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Deora Wades
Bellefonte, Pa., June 4, 1926.
EE A A,
THE MOTHER OF TOMORROW.
Here is the mother of men to be
In the unborn days that fly
Swift on the wings of destiny;
Eagerly drawing nigh.
Fearlessly swinging her western way
This daughter of pioneers,
Dreaming her dream at the end of day,
In the romance of love and tears.
She is the mother of cities to come
There on the western sea;
She plants her prayer in the setting sun
For empires yet to be!
Dreams she a dream of sons full brave,
And of daughters that will fling
Their lives back unto the God who gave;
And deem it a little thing.
Untrod ways does she face alone;
This mother of men to be;
She beareth her burden without a groan,
A far off thing does she see:
The freedom of all her kind she dreams
In a land unbound, and new;
She lifts her eyes and a great light seems
To break in the endless blue!
—By William L. Stidger.
THE MOUNTAIN.
The man leaned in the open cabin
door, stooping slightly, and gazed up
at the snow covered summit of Mount
Shasta. He knew its lines well, and
the grace of its lower curves, but he
never tired of them.
A little way from the cabin the Up-
per Sacramento began to widen for
its slow, beneficent journey through
the valley. It made half of an S as
it bent between high rocks bordering
the small fruit farm. The cabin it-
self was really a large and comfort-
able house. It sprawled in harmony
with the river, fitting itself into the
hollows and rises of the land—becom-
ing an integral part of the land, as
indeed the man seemed a part of it.
His eyes left the mountain’s crest
and followed a clear-cut, winding
trail, visible even in the failing light
of dusk. Two dim figures were de-
scending the trail, clinging togther
as they walked—a man and a woman,
unmistakably, and the watcher knew
just who they would be.
Now he saw the woman point to-
ward the cabin. With her other hand,
which had . been thrown across the
man’s back, she removed his arm
from her waist.
The man in the cabin door sighed,
but did not move.
“She’s thinking of me,” he said, al-
most sadly.
Joel Brooks was a man of nature,
a calm man, seldom swayed by pas-
sion. He had something of the im-
mobility of the mountain he so often
gazed upon, who knows but that he
also had some of the eternal fire that
burns at its heart? There was very
little ego in him, but he often felt
that he was a part—a necessary part |
—of the manifold and multifarious |
congeries that is called nature.
The bit of pantomine that he had |
observed hurt him deeply, but there
was no trace of emotion on his face.
Another man, especially one possess-
ing Joel's skill with a rifle, would
have had the bead of his gun upon the
couple. Another might have clench-
ed his fists and uttered futile threats.
Joel watched and did not move. .
He was hurt because the woman |
was his wife and the man one whom |
he knew as a friend—as, indeed. Joel
knew all men.
“I have no enemies,” he might have
said without cant.
He was hurt in a somewhat differ-
ent way because Lucy was trying
with small success, to conceal her
love for Hugh Rogers. He could re-
member the frank, free-spoken girl !
he had married only a few years ago.
How she would have scorned conceal-
ment! He hoped now that she would
come to him and tell him, in her old
free way, that she loved Hugh—even
though hearing from her lips words
her eyes already spoke would be the
greatest hurt of all. He would bear
that willingly, if only her splendid
frankness were not lost. :
Still young—surely not more than
35—his lean, ascetic face and his iil-
assorted yet somehow attractive fea-
tures wore the mask of years. Suf-
fering and grief and the weight of
great experience were reflected there.
Though the lines remained, inefface-
able, over them had come a new co-or-
dinating composure. Whatever dark-
ness had blinded the man, whatever
flames had scarred him, today, as he
stood in the shadow of an eternal
mountain, he was at peace.
Life, the endless cycle, repeats it-
self. What one man learns at the
risk of his 'soul’s immortality he can-
not pass on to another, save genius
be in him. What Joel had learned he
could not give to Lucy. In hgr sup-
ple young body the old fire burned un-
dimmed, and there was upon her a
great hunger and a great thrist—for
the very dregs that Joel had tasted.
