— EE EEE eee eet eres meee eee eens ere
—
Dewar ic
Bellefonte, Pa., September 17, 1926.
THE EARLY OWL.
An Owl once lived in a hollow tree.
And he was as wise as wise could be.
The branch of Learning he didn’t know
Could scarce on the tree of knowledge
: grow.
He knew the tree from branch to root,
And an Owl like that can afford to hoot.
And he hooted—until, alas! one day
He chanced to hear, in a casual way,
An insignificant little bird
Make use of a term he had never heard.
He was flying to bed in the dawning light
‘When he heard her singing with all her
‘might
“Hurray! hurray for the early worm!”
“Dear me!” said the Owl, “what a sing-
ular term!
I would look it up if it weren't so late;
I must rise at dusk to investigate.
Early to bed and early to rise
Makes an Owl healthy and stealthy and
wise!
So he selpt like an honest owl all day,
And rose in early twilight gray,
And went to work in the dusky light.
To look for the early worm all night.
He searched the country for miles around
But the early worm was not to be found.
So he went to bed in the dawning light,
And again and again, and again and again,
He sought and he sought, but all in vain,
Till he must have looked for a year and a
day
For the early worm, in the twilight gray.
Af last in despair he gave up the search,
And was heard to remark, as he sat on his
perch
By the side of his nest in the hollow tree.
“The thing is as plain as night to me—
Nothing can shake my convictions firm,
There's no such a thing as the early
worm.
—By Oliver Herford, in St. Nicholas.
THE DOCTOR’S LOVE STORY.
Dr. O’Flynn’s practice stretched
from his surgery in Little Endell
street round and about as far as Gor-
don Square on the north and half
down Drury Lane on the south. It
was a mixed practice, and though the
surgery was frankly a converted shop
and though his work took him to
slums like those in Sardinia street,
he had a few good patients, such, for
instance, as the Burkes of Gordon
Square, and the Hon. Miss Corkran,
of Cunningham Mansions, all Irish
and Catholics, like himself.
O’Flynn was of the peasant stock
that supplies such good recruits to
the priest-hood and the medical pro-
fession; 50 and over, fresh-faced, with
a twinkle in his eye, a humorous
tongue and a careless manner. He
was friends with all men and women.
Careless in dress and manner, he
sometimes contravened the strict dic-
tates governing the rules of medical
procedure; acting generally on the
impulse of his heart, he sometimes
even transgressed the laws of ordin-
ary life, doing things that no English
professional man would ever dream of
doing—like, for instance, the thing I
am going to tell you about presently.
Norah, 58, from Kerry, cook, house-
maid and general factotum, made up,
with Billy, the surgery boy, the whole
of the doctor’s menage. Billy would
arrive every morning at 8, departing
at 5. Norah rarely went out, except
to mass; she haa no holding with the
“ould trash” of English people round
about; aching always to be back in
Tralee, she led the life of a prisoner
in the Bastille, bound by the chains
of household duties and barred from
escape by her absolute, unflinching,
almost incredible devotion to the doc-
tor.
For the sake of O'Flynn she even
permitted children to play on the
house doorstep. You must under-
stand, and this is an important part
of the geography of my story, that
the shop door was the way of ingress
for patients; the house door, with its
night bell and speaking tube, was
I
tinct from the race of London people
who still inhabit houses.
O’Flynn went up the stone stairs,
knocked at the door, and was admit-
ted by Margaret. ;
Margaret was County Dublin pure
and simple, a stout, matronly woman
with chest-nut-colored hair worn flat
on the forehead, and a Dublin accent
which is to the accent of Kerry as
cockney to West Somerset.
“Is Miss Julia in?” asked the doc-
I.
“In,” said Margaret, “faith, where
else would she be? She hasn't set
foot to the ground since here you
were last, achin’ and pinin’ on the
sofa and me near driven distracted
with her.”
