ET EEE RS
Dewan,
Beliefonte, Pa., July 29, 1927.
EE ———————
THE ONLY UTOPIA.
There's many a man in the quiet old place,
‘And there’s many a woman too;
Some old and some young; some married
some not;
And the children are not a few.
A doctor is there, but he never is called.
To go out in sunshine or rain,
To visit a patient, for no one is sick,
And there’s no one who suffers pain.
A lawyer is there, but his books are laid by
He neither disputes nor debates;
He's never consulted on matters of law,
For nobody litigates.
The preacher is out of his pulpit, too;
No longer he turns the page
Of the sacred book; and he has not made
A pastoral call for an age.
The youth and maid are there, side by side
The roses of June fill the place;
But no word is said that will kindle his
eye,
Nor bring the sweet blush to her face.
The women who're there never gossip or
scold,
Nor wish for new gowns in their pride;
And they never are older than when they
first came
And none are dissatisfied.
The wives are as placid as mornings in
May,
And they never complain of their state;
The tempers of husbands are always serene
And never a man is out late.
And so many children are found in the
place!
But no baby frets or cries ;
And every small boy is as still as a mouse,
And each little girl is likewise,
The soldier is there, but his fighting is
done,
The sailor remains on the shore,
The laborer rests every day in the week,
The merchant has shut up his store.
There sickness and sorrow and pain are
unknown;
There all men are equal; there rest
Has come to the weary, and no other place
In all the wide earth is so blest.
Would you know what this place of all
places is?
Where discords of life find sure rest
Then go to the graveyard, and there
may walk
In the streets of this City of Peace.
—New York Sun.
ef teen.
STOP THIEF.
Accidents happen to the most care-
ul persons. No one had more ex-
quisite table manners than Jim Cran-
dall; I mean to say that at the table,
as everywhere else, his deportment
attracted attention, which is the sure
proof that it wns perfect.
It was no fault of his that the
meringue of the lemon pie, with which
he had finished a very satisfactory
luncheon at the Charlton, had spotted,
stained, and irrevocably ruined his
scarf.
Crandall did not berate the waiter
whose lack of dexterity had caused
the hideous blot upon an otherwise
lmpeccable get-up. Instead, he smil-
ed pleasantly.
“Considering the number
you wait on each day, and the num-
ber of dishes you place on each table,
I can only marvel at the few mishaps
that occur,” he said.
“There,” commented the waiter, as
Crandall, having left behind his scarf,
departed, “is a read gentleman. One
of the quiet kind that doesn’t expect
2 waiter to be any more perfect at his
trade than the patrons are at theirs.”
The girl in the check-room smiled
gaily at him. The starter outside
grinned cheerfully ang hastened to
summon a taxi,
Ce ind, thank you,” smiled
randall. Ve an erran
Ill walk.” iw
The starter saluted and beamed
upon the sinewy figure of Crandall
as he moved toward Fifth Avenue.
swell guy,” said the starter to
a porter. “You'd never think, from
. the easy way he acts, that he’s richer
than mud.”
“The real thing,” nodded the porter
sagely. “Don’t never put on no airs.
It’s the phony ones that bull around
and make a racket and want people to
notice them.”
Crandall, unaware of the friendly
comment his mere passing aroused,
turned up the Avenue. More than
one woman cast a second glance at
this personable man whose blond hair
and bright blue eyes made him seem
a bit younger than he really was.
But, twirling his stick gaily, Crandall
looked neither to the right nor to the
left. The very directness of his pro-
gress seemed to indicate an aloofness
not without attraction.
at the door of a department store.
At the men’s neckwear counter
Crandall selected a rust-colored scarf
and walked to a mirror, before which
he could arrange it in place of the
ruined ore he wore,
He was giving to the knot the final
deft pull when in the mirror he noted
something that made him forget the
matter of his grooming.
A girl before the ladies’ hosiery
counter was deliberately stuffing sev-
eral pairs of silk stockings in the
sleeve of her coat. Crandall pursed
his lips; there was no possible mis-
take. He was looking upon a shop-
lifter who was plying her profession
with a sure dexterity and coolness
that was marvelous. And now the
salesgirl turned around and handed
to the pilfering customer a small
package. The customer nodded her
thanks and turned carelessly away.
So far, in the mirror, Crandall had
been able to glimpse only the curve
of her throat and the line of her jaw;
now, fleetingly, he caught a glimpse
of her full face.