At first the mountains were to her,
as to him, a refuge and a haven; but
then she had been ill. Her illness and
his tender care of her had united them
as man and wife in a love built of
kindly softness. For them there had
been no cruel, surging madness, no
storm bursting the flood-gates, no
great force crashing to its inevitable
fulfillment. Not for Lucy, at any
rate. ‘
To Joel, Lucy had remained as he
had found her—a girl-child to be
guarded and cherished, to be protect-
ed from the things that had struck
him before he had won to serenity and
calm, Now she was growing up, try-
ing her new-found wings. When he
spoke, as he sometimes did, of the
beauty of their life togther in the
mountains, he saw the longing in her
eyes and heard her soft sigh.
A visit to San Francisco did not
help, but made her more eager to get
away again. And then, out of the
world he had known, where Joel's
name was still loved and his books
were genuine events, came Hugh Rog-
ers. :
Rogers was flippant, light-hearted,
with the gift of eternal youth, but
—
1
one of the kindest and most lovable
men you could find anywhere.
Joel’s “disease was thought, as Hugh
said, Hugh’s weakness was super-
ficiality. Brilliant, picturesque, he
had never paid anything for what he
possessed. They were his birthrights,
unquestioningly accepted as his due,
dispensed with a largesse that made
his acceptance of them tolerable.
His travel sketches were dashed off
on his typewriter, or dictated at top
speed, and never revised. They sold
‘| easily and were collected into volumes
that ‘made evey one want to go to the
Solomons, of Madagascar—wherever
it was that Hugh’s fancy had taken
him.
There was no envy in Joel’s heart
when he thought of Hugh. He sin-
cerely admired him, although he
laughingly chided him for: his care-
lessness as to details. :
“For example,” Joel would say, “in
your description of making of kava
in Tahiti I observed that 2
“To tell you the truth, Joel, I was
too busy drinking it to find out how
it was made. I just jotted down what
a Frenchman told me. I don’t go in
for details—I only aim to hit the high
spots.” a
It was no wonder Lucy loved him,
Brooks thought, as he watched them
come down the trail. Lucy’s mind
only “hit the high spots,” too. She
was no longer the frail, delicate child
that Joel Brooks had married.
If only he could show her, tell her,
make her know somehow, how much
he loved her! But, said his quixoti-
cally scrupulous mind, that would not
be fair now that she loved Hugh and
Hugh loved her. Joel should have
done that long ago. Ah, but hadn’t
he tried?
That was the thing he often
thought of—the isolation of each hu-
man being upon an island of his own
experience and his own ~ character.
Sometimes love, like a vast geologic
upheaval, bridged two islands and
made them one; but such phenomena
were rare. : ¥t
And Joel was more isolated than
most men ,finding it more difficult to
convey, even to the woman he loved,
his real feelings. Once, when he hwnd
tried to reason Lucy into a love of
the peace of their solitude, she had
turned on him flamingly. ;
“You have no emotion!” she had
said. “Nothing ever bothers you.
You are never upset, and I am always
upset. There’s a turbulence here”—
striking her breast—“that I cannot
still.’ : :
Joel went into the house when Lucy
and Hugh, hand in hand, crossed the
foot-bridge. He did not want Lucy
to have another cause for concealing
the love that glowed in her eyes and
trembled on her lips.
Dinner that night, served by a
silent Korean, whose eyes were almost
as keen as his master’s, was a thing
of laughter—Iike the sound of a
stream about to crash headlong over
a precipice. Joel felt hopelessly in
the way. Whenever Lucy looked at
Hugh, or when he looked at her, they
abruptly stopped speaking, awed by
the thing they felt. ; 3
It was Joel whose calm, modulated
voice carried the conversation. No
one, observing him, could have guess-
ed that he saw into the very souls
of the others.