She took his hat and, leading him
down the passage, ushered him into
a sitting room filled with twilight and
the pleasant flickering of a fire, the
perfume of violets and the fragrance
of China tea.
By the couch stood a table with tea
things for one, and near the table a
chair with a cushion on which had
once reposed the dog. ;
Miss Corkran, on the entrance of
the physician, laid down the book
that she had been reading.
It is a thing to be read by twilight
or firelight, and this super-refined
sensualist had evidently been trying
to do both. She held out a ringless,
attenuated hand to the other, but she
did not offer tea.
The Corkrans of Castle Corkran
were a very old Irish family and the
O’Flynns were just the O’Flynns;
perhaps that was the reason she did
not offer tea“even to this tried friend,
or perhaps it was because, being
bound up in herself, she didn’t think.
He took his seat beside her with a
few words and picked up a book tHat
had fallen from the couch to the floor.
He noted the title as he placed it on
the table by the tea things, “Have
Animals Souls? Yes!”
“And now let’s look at your tongue,”
said he.
On that order, given to the com-
monalty, a mouth flies open like a
trapdoor and a tongue protrudes it-
self even to the roots.
But the Corkrans are different;
moving and moistening her lips, wip-
ing them with a lace-edged handker-
chief, she presented a tongue on-a
salver, so to speak, a tongue fresh
and innocent as the tongue of a child.
“H’'m,” said O’Flynn.
He took her pulse, a pulse soft as
a 6-year-old’s, even and full of vital-
ity if not of robustness.
“Bad,” said O'Flynn. “You haven't
been doing as I told you. Oh, there’s
no use in talking of neuralgia when ye
won’t listen to me advice. Here
you’ve been lying ever since I saw
you last.”
“Oh, no, I haven't,” cut in the pa-
tient. “I've been up and about—-"
“Up and about! It’s up and out I
told you to be. It’s not your body,
it’s. your mind that you want to take
out for a walk; I told you that last
time and I won’t tell you again; there
now, you have it plain.”
Miss Corkran sighed.
“I can’t bear people,” said Miss
Corkran. “I know it’s wicked and all
that, but I've tried it—ever since—
no matter.” :
She plaited her handkerchief, and
to O'Flynn there came the suggestion,
and not for the first time, that Julia
Corkran, in the years before he had
been her doctor and friend, had ex-
perienced a cross in her affections.
“Maybe you never tried the right
people,” said he. “I come to you for
money for the poor souls down in Sar-
diania street or Drury lane, and out
leaps your purse; never a friend of
the poor better than you. Well, get
into a cab and come and see them;
the salt of the earth they are, and the
welcome of God they’ll give you.”
But Miss Corkran shook her head;
she could do anything for the poor
but touch them. Poverty, squalor
and dirt horrified her; she hinted as
match he struck revealed also that its poor Mrs. McGinnis,” says she, ‘never ' McGinnis. She did not want a future
face was dirty.
Beside this living bundle was a
a word or whisper she’s heard yet of
her baby.’ ‘What baby?’ says
small tin of salmon, tucked close up | ‘Why, the baby she lost,’ says she,
to it, almost hidden by the shawl,
‘that was snatched from young
O’Flynn flung the match away and | Noreen by a big man with a black
looked up and down the street. Not |
a soul, nothing but the bell of a muf- |
fin man, unseen in the mist, and the
far murmur of traffic from the streets
beyond.
beard, bad cess to him, it and a tin
of salmon the creature had bought
and was fetchin’ home to her mother
—sure, where have you been that you
| haven’t heard talk of it?”
He bent down and picked the bun- |
“ ‘Mindin’ me own business,’ says
dle up, kicked the tin of salmon on to I, ‘and two more pitatoes in the pan,
the pavement, and opened the door |
| her goggle eyes, talkin’ to distract
with his latchkey.
Upstairs in the sitting room, with
please, to turn the scale.’ She and
me with her short weights—and back
the bundle on Norah's lap before the I came hotfoot to tell you.”
fire, unwrapping produced not only a |
fat child of 1 and a bit, just rousing
from sleep and winding itself up to
cry, but a feeding bottle with a long
unhygienic rubber tube and nipple.