Perhaps, according to classic stand-
ards, she was not beautiful, but she
was certainly lovely as measured by
the eyes of Crandall. He turned that
he might see the face itself and not
its reflection. The wide-brimmed hat
hid her hair, but the jet-black eye-
you
of people
He turned in
brows indicated that the hair would
be dark. And Crandall liked brunet-
tes. Her eyes were black; or perhaps
they were deep violet;
lashes prevented certainty as to that.
Her face was oval and Crandall was
sure that the redness of her lips was
rot entirely due to art. It was amo-
i ‘can see a way out.”
bile, expressive mouth, and the cur-
the curling
ling smile that now adorned it was
proof of the steadiness of her nerves.
It was, he told himself, a distinctly
kissable mouth. The nose above was
high-bridged, intelligent, hinting at
daring.
If the girl of his dreams, the girl |
with whom he could fall in love, had
stepped right out of the land of im-
aginings, she would look like this
girl. Figure, face, and that indefin-
able quality which he termed “alive-
ness”—she had these.
And this incarnation of his dreams ! placed reflected faintly her features. |
was a petty thief, a cheap shoplifter
who stole stockings from department
stores. That such dexterity of hand
t
; instantly, was the only woman in the i my husband.
|
|
i
|
i
!
|
|
A.
could pawn for money enough to keep
you another day or sa” She looked |
up at him now almost defiantly. !
“What're you going to do? Starve?
Or steal?” |
Crandall nodded gravely. “I'm
not judging you, or criticizing. But
after you've had luncheon, maybe we !
Suspicion crept into her eyes. “If
you think I'm that kind 22 ;
“I'm going to surprise you,” he
said quietly. “I think you're the
loveliest, bravest thing I ever saw. |
And I know you're not that kind.” i
He meant it. Not prone to acting |
on impulse, this was the exception
that proved the rule. This, he knew |
world. Before his eager gaze she |
blushed, averted her eyes. The win- i
dow beside which their table was |
She dabbed at her eyes with a hand- |
kerchief,
“I'm a perfect fright,” she said, |
and such coolness of nerve should be | “and before I let a man say pe
applied to such miserable ends!
He glanced at the salesgirl, but she
was oblivious to the theft that had
occurred while her back was turned
no floor-walker or store detective
seemed to have noticed the offense.
And there was not the least
hurry in the pilferer’s gait
sauntered through the store.
Close behind her followed Crandall.
|
|
: i Crandall rose too.
|
sign of afternoon hour was deserted.
as she dall stepped closer to her. |
|
things to me, I'm going to powder my
nose.”
She pushed back her chair and rose, |
Save for a waiter |
gossiping with the clerk at the cigar |
counter, the dining-room at this mid- ;
Cran-
“When you come back,” he said, |
and his voice was hoarse, “I’m going
He noticed now that the girl’s coat | to say prettier things than that.” |
was worn and out-moded; there was
a darn just above the heel of her left | instead,
stocking; her shoes were a bit worn.
Crandall felt a welling of sympathy
in his heart. Who knew what ex-
tremities of fortune had driven her to
this recklessness?
At the revolving door that led to
Fifth Avenue, Crandall looked back
over his shoulder. There was still
none of that noise or bustle which
would have characterized discovery of
the girl’s crime. Assured, he stepped
out upon the sidewalk and followed
the girl. He could not withhold ad-
miration for her cool demeanor.
Cross-town traffic halted her a block
from the store. Crandall, standing
right beside her, could observe none
of that tensity which should be part
and parcel of the manner of one who
had just committed a serious viola-
tion of the law.
He touched her on the elbow.
And now that easy looseness, that
live grace, left her. She seemed to
grow an inch in height as she wheel-
ed. Her face was deathly white and
in the violet eyes lurked sudden fear.
“I saw what you did in the store,”
said Crandall quietly.
For a moment, as rigidity left her
body and she seemed to sag, Crandall
thought she would faint; then, as the
furious red rushed back into her
cheeks, he thought she’d scream. But
she did neither; instead she looked
him up and down.
“Bull?” she asked. “If you are
they're getting fancy downtown. You
don’t look like nobody trying to be
somebody. How long have they been
getting their flatties imported from
Oxford ?”
He shook his head. “A Harvard
accent does.sound like Oxford, some-
times,” he admitted. “But I'm not
a detective.”
The sweet mouth hardened in a
sneer that ill became its gentle con-
tours. “Then what’s the big idea?
Are you one of the partners in the
joint, or are you one of those people
that are always burning up with a
sense of duty?”
“I'm just a man who sees a girl in
trouble,” he told her.