Over the table hung a cloud of fear.
Lucy was afraid of what she had dis-
covered. Hugh was afraid of what
he had become, yet unable to be oth-
erwise. Joel was afraid for them and
their safety.
Inevitably he let something of that
‘creep into his words, yet he spoke
without apparent feeling. He was
talking about divorce in various coun-
tries, civilized and barbarous, com-
paring the multiplicity of codes that
have grown up, each absolute in its
own locality. It was a problem that
interested him deeply, for where he
found diversity he endeavored also to
find the ceordinating principle of re-
lationship.
“Many lands, many customs,” he
concluded; “and yet all of them get
right back to the same old groynd.
Divorce exists because human love
dies, along with all else that is human.
And what is the death of love? Al-
most invariably a new desire, a new
love, that takes the place of the old.”
He ignored the frightened glances
that Lucy and Hugh exchanged.
“Behold the philosopher!” Luey’s
eyes said, quite clearly “He sees all,
knows all, save that upon his own
doorstep!”
Inevitably, too, there was a trace
of scorn in her glance. Now that her
love was dead, she was scorning the
very thing in Joel that once had won
it.
Hs saw all that the look implied,
and went. calmly on.
“So I say we should have only one
code—a frank acceptance of the fact
that love dies. It is nothing to be
ashamed of, but a normal phase of
human emotion.”
Lucy’s scorn could not be repressed.
“Oh, Joel, what do you know of
emotion? You haven’t a shred of it
—not so much!”
She snapped her fingers to measure
the amount. 2
“Perhaps not,” Joel agreed calm-
ly; “but even so I can think about it.”
“You can’t think about emotion-—
if it’s the real thing,” put in Hugh.
“It gets you. It drugs your brain,
and barren reason is cast out.” He
stopped abruptly as Joel’s eyes met
his. “At least,” he mumbled, almost
apologetically; “that’s the way I am.”
“So are we all,” said Joel; “but
whatever the depth of it or strength
of it, my only demand is for frank-
ness. It’s repression and conceal-
ment that make the clean fire of emo-
tion a poison to all it touches.”
His inscrutable eyes were fixed up-
on his pipe. Lucy’s went to Hugh,
and Hugh’s fell. Lucy’s lips were
parted. She seemed about to speak;
then her white hand fluttered to the
bodice of her black dress. She laugh-
ed.
“Oh, dear, we're becoming serious
about life! Joel, get the brandy
you’ve been saving. I'd like the teen-
iest drop, and Hugh has the reputa-
tion ” . {
“Quite undeserved, really,” said
Hugh, laughing. “It’s because I on-
ly drink in public.”
Joel lighted his pipe and left the | “Good-by,” he said. “I hope you he saw the profound calm of a woman
room to get the brandy. As the door
closed behind him, Lucy turned quick-
ly to Hugh. :
“I must tell him tonight! I can’t
bear deceiving him, even in thought.
And you heard what he said.”
Hugh reached for her hand and
held it, his handsome, youthful face
alight.
“1 agree with you now,” he said.
“Before I thought it was impossible
—1I couldn’t conceive of a man so ut-
terly without emotion. But he has no
feeling—not even for you! I'm sorry
for him, awfully—I wouldn’t hurt him
for the world. Almost, before that,
I'd give you up!” His eyes flamed in
emotion of sacrifice. “But it won’t
hurt him, I can see that now. I don’t
believe he has a feeling in the world.
His old mountain, the trees, the riv-
er—they are to him all that you are
te me. Tell him tonight, and tomor-
row morning we can leave. The day
after, San Francisco, and then, .belov-
ed, Hawaii, China, Japan, India—
whatever you like! Oh, my beloved!”
He sought to embrace her, but!
started quickly back as Joel's foot-
steps became audible outside.
Late that night, long after dinner,
Joel stood outside the cabin and look-
ed up with love at the immutable
mountain that had come to be, to him,
a symbol of unswerving verity. Hugh
had proclaimed a desire to write, and
had gone to his room, where a shaded
light still burned. Lucy had remained
indoors, reading.