Norah popped the nipple in its
mouth and after a second’s indecision
it chose the better part and sucked.
The doctor, standing with his back
to the fire, watched it as it sat, its
black, beady eyes taking in the points
of this new environment as it fed. It
was a boy, a baby boy of the slums.
Now, people in the slums don’t de-
sert their babies. They do all sorts
of other - things, but they don’t do
that, and O’Flynn must have been
blind, absolutely blind for the mom-
ent, to have been led astray as he
was. Blind, or anyhow half-blinded,
by the great new idea that had sud-
denly seized him.
Here was a creature that God had
put in his hands, a human life in the
bud, a fine, strong boy that might
live to be a university man or a cap-
tain of armies, or might live to be an
outcast brought up by the parish and
ending, maybe, as a laborer or jail-
bird.
It all depended on his decision.
“Norah,” said he, “fetch me down
that old tin path in the attic and
bring up a can of hot water and a
towel. “I'll hold the child. After that
you can fetch me the little old soft
blanket you’ll find in the chest in me
bedroom. Don’t be asking questions,
and while you’re giving him his bath,
I’ll nip down to the surgery and polish
off the patients.”
Two hours later a taxi drove up to
Cunningham Mansions, and O’Flynn,
a bundle under his arm, knocked at
the door of the Corkran flat.
Margaret opened to him.
“Here’s your dog,” said he, “left
at me door by the Holy Virgin her-
self. Not a word out of you. Take
it in to her and tell her you found it
on the door mat. I've given it three
drops of soothin’ stuff and it’ll sleep
till the morning, and the Lord have
mercy on your souls if you don’t treat
it like a Christian.”
There is nothing like decision when
you are dealing with women. Had
O’Flynn been a weak man or a man
not of the order to which he belonged
he might have been arguing with Mar-
garet still, and this story would never
have been written. As it was, he
left her bludgeoned, with the baby in
her arms and an order to let him
know “how she takes to it.”
He had got into bed that night with
the satisfied feeling that comes of a
day’s work well done, and he was
congratulating himself on the last
stroke.
It was one of those things that |
rarely come to a man’s hand. The |
woman wanted that which al] women !
want, consciously or subconsciously—
a child. Just as a hen .will take a
porcelain egg, she had taken to a
dog; this was. the real thing if she
| would only, so to speak, sit on it. His
|
knowledge of women and life told him '
that most probably she would. |
Oh, it was a curious and grand
! promise of secrecy.
. O’Flynn scratched his head.
Somehow or another he was scarce-
ly surprised; a subconscious buffer
had been building itself up to take
the shock. ;
“Conway street,” said he, review-
ing that Irish quarter, more Irish even
than Sardinia street or Tamplin place.
“Well, I'll. be down that way this
afternoon and I'll have a look. May-
be she’s right and maybe she’s wrong,
but don’t breathe a word to any one
till I see what’s doing.”
There was a Mary McGinnis in his
case book and, sure enough, an hour
or so later when he turned into Con-
way street, a place disgraceful to civ-
ilzation, humanity and the century we
live in, he found it was the mother of
the lost one. A big woman, pounding
clothes in a washtub and surrounded
by her tribe, happy to all appearances,
vigorous, scolding, but breaking into
a freshet of tears at the mention of ;
the tragedy—whose other name was
Pat.
He gave her half a crown as a con-
tribution to her sorrow and then, sing-
ling out and attracting to himself
Noreen, took her by the hand to the
little corner shop to buy her some
sweets.