“So that’s your lay, is it?” she de-
manded. “Well, listen, some can be
made by money and others by tossing
a scare into them, but I don’t belong
to either class. There's just two
things you can do—holier for the cops
or meander on your way.”
But her bravery was feigned; even
as she glared defiantly at him the
sneer left the sweet lips and they
trembled. Her body swayed, tottered,
and she would have fallen but for
Crandall’s arm.
The cross-town traffic halted in
obedience to the officer’s whistle. A
taxi, bound up-town, veered in to the
curb in response to Crandall’s quick-
ly lifted stick. Toe weak to resist,
the girl permitted Crandall to urge
her into the machine.
“Straight up the Avenue,” said
Crandall to the chauffeur.
The girl shrank into her corner.
“What're you going to do?” she ask.
ed.
Crandall leaned forward and call-
el to the driver. “Take us to the
Blenmore,” he ordered. He sat back
and spoke to the girl. “Get you a
meal first,” he replied.
He had seen hungry people before;
now that he looked at the girl he saw
that her face was drawn and there
was an almost transparent quality to
her skin that could only mean lack of
proper nourishment.
She huddled in the corner now and
hid her face in her hands. All the
careless courage had evaporated from
her bearing. Crandall felt a wave of
pity that was almost tender sweep
over him. He patted her hand reas.
suringly.
“Don’t cry,” he said. “Nothing’s
going to happen to you.”
Her hands came down from her
face and she looked at him.
“I'm not crying,” she declared. “At
least I'm trying not to. But when
you’re half starved—”
“Not another word,” he command-
ed, “until you’ve eaten something.”
They were at the Blenmore and
Crandall, feeing the taxi man, pro-
ceeded with the girl into the main
dining-room. A head waiter bowed
them to a table and Crandall, real-
izing that this was no time for epi-
curean choice, ordered soup, a steak,
potatoes and a salad. Lest the girl
be embarrassed, he ordered for two,
despite the fact that he had lunched
sufficiently half an hour ago.
Yon seem pretty white,” said the
girl.
“Don’t care to tell me all about it,
do you?” he inquired.
She shrugged slim shoulders.
“What’s there to tell? You get to
a point where you've pawned every-
thing you own, where you're behind
in your room rent and haven't eaten
for twenty-four hours. Then you see
a chance to take some things that you
She didn’t draw away from him; |
she swayed toward him. Her
| head was tilted back. and he breathed |
the perfume of her
ably. the red lips,
breath; unbeliev-
sweetly parted now,
brushed his own.
She stepped swiftly away from
him. “In payment for the pretty
speech, and as advance payment for
the luncheon,” she laughed. “But |
pretty speeches should have a pretty
object; I shall try to beautify myself.”
Crandall. his heaxt thumping as he
had not believed it could, watched her
till she disappeared toward the cloak-
room,
Ten minutes later the waiter ar-
rived with the soup; fifteen minutes
after that Crandall’s smiling patience
had turned to suspicion. He told the
waiter that his companion was not
feeling well; but inquiry developed the
fact that no one answering the girl’s
description had been seen in the cloak-
room.
Abashed by the waiter’s meaning
grin, Crandall asked for the check
and reached for his pocketbook. It
should have been in the inner pocket
of his jacket. It wasn’t there, nor
was it anywhere else about his per-
son. Fortunately, a trousers pocket
goniained enough money to pay the
ill.
Humiliated, bruised even in his
spirit, he left the hotel. The oldest
trick in the world? As she had lean-
ed against him, her deft fingers had
robbed him. And, confound it all, he
not only had been going to say pretty
things to her, but he had been intend-
ing to ask her to marry him. Silly,
insane, but a fact.
In the apartment which he main-
tained on Park Avenue he lounged,
disgruntled, miserably unhappy. He
wished that in his wallet had been a
card bearing his name. and address,
but it had contained nothing of the
sort. If the girl repented she would
not know where to find him, how to
communicate with him. But this was
silly; she wouldn’t repent.
He gave up hope of ever seeing her
again, but though hope had died, he
knew that the fierce flame of desire
would never die. He had always
scoffed at love at first sight, but it
had come to him, and that the girl
had treated him shabbily, to put it
idly, made no difference to that
ove.