She found Joel, if anything, more
calm, more emotionless, than at din-
ner. He stood with an easy languor
that gave no sign as she approached
him. She came, in her rustling silk,
like a timid bird. Joel did not turn
until he felt her soft, childish hand
on his arm. Then he leaned toward
her, smiling, as he had been wont to
smile when she was ill and rebellious
about getting well.
She found it very hard to speak.
She could not utter a word while he
was smiling at her. Suddenly it came
to her that his solid strength and
wisdom were worth much more than
Hugh’s brilliance and fervor. Then
she looked away to avoid her hus-
band’s glance, and her quick, child-
ish anger arose.
She turned back to
his eyes.
“Joel, I have something that I must
tell you. I—I love Hugh Rogers, and
Hugh loves me.”
Although he knew the fact, Joel
had thought he would be stunned by
the words that proclaimed it; but he
was not. He continued to smile at
her, and now there was a whimsical
twist at the corners of his mouth, al-
together out of keeping with the sit-
uation. His smile was one of gentle
amusement. He could only think how
Joel, avoiding
charmingly childish Lucy was. He:
recalled a vivid incident of her illness,
when she had refused to take medi-
cine, and had demanded a pound of
chocolates—just as she was now de-
manding Hugh Rogers.
“Yes,” he said, as the amusement
left him. “I know it.” bos i
“You know it? Why——"
“Dearest, your eyes have said little
else since Hugh came. And he, of
course, is as easily read as a head-
line.”
“I'm going away with him tomor-
row, Joel. It’s the only thing to do.
I can’t stand it here any longer. You
have no emotion. You sit and watch
us, you know we love each other, and
you make no move. You don’t love
me—you never have loved me—or you
couldn’t act that way!”
“Lucy, dear, I don’t love you any
the less because I don’t rant. I love
you so much that I would even give
you up to make you happy. If you
are sure of your love for Hugh,
there’s nothing for me to do. Are
you sure?”
Lucy proudly lifted her head,
her eyes shone with conviction.
“Positive!” she said. “We're going
away tomorrow!”
There was no kindness in her tone.
She found that she could not be kind,
as she had meant to be, to this image
of stone, who smiled at her when she
told him she loved another. Nor
could she see, behind that twisted
smile, the soul of the tortured man,
clinging with clenched hands to the
reason he worshiped, in order that
he might not raise his hands to kill.
When she left him and went back in-
to the house, she did not see his arms
reach out to her, nor did she hear the
pitiful, futile prayer he lifted to the
mountain.
He stood there in the night until
the chill, damp air awakened him, and
he saw the gray of the.beginning day
creeping up the eastward slopes of
the mountain. Then he turned and
went into the house, where the Ko-
rean boy was already busy preparing
breakfast. ]
To whatever gods Joel had pray-
ed, they had not answered. He sank
wearily into a deep chair in his study.
Something seemed strangely amiss in
the room, and he looked about to ex-
amine its familiar corners.
His eyes rested upon a spot beside
his chair, and he saw the swastika of
a Navajo rug. It did not seem to be-
long there. He had never noticed it
before. Something else had been
there. st:
It came to him in a flash. Lucy had
often sat upon a green silk cushion,
there beside his chair, while he read
to her; and now the cushion was gone.
He got up and walked about the
room, trying to find it; but it had
been taken away. He slumped back
in his chair and a dull ache throbbed
in his head. Soon all the things he
and
‘had come to associate with Lucy
would be gone. The house would be
stripped, uninhabitable. es
He breakfasted alone, with the
silent Korean bringing him food he
could not eat. Then he went out of
doors again, leaving the house. to
Lucy and Hugh. He did not return
until he saw them come out, dressed
for the. trail. . He heard Lucy tell the
servant to send her bags out by the
next pack-train. ©
Lucy led the way, with a subdued
Hugh following. ' ‘Joel met them at
the foothridge and smiled gravely. He
held out his hands, one to Lucy, the
other to Hugh,
“f'sat motionless until the "Korean boy
will be very happy.” |
Lucy smiled provocatively at him,
but it was plain that she was puzzled. !