Noreen, black-haired and violet-
eyed, and in old burst boots that be-
longed to an elder sister, had lied
steadfastly if not consistently, to all
and sundry over this business, but she
did not lie to O’Flynn. He had the
way with him where women and
children were concerned, and he had |
the whole story in two minutes unde¥
She had been that fateful evening
to Carter's to buy a tin of salmon,
carrying Pat. She had planned to
visit Naylor's front window in the
street beyond to have a glimpse at
the Christmas tree which was being
exhibited, though it was nearly a
month before Christmas, which she
had seen once already and which she
proposed to see every evening, if
possible, just as people go again and
again and again to see a play. But
Carter's had kept her waiting a ter-
ribly long time—so long that only by
running as hard as she could pelt
could she do the business in hand and
get back without the chance of skelp- |
But she couldn't run with Pat, so |
she stuck him in the doorway where °
she had played so often and which
seemed quite safe—him and the sal-
mon—and she hadn’t been more than !
a minute looking’ into the window be-
fore she ran back to find Pat gone.
O’Flynn asked for no more, not
even the genesis of the supposititious |
big man with the black beard. He
knew. She had not dared to confess |
her crime.
He left her happy with two ounces
of licorice balls and a scarcely reliev-
ed mind, for she had come almost to
believe in her own story. Then he
turned north toward Cunningham
Mansions.
Pat had got to be returned. \
There were no two ways about that.
You can’t knowingly rob a mother
| business entirely; he ran it all over of a child, even though the mother
|
dark before closing his eyes—and !
then, and not till then, came the small
worry that had been waiting tc trip
im.
Funny thing, that tin of salmon.
much and then she slipped back to | What did the unfortunate creature |
her ailments, imploring of him a
sleeping draft for that night.
O'Flynn wrote the prescription,
{ harmless concoction of sugar and
water.
Outside he talked a moment to
sacred to the doctor and private call-
ers. Children, never being driven
away from it, haunted it, urged by
the passion for doorsteps that seems
part of a child mind’s make-up.
One day, returning to his doorstep
and his midday meal, the doctor found
a message awaiting him. Norah de- | Where’s your senses not to hav
Margaret on the landing.
who had left the baby mean by leav-
ing a tin of salmon with it?
Holy Mike! it couldn’t be that she'd :
left them both to be come back for!
thing like that? |
Carter's, the shop next door, sold!
salmon. The poor round about had
‘in his mind as he lay there in the is a Mrs. McGinnis and her habitat
Conway street, W. ;
He arrived at Cunningham Man-
sions in a distinctly gruff mood.
Margaret let him in. She was all
smiles,
She showed him in without a word
—a wonderful fact where she was
concerned—showed him into the sit-
ting room, where Julia Corkran, her
legs off the sofa, to use his expres-
! Nonsense, where was the sense in a sion, was seated in an armchair by
the fire stitching.
The fact that she looked better was
nothing. What checked him was the '
“Oh, don’t be asking me how she | three grand passions in the way of fact that she looked younger, more
is,” said he. “Haven't you eyes in
your head as well as meself? It’s
food, salmon, sardines and fried fish
and chips. Could she have been to |
dying she is for the want of that dog. Carter’s, bought the salmon, and then
livered it verbally as she uncovered | her another?”
‘his chop.
“Dog,” cried Margaret. “I tould
“Miss Corkran sent word after you | her that, and it’s seven fits she went
were gone askin’ you to call immedi- | into at me words. : :
ate, and I told the chap that brought | never another!’ cries she. Lost she is ' And if she had she woul
the message you wasn’t an airplane,”
said Norah, dish cover inverted in her
hand, “and to tell her you was out on
yer round and wouldn’t be back till
past noon.” ;
“Bother Miss Corkran,” said
O’Flynn. But “bother” wasn’t the
word he used. It was always the
way with rich patients, urgent mes-
sages to come at once, sent at im-
possible times, and he had experi-
enced trouble and enough with the
Corkran woman ever since her dog
had died a month ago.
It was in the man’s rough and ready
nature to use the word “damn” in con-
nection with her, and it was in his na-
ture to understand and appreciate
her, this attenuated woman of 35, all
spirit and affection, yet lonely, some-
how, as Robinson Crusoe; without
chick or child, ever ready to help the
poor, yet somehow without the power
of making friends among the rich.
