The udder and teats become con-
taminated when cows lie down. The
movements of the udder during the
milking process cause the particles of
dirt to become loosened and fall into
the milk. By keeping the udder and
flanks well brushed, much of the loose
hair and dirt are removed. In one trial
the average number of bacteria in
milk before the udder and flank were
wiped with a damp cloth, was 7,058
bacteria per cubic centimeter. After
being wiped the number was reduced
to 716 or a decrease due to wiping
of 6,342.
—The cow that has just calved
should receive no feed for the first
24 hours—unless it be a bran mash.
Many successful dairymen offer only
a bucket of slightly warmefl water
during the first day. Feeding should
be gradually increased over a week’s
time, and if the cow is a heavy pro-
ducer, she should not be on a full ra-
tion for two or three weeks. Better
underfeed than overfeed at this time.
Light laxative feeds will also tend to
prevent swollen udders and loss of ap-
petite. Wheat pasture of wet beet
pulp are valuable feeds for that pur-
pose. Silage containing much grain
should not be fed at calving time.
—One of the best methods of sum-
mer tillage on the land that has just
produced a crop is to disk the field
early in the fall. The object of disk-
ing is to destroy the weeds, reduce
water losses by evaporation, and to
leave the soil mellow in order that it
may absorb fall and winter precipi-
tation.
In the early spring the ground is
disked again. The disking at this
time should be sufficient to prevent
undue weed growth. Under this prac-
tice the weeds will not have an op-
portunity to exhaust the soil mois-
ture.
About the middle of June the plow
should be started. Plowing should be
completed my the middle of July and
certainly not later than August.
Such a system keeps down the
weeds with a minimum amount of
labor. Plowing is done early enough
to allow proper settling before seed-
ing time. Thus the advantages of
summer tillage are obtained at a very
low cost.—James D. Marshall, Colora-
do Agricultural College, Fort Collins,
Colo.