“Good-by, Joel!” she said.
Perhaps, if Joel had broken down
then, she would have thrown herself
into his arms and remained there for-
ever; but he did not break down. In-
stead, he gripped her hand like a com-
rade. i
Hugh turned away, ashamed, as
Lucy went off down the trail . !
“Joel, old man, I'm damned sorry!”
he protested. “I feel like a rotter,
but—===" ‘
“Take care of her, Hugh,” Joel in-!
terrupted. “Be good to her.”
Lucy and Hugh went down the!
trail in silence. Nothing Joel could!
have done or said, nothing he could
have left undone, could have hurt
Lucy more deeply than his final ten-
der, calm farewell. Hugh was mani-
festly embarrassed. He could not
comprehend Joel, and he felt that
somehow he was violating a sacred
code. i
He looked shyly at the woman by
his side, and he was afraid that he
would never win her love as she had
won Joel’s. Thinking it over, look-
ing back upon Joel as he stood in the
shadow of the mountain, Hugh knew
that Joel loved Lucy with a depth and
strength of which he was not capable. '
There had been many women in his |
life; in Joel’s, only one. Luey knew |
this, too.
As the mountain bent over them,
while they took the downward trail,
she felt its presence as for years she
tective. She looked at the slender, !
boyish Hugh. She compared him with
Joel, as she had not been able to do |
in her husband’s presence. The two |!
men were so different.
Suddenly Lucy felt childish, and !
felt that the man at her side was a’
child. Joel was a man. :
Provocative, questioning, came her |
thoughts. She wondered, woman-like,
if Joel could really let her go with- |
out a word, if he could so easily put
out of his life what had been for years
the very soul of that life. It was un- |
thinkable, inconceivable!
She began to laugh almost hyster-
ically as she slipped on the trail and ;
Hugh caught her to support her. '
Then, her curiosity aroused, she made
an excuse—she had forgotten her
mother’s last picture, she said, and
she must go back for it.
She turned and ran back up the
trail to the house. There was no pic-
ture there, but she must see Joel
again. She must see him when he
did not know she was there.
As it turned out, she saw him as
she had never seen him before.
Joel went back into his study at
last, closed the door carefully behind
him, and sat with bowed head at the !
table. He felt curiously listless and
indifferent. Nothing seemed to be
worth while. . :
He took an unfinished manuscript
out of the drawer and tore it into bits. |
He tossed into a far corner a book he
had been asked to review. Then he
knocked on the door and announced
luncheon. : =
“Eat it yourself,” he directed. “I'll
let you know when I want some-
thing.”
He solemnly weighed the things he
had won and lost from life. Nothing
that remained had any value for him.
And as he came to this conclusion, his
hand made its way into the drawer
of his desk and closed over a pistol.
He drew out the weapon and care-
fully examined it. It was a .38, load-
ed. Unemotionally he lifted it to his
temple, at the same time raising his
head and eyes until they were level
with the broad window before his
desk.
Curtainless, and of plate glass, the
window ‘was a perfect frame for the
snow-capped mountain. The summit
of Shasta with its crown of white
was like a wise and benevolent old
patriarch looking down on an unwise
son.
With the pistol still against his
temple, a thought ran through Joel’s
brain. It was wordless and fleeting
but it might have been translated
thus:
. “Some day Lucy will need you. You
cannot do anything but live for her.
Though she has gone away, she is
yours to love and cherish and protect,
always. You must wait!”
He laid the pistol on the desk.
“I'll wait until she needs me,” he
promised the mountain, in a whisper.