A delightful friend, for whom he
would have walked barefooted down
Drury Lane, but the devil of a pa-
tient. She had just that fault, just
that bit of selfishness in her nature
that made her forget a doctor wasn’t
an airplane, had only legs, in fact, and
dozens and dozens of other patients
to see.
He didn’t hurry himself over the
meal, and when he started on his
afternoon rounds he left Miss Cork-
ran almost the last on his list, arriv-
ing at Cunningham Mansions about
4,
It lies close to Gower street, this
great hive of flats, inhabited by the
special breed of London people who
‘Never another, ' senses would do a thin
e got ! left the baby and it while she went at the door, scarce heeding, he knew
off for something else? Nonsense,
there was no other shop nearby, and
even if there was, no woman in her |
like that.’
surely have |
material, more “full of blood.” j
He listened to her wonderful story
of the poor mite that had been left
| that she could not visualize for the
I | child. She wanted Pat.
No. There was only one way out—
restitution; and, arrived home, he
called Norah down, closed the doér
of the sitting room, and opened his
mind.
Norah had to do the business—it
was a woman’s business, anyhow. She
break it to the poor creature.
Norah did not like the thing a bit,
but she assented. She never said a
word to show her feelings. She was
that sort.
“I'll go, when I've done me cookin’,”
said Norah. And she went.
had returned from his evening round,
back and sitting in the kitchen with
a shawl over her head.
“I couldn’t find it in me heart to do
it,” wailed Norah before he spoke a
word. “I couldn’t find it in me heart
tc do it. It's the life and all he is to
her, and she wid her beautiful face
like the Blessed Virgin hangin’ over
him. Sure, what’s Mrs. McGinnis,
lettin’ him run wild about the streets
wid that girul? Hasn’t she enough
childer not to be botherin’ about the
cratur? You tould me yourself the
place was like a warren wid them.
Childer or not, she can stick. Hand
nor foot will I lift for her to fetch
him back.”
“Then,” said the doctor. “I’ll just
have to fetch him myself.”
“Not you,” said Norah, suddenly
‘divesting herself of the shawl and
furiously addressing herself to the
peeling of some potatoes waiting in a
bowl.
She was right in a way. As things
were standing, O’Flynn would never
have had the heart to do the business.
‘But things were not going to stand
like that.
It was next day at noon that he re-
ceived a note from Margaret, the gist
of which ran:
For the Lord’s sake come at once.
Her aunt, Miss Hancock, has called
and won’t believe her. She’s here
now, and I’m keepin’ her till you come
though maybe she won’t believe you
either.
Margaret Driscoll.
O'Flynn whistled. In their simple-
mindedness neither he, Margaret nor
Julia had ever thought of this. He
knew what it was that Miss Hancock
wouldn’t believe, and he had seen the
lady once. High-nosed, antique, aris-
tocratic, rather flighty in manner, and
with that slight crack in her that
seems to run through all Ireland in |
its people, making them so charming
yet not making, somehow, for char-
ity of vision and temperate views in
the cracked ones.
If she wouldn’t believe Julia and
| ing. | Margaret, she certainly would not be-
lieve him.
He said this to himself as he got
into his overcoat and put on his hat.
Then, feeling like a man who holds
the ace and queen and knows the king
is out, he got into a cab and drove
to fetch Mrs. McGinnis.
The routing of Miss Hancock,
though a most satisfactory business,
was spoiled for the ‘visitors by the
conduct of their ally.
Mrs. McGinnis, despite O’Flynn’s
‘fine words and promises and despite
Julia’s fears, refused to part with Pat.
She took him away with her, wrap-
ped in a blanket. She showered bless-
ing on all and sundry from the angels
down, but to the suggestion that he
should be “left for a bit” she was deaf
and to Julia’s tears she was blind.