A knock came at the door, but he
did not answer. Another, but he did
not hear. Then the knob slowly turn-
ed, and he was dimly aware of anoth-
er person in the room; but he djd not
care. His body shook with the storm,
and tears flowed from his cold smiling
eyes.
At last he raised his head again to
the mountain and looked upon it. He
drew himself erect and said again:
“I'll wait—until she needs me!”
“I need you now—-Joel,” whispered
a soft voice at his elbow.
He started and looked down at a
golden head that somehow resembled
Lucy’s, at a figure as slender as hers,
but wraithlike through his tears.
“Joel, dearest, dearest Joel, I
couldn’t go away from you! You are
the only man in the world for me.
Your mountain—our mountain now—
turned me back. At every bend of
the trail it seemed to say, ‘You be-
long here, you cannot go away!” And
I couldn’t, Joel. I never want to go
anywhere again as long as I live, I
need you, now and always, dear, and
I need our mountain!”
Sincere and frank as she was, Lucy
was not philosopher enough to know
that it was his need of her, rather
than her need of him, that made her
love him. Curiosity had turned her
back, and the sight of her man, brok-
en like a boy, had won her love. Now
they were equals.
Before he had quite realized that
it was really Lucy, she had taken her
old place in his arms, curled into that
refuge like a frightened child. His
tears flowed into the golden rain of
her hair. He could not speak.
: Then she raised her lips to his, and
in her kiss he found the depth of her
awakened womanhood. In her eyes
| Nebraska,
had felt Joel’s—calm, immutable, pro- *
whose soul is that of a mother of men.
—From the Public Ledger.—By Ben-
jamin Foulkner.
Rattlesnake Crop Big in Southwest.
Omaha, Neb.—A fine year for rat-
tle snakes was 1925—the finest year
for the crawling death since the
trans-Missouri country was thrown
open to settlement. Rattlers and
more rattlers. Nobody knows why
they were so numerous and so savage
during 1925, but they simply know
they were both numerous and veno-
mous. Scarcely a neighborhood in
South Dakota, Wyoming or
Colorado but what has a snake story
to tell
Leading all the rattlesnake stories
of the year, and probably for many
years, for that matter, was that of
Mrs. H. H. Slaughterback, of Fort
Lupton, Weld county, Colorado. In
a two hours’ battle with rattlers late
in the fall Mrs. Slaughterback killed
182 of the deadly reptiles. Mrs.
Slaughterback is the wife of a ranch-
er and was attacked by the rattle-
snakes when she inadvertently came
near the den in which they were pre-
paring to go into winter quarters.
They surrounded her and she had to
fight for her life. Her weapon was
a stick.
Contrary to the oft-told tales of
rattlesnakes “leaping” at victims, the
snake can only strike about two-thirds
of its own length. About one-third of
; the snake remains on the ground,
while the other two-thirds goes for-
ward in the lunge. But the entire
snake never leaves the ground when
the reptile strikes.
Near White River, S. D., Henry
Jenkins ran on a rattlesnake den on |
| the bluffs of the river and killed
about twenty-five. The snakes had
rolled themselves into a ball and had
gone to sleep for the winter.
Around Rattlesnake Ledge in north-
ern Colorado, probably 250 rattlers
were killed during the year, but no
one was bitten by them. Rattlesnake
Ledge is the most dreaded place in
northern Colorado because of the
scourge of rattlesnakes which infests
that range of hills.
Some Little Known Facts
Sleep.
About
The harder a man works the less
sleep he requires; strong coffee does
not help to keep people awake; and
anyone who goes without sleep for
three nights in succession will feel far
more tired on the second night than
on the third.
These startling statements have all
been proved true by psychologists.
The investigators believe that the
human race sleeps too much. During
a recent test nine people .of each sex
went without sleep for eighty hours.
At the end of that time it was found |
that eight to ten hours’ sleep was suf-
ficient to restore them to normal.
Exercise and moderate eating help-
"ed the subjects of the experiment to
k awake. . They swam, ran, drove
motor cars, and played games. After
forty-five hours of -wakefulness it
was found very difficult to drive a
motor-car, but on the third night
drowsiness almost completely disap-
peared, and driving became compara-
tively easy.
Although physical strength declines
as the result of any serious loss of
sleep, mental alertness is in no way
dulled.
Protecting the Birds.
Birds are naturally the friends of
man, and if kindly treated many of
them build nests in the trees and
shrubs close to the homes. If they
see a cat lurking around the place,
that ancient enemy will drive them
away, and they are none too trustful
of children. But even with these dan-
gers, they will frequently build their
nests close to the homes.
The children should be taught to be
very careful not to molest or fright-
en these feathered friends, and they
should be shown that a good active
family of birds will consume \n enor-
mous quantity of harmful bugs dur-
ing a season.
Cats also should be restrigted dur-
ing the season when young birds are
trying to fly. Kitty has her place in
the world, but when she destroys the
birds, she has gone beyond her sphere.
She needs a good collar around her
neck, and a fairly loud bell, to an-
nounce her presence, and much will
be gained if she is kept indoors at
night.—From the Lititz Record."
To Beautify Washington.
Washington is expected to take her
place among the most beautiful cap-
itals of the world during the next few
years. The National Capital Park
and Planning Commission, recently
authorized by Congress is rapidly be-
ing organized. This body is to de-
velop a plan of growth for the capital
and its environs, admittedly needed
as a result of the tremendous growth
of suburb in Virginia and Maryland.
Approximately $50,000,000 has al-
ready been set aside by Congress for
new public buildings to take place of
temporary structures erected during
the war. Pennsylvania Ave. between
the White House and the Capitol now
has whole blocks of tenement like
buildings, largely occupied by curio
dealers, fortune tellers and Chinese.
The razing of these has long been ad-
vocated. Indications are that some
progress may be made along this line
during the next few years as Con-
gres has begun to take notice of the
growing agitation—The Mountain.
—Bull snakes from Texas are ex-
cellent rat and mice catchers. At
least the nature study department at
the Pennsylvania State College has
found them very efficient. Food sup-
plies in the nature study laboratory
attracted rats and mice which became
so bothersome that Professor George
R Green, head of the nature study de-
partment, decided to turn the harm-
less bull snakes loose. After a few
days the rodents had disappeared.
The five-foot Texans had performed
! their task well.
© FARM NOTES.
—Friday, June 18, is Farmers’
| Field Day at the Pennsylvania State
College. If you have never attended
one of these affairs you have missed
many treats. Go and take your
neighbor, too.
—Recent reports show only 65 per
cent. of the spring plowing done by
the first of this month compared to
78 per cent. last year. This drainage
of the wet spots permits early plow-
(ing. It helps tilth and rushes the
spring season.
—It will soon be time to remove
the antiques from the laying flock.
After the flush of production is over,
many of the poor birds will stop lay-
ing and start to molt. The poultry-
man who makes the most money
“swats” these as fast as they appear.
At least half of the flock ought to be
discharged each year.
—A measure of dry hay shatter-
ings of a wire rack consisting of a
piece of poultry netting tacked to the
chicken house wall and kept filled
with the greener, more leafy bunches
of hay will give the hens something
ic work at all day. It keeps the hens
busy and satisfied, and it gives you
‘a big amount of satisfaction to see
.the increase in the number of eggs
. gathered.
| —Travelers should give highway
i workers the right of way whether it
(is to the right or left. It makes bad
‘work where the scraper or plow
' crosses the road. Often the main-
| tainer or patrolman has two or more
{ horses on the wide machine. Whether
, driving a motor vehicle or a team, it
| is easier and quicker to give the road
! than to try to hold it. A little mat-
ter of courtesy and accomodation on
i
| the road, coupled with common sense,
y¥ill save a lot of trouble sometimes.