She was, in fact, in the mental condi-
tion of a cat who has just recovered
a kitten. Her one instinct was to car-
ry him off—and she did.
O’Flynn walked home followed by
the vision of Julia—Julia standing by
the fire in the sitting room, her foot
on the fender, her hand on the mantel-
piece, her eyes on the burning coals,
“controlling herself,” while in the
next room stood the empty bassinette.
And it was all his fault. He had
never told her the truth of the mat-
ter, and she fancied still that Pat had
been left at her door by Some un-
known person. :
“I've just got to write her and tell
her the truth,” said he to himself, and,
sure enough, that evening, when the
patients were done with, down he sat
to the most difficult job he had ever
| undertaken, for he found when he
the story so well; scarce listening, oc- | came to the business that he had to
cupied almost entirely with the
change in her, a change of which she
herself seemed absolutely unconscious. -
Then he followed her into her bed-
over that whazin’ plate-faced brute knocked at the door to ask, or the room, where there was a fire and
of a Pakinese.”
'
police. would. Well, there was no
“Well, it’s a dog or an undertaker use in bothering. over an insoluble
for her,” said O’Flynn, and off he problem and, like a sensible man, he
went.
He took his way back to the surg- ' sleep.
ery on foot.
A patient like Julia Corkran stands
out strangely in a practice like
O’Flynn’s. He had seen that day
twenty-one patients besides those who
came to the surgery, working people,
small shopkeepers struggling to make
two ends meet, women to shudder
over, and men sure to be jailed again
within the month, and the only one of
the lot crying pity was Julia Corkran.
“She’s never known trouble and
that’s what’s the matter with her,”
said O'Flynn to himself as he went
his way. .
Apd she was worth five or six
thousand a year; this woman without
a family had what would have
brought joy and well-being to fifty
such families as formed the staple of
his practice.
The fog, that gray Bloomsbury fog |
of autumn that seems to rise from the
past, was dimming the lamps of En-
dell street when he reached it. Car-
ter’s, the grocer’s and oil shop next
door to the surgery, was casting its
glow right out on the sidewalk and on
his doorstep; half revealed by the
nearest lamp, and in the reflected
glow of Carter’s was a bundle prop-
ped against the door. - 0 3
He bent down. It was a baby. A
baby wrapped and wrapped in a dirty
old shawl with other things under-
neath, no doubt, to make it warm and
live in flatland—a creation quite dis- ' comfortable, for it was asleep; the
|
|
i
'
turned the worry down and went to
Oyun never read the papers, or
only the Freeman's Journal, sent
him every week by an aunt in Dublin,
so he did not see a paragraph in next |
morning’s Daily Mail relative to a
baby lost by Mrs. McGinnis, of Con-
way street, W. said baby having been
taken out by Noreen, an elder sister,
from whoin it had been snatched by
a tall man with a long black beard.
Noreen, being a child of 10 years, and
her memory and tale confused and
contradictory. :
O’Flynn saw nothing of all thig and
heard nothing of it, for his rapid cash
and panel practice brought no gossip-
ers to his consulting room. The only
report that reached him was a scrawl
from Margaret received next evening,
four words in pencil on a half sheet
of notepaper: “She’s took to it.”
He left it at that, well satisfied to
leave it at that, and days passed and
a week slipped by and a week on top
of that, till one Friday Norah burst
in on him.
“That baby,” said Norah. “It’s Mrs.
McGinnis,’ down in Conway street!”
“What baby?” asked O'Flynn, who
was in his shirt sleeves, unpacking
some drugs.
“What baby—why, the child you
took off to Miss Corkran’s! I heard
be chance, not two minutes ago, from
Mrs. Strahane, when I went to get the
pitatoes, and, says she, wid her big
goggle eyes weighin’ them oiit, “That
where by her bedside stood a glori-
fied cot, in which his majesty, Pat, |
filled with the finest of milk, was
tell her the truth no more points than
one.
His heart was moved in him. Julia,
the friend and sometimes troublesome
patient, had turned into something
else.
It was that vision of her standing
in her loneliness by the fire that did
sleeping the sleep of the just. { it—though maybe it had been creep-
A new hygienic feeding bottle was
ing on him for a long time, this new
could see Margaret and have a talk |
with her and between them they could.
She was back just before O'Flynn
FARM NOTES.
| potatoes. The spray should be ap-
| plied when the first injury is noticed.
—With shingles, as with anything:
else, it’s false economy to use an in--
'ferior grade.
—The 4-4-50 bordeaux mixture ap--
plied as a wet spray is an effective:
control for tipburn or hopperburn of
i, —Time and material spent in build-
(ing a suitable poultry house. or remod-
ieling or refurnishing the old, willl
'draw good dividends.
| —Disease among dairy cattle may
{be held in check largely through the
application of the principles of hy-
giene and sanitation in and around
the dairy barn.
—Pick pears when they are hard-
ripe as they are liable to core-rof if
left to ripen on the trees. After pick-
ing put them in a cool place to ripen.
(if for a home market.
| —One of the best investments a.
dairyman can make is to put drink-
ing cups in his barn. Water is the
cheapest of feeds and should be sup-
plied in liberal quantities.
—Dogs now may be immunized.
against rabies. Ask your local veter-
inarian and insure the peace of mind.
of yourself and your neighbors as well
as prevent “mad-dog” scares.
—Loafing hens in the farm flock.
eat up the profits that the busy bid-
dies make. The successful poultry-
man keeps the loafer just long enough
to get her ready for the butcher.
—Showing livestock and farm pro-
ducts at fairs is a good, effective way"
of advertising. It puts the real pro-
duct right up in front of the thousands
that daily pass through the turnstiles:
of the many popular fairs.
I —It is undesirable to. close too.
quickly the furrows where asparagus
roots have been planted this year. Al-
low the asparagus to get well start-
ed and then fill in the trench only"
gradually when cultivating.
—Splitting of apples on trees is.
due to excessive moisture as a result:
of the recent long rainy spell. The:
sudden influx of water and decreased’
transpiration from the leaves results.
in a pressure which the cellular struc--
(ture of the apples cannot withstand.
—Sweet corn growers can help to
eradicate the European corn borer by-
“destroying the stalks within two
| weeks after the ears have been pick-
red. This may be done by cutting the-
stalks close to the ground and run-
| ning them through the silo or by feed-
iing or burning them.
—Nine of every ten house flies
breed in manure piles. Hauling the-
manure directly from stable to field
removes the source and thus saves
the energy devoted to fly-swatting-
for something more worth while..
Incidentally, the fertility of the soil
is improved by getting the manure:
on early.
—Lawns will require some atten--
tion this month. Dig out all weeds
before they go to seed. Bonemeal
makes an excellent fertilizer to apply-
this month. Apply lightly before a:
rain. Mow the lawn regularly but
adjust the knives so that they do not
cut too closely. If you water the
grass at all be sure to give it a good
soaking.
—Cows, due to freshen in the fall
should have a: rest period of 6 to S:
weeks to put them into a good condi-
tion of flesh before freshening. Cows
that freshen in a thin condition will’
never produce what they would ‘if
they had been better fitted. The ex-
tra milk later will pay many times
for the cost of feed eaten during the
rest period.
—The regular feeding of the poul-
try flock as the summer progresses
increases in importance, say Pennsyl-
vania State College specialists. A
few days without mash in the sum-
mer will throw the birds into a moult
from which many will not recover.
Meat scrap: cannot be omitted from:
the ration during the summer. Most
flocks will eat considerably more by
weight during the summer than they
will hard grain.
—Common carriers of the South-
eastern Tariff association on the:
transportation of pure-bred bulls to
be used for breeding purposes when:
their value does not exceed $150.