{ —Many Centre county farmers will
| attempt to lessen the amount of resi-
{due on their apples this year by
| thorough spraying with lead arsenate
{in the next two applications, the
| calyx and cluster apple sprays, in or-
{ der to control the first broods of cod-
"ling moths, curculio, and other in-
, sects, says County Agent -R. C.
| Blaney.
| If these sprays are not applied
| thoroughly and the insects not con-
| trolled, he cautions, additional sprays
{ will have to be applied in the fall.
| The later work may be avoided by
| proper spraying now.
—Spraying of potato vines is very
necessary if insect damage is to be
avoided. Any of the arsenical in-
secticides will control the striped Col-
orado potato beetle and the gray
blister beetle. The usual spray is 50
gallons of water with 1.5 pounds of
paris green, 2 peunds of calcium ar-
senate or 3 pounds of lead arsenate.
If paris green, or calcium arsenate is
used, an equal quantity of lime should
be used, to prevent burning. These
poisons are frequently applied in the
form of a dust, mixing 1 part of
poison with 20 parts of hydrated lime.
In a home garden paris green and
flour is sometimes used.
—~Seven hundred : and seventy-five
bushels of registered Richland oats
have been distributed in rust-infect-
ed districts of Wayne, McKean, Brad-
ford, Wyoming, and Susquehanna
counties this spring, according to H.
B. Musser, cereal grain extension
specialist of the Pennsylvania State
College. The Richland variety is re-
sistant to the black stem rust. More
than a hundred farms were represent-
ed by the purchasers of the good seed.
Richland, a new variety in the State,
is a selection from a Russian variety
known as Kherson. It was developed
by the Iowa State College. Demon-
strations run in Bradford and Susque-
hanna counties for the past two years
proved it satisfactory for the rust-
infected areas of the north tier coun-
ties. In Bradford county the variety
yielded 52.1 bushels an acre and in
Susquehanna county 59.8 bushels.
—Poultry farmers of Centre county
who do not know whether their flocks
are making a profit or not can soon
find out by keeping records. Often
when the hens are thought to be prof-
itable or to be unprofitable records
kept on them show just the opposite
to be true. You cannot guess about
these matters. The only way to know
definitely is to keep records. No busi-
ness man in any other industry would
depend on a part of business to fur-
nish him an income without knowing
whether it was doing it or not. Like-
wise, no poultryman can afford to de-
pend upon his hens to produce an in-
come for him without checking on
them. The accounts furnish a record
of results and are a basis for analy-
sis without which neither investment
nor the expending of labor and cur-
rent expense is justified.
Anyone interested in keeping rec-
ords on their flocks should call at the
Agricultural Extension Office, Belle-
fonte where he can get information
about a good system and require-
ments.
—Good kinds of green feeds are
sprouted oats, alfalfa meal, chopped
alfalfa and clover hay, cabbages and
mangel beets. In ordinary cellars
cabbages do not keep so well as man-
gel beets, so they should be uesd up
first. Cabbages may be hung up in
the poultry house; the beets are usu-
ally split and stuck on a nail in the
side wall of the pen about a foot above
the ground. Vegetables which have
been frozen can be thawed out and
fed to fowls, but do not keep well
after thawing. Clover and alfalfa
may be fed as hay, cut into one-quar-
ter or one-half-inch lengths, or they
may be bought in the form of meal.
Oats and barley for ‘sprouting are
soaked overnight in warm water and
then spread out from one-half to one
inch thick on trays having perforated
bottoms and put into an oat sprouter.
Water the oats thoroughly and turn
the trays around once daily to pro-
mote even sprouting. Artificial heat
should be supplied in cool weather by
the use of a kerosene lamp or by some
other means. Use a good grade of
oats and allow a square inch of
sprouted oats surface per hen daily,
feeding these sprouted oats on the
floor of the poultry house or in the
yard. Feed the sprouted grain at
any time after sprouting.