This information received by the
United States Department of Agricul-
ture from the secretary of the South-
ern Cattlemen’s association is expect-
ed to aid in developing the cattle in-
dustry in the southeast portion of the:
country. The increased recognition
which the breeding of good live stock
is receiving” from commercial sources:
is hastening progress in stock im-
provement, according to specialists in
the United States Department of Ag-
riculture:.
—Apparatus, called. a Bates aspira-
on the dainty dressing table; things | feeling so impossible to express fully tor after: its inventor, E. N. Bates,
were warming by the fire.
watched her bending over the cot, he
took in the tremendous fact that he
had made this woman a mother.
He had come to tell her the child
belonged to another woman and had thought, then he went on and on, cov-
to be given back. He left without
doing so. He told himself that he
would just as soon take a pistol and
shoot her, and then he told himself
that, all the same, it had to be done.
This mental discussion took place
as he came along New Oxford street
in the direction of where he lived.
His mind, made agile by the stimu-
‘lus of the business, sought hither and
thither for an avenue out of this per-
plexity. Maybe Mrs. McGinnis would
consent to part—or, at all events,
stand off an
'in words.
He took it all in, and then, as he |
“I didn’t know when I left him on
your doorstep I'd left my heart with
him,” wrote he, “but there it is for
your foot.” He pursed his lips in
| ering three sheets of paper, and end-
; ing, “If you feel you want to say ‘no,’
say it; just send me a telegram with
the one word, ‘Impossible.’ Send me
‘it so I may get it before 5 o’clock to-
morrow evening. If I hear nothing,
then I'll know it’s all right, and I will
| call and see you the day after tomor-
{ row.” :
He sent Norah to Cunningham
Mansions with this note.
Next day he went about his busi-
Five o'clock found
‘ness as usual.
market specialist of the Department
lof Agriculture, automatically remov-
ed smut and light dockage from grain
by suction as a part of the threshing:
! you to love and to hold or to kick with ' eperation.
Ir this attachment the grain as it
is thrown. from the thresher elevator
is spread out into a thin, even stream
by being directed onto a low inverted
icone. The cone causes the grain to
pile up and flow evenly over its edge.
Suction from above draws a current
of air through the thin. sheet of fall-
ing grain and lifts out the light ma-
terial.
Need for the removal of smut and
, dockage at threshing time is empha-
i sized by the fact that there was ap-
! proximately 1,239,000 bushels of dock-
age assessable against 118,665,000
adopt an attitude of him in the Strand. He had seen the bushels of wheat produced in Wash-
benevolent neutrality for the child’s last of his patients an hour ago, but | ington, Idaho, and Oregon during a
sake.
and the McGinnis menage appeared
before him, deluding him for a mom-
ent to believe that no woman in her
sane mind would rob the child of its
present and prospective advantages.
or a moment only. He knew the
poor and he knew his people.
He | mr Sliangoy
knew that if Pat were to be discover- = “No,” sir, there’s been nothin’ but the | cular 56-M, “Cleaning Grain With the
he couldn’t go home yet—he went
| he reached Charing Cross, then he
came slowly back.
Arrived home, he shut the hall door
and came to the foot of the stairs.
| “Norah,” he called out, “has there
been any telegram for me?”
“Telegram ?” came Norah’s voice.
| recent year. Of this dockage tatal
The contrast of the Corkran flat along looking at the shop windows till | approximately 764,000 bushels were
of smut dockage. The department
says the question of dockage has be-
come one of the outstanding problems
of the wheat belt.
A description of the apparatus and
detailed methods of using it have
been published in Miscellaneous Cir-
ed in Buckingham Palace, in the ould rate collector botherin’ to see | Bates Aspirator,” copies of which ay
monkey house of the zoo, or the child-
ren’s ward of the workhouse infirm-
‘ary, it ‘would ‘be all ‘the same to Mrs.
you.¥
H. DeVere Stackpoole.
be obtained upon request to the De-
“God bless him,” said O’Flynm.—By pérpumant of Agriculture, Washington,
.