But when, several weeks later, he
accepted an invitation to spend the
week-end with some recent acquaint-
ances at their country place in Con-
necticut, he had lost the frantic ner-
vousness that had first led him to peer
under the brim of every wide-brim-
med hat he passed. Something had
entered his life and then passed out
of it; he was enough of a philosopher
to accept the fact and cease repining
over it, =
It was the usual dull week-end
party; Crandall played no golf, but
the swimming was good and the af-
ternoon and evening bridge games
were pleasant. He had arrived on
Friday night and it was Sunday
morning when, returning unexpected-
ly to his room—his host’s cigars,
while excellent, were a bit too strong
for him—he encountered the girl of
his dreams.
There, in a maid’s uniform, arrang-
ing the toilet articles on his dresser,
she stood. Crandall half leafied, half |
fell against the wall. She spoke first.
“I suppose you’ll tell about me,”
she said.
He smiled. “Do you know, I hadn’t
expected that your first words, if ever
we met again, would be of fear.”
“When you're in my line,” said the
girl, “yon have to be afraid.”
“Then youre still in the same
line?” demanded Crandall.
She flushed. “Somehow—maybe be-
cause I gave you a raw deal—I don’t
feel like lying to you,” she replied.
“Are you working at it in this
house?” he asked.
Despair crept into her voice. “Will
you turn me up?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t do
that.” His voice broke queerly. “My
Lord, for years before I met you, I
dreamed of you. And since I did
meet you, I've thought . of nothing
else. And you ask if I'd give you to
the police. That’s as crazy an idea
as the one that’s in my own head this
minute.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“I'm wondering if, this
should let you get away, on any pre-
text. I'm wondering if I shouldn’
take you straight to a minister and
marry you.”
“You'd marry a thief?” she asked.
“Why not?” he countered.
Slowly the flush left her face until
she was as deathly pale as on that
occasion when he had half shoved, half
lifted her into a taxicab.
“I'm a thief, all right; but I'm not
rotten enough to marry an honest man
and disgrace him,” she stated.
From the hall outside came an ir-
time, I
rascible, almost hysterical voice,
“Ella!” it called.
The girl started.
“Is Ella your name?”
dall,
“It’s the name they give me here,”
she answered. “It’s as good as any
for a maid.” =
Nearer and louder came the voice;
it was that of Mrs. Curtis, his petu-
lant hostess, Crandall knew.
of the room. Ignoring Crandall, she
glared at the girl.
“You thief!” she cried. “But this
is one time a thief goes to jail.”
Crandall looked at her. “What do
you mean?” he demanded.
Mrs. Curtis laughed. “You're like
If they're pretty they
can do no wrong. But she’s the only
one of the servants that’s been on this
floor this morning, and there’s a neck-
lace gone from my room, and Jane
Williams has lost three rings and a
pair of earrings, and her husband has
lost seven hundred dollars, and all the
other guests have lost something.”
“But that doesn’t prove this girl
has stolen it,” protested Crandall.
Mrs. Curtis laughed
“We'll soon find out.” She spoke to
the girl, who cowered by the dresser.
“Come along with me to my room.
I'll get help and search you.”
Appealingly, the girl looked at
Crandall. But, his face hard, he ig-
nored her unspoken plea.
“You're perfectly right, Mrs. Cur- |
tis,” he said.
He stood aside while the girl meek- |
ly followed her captress out of the
room and down the hall.
Half an hour later an excited group
gathered in the living-room down-
stairs.
Crandall was the only one present
who preserved a judicial calm. When
the others had exhausted their stores
of angry phrases, he made himself :
heard.
“Has everything been recovered?”
he asked.
“Everything is on my dressing-
| table up-stairs,” replied Mrs. Curtis.
“Then what’s to be gained by hav-
ing the girl arrested?” asked Cran-
dall. “Of course, I understand there’s
a duty toward society involved in the
matter. But there’s also a duty to-
ward yourself, Mrs. Curtis, and your
guests. Everyone here will have to
appear in court as a witness. Every-
one will receive that unpleasant news-
paper notoriety that follows an af-
fair like this. The girl probably is
scared to death. I'd simply send her
packing. It’s the part = of common
sense and also the part of charity.”
Mr. Curtis nodded agreement. Oth-
ers fell in line. Ten minutes later the
thief walked down the driveway, car-
rying a shabby suitcase that held her
poor effects.
Crandall cut out of a rubber of
bridge. “Think I'll go for a little
ride,” he announced. “Guess I'll put
on a sweater; there's a bit of a fog
coming in, and it’s chilly.”
Where the driveway,
through the trees that hid it from the
house, emerged into the main road,
Crandall stopped his car. The girl of
his dreams looked over her shoulder,
fright in her glance.
pi dump in,” he ordered sternly.
“What “you want?” she asked.
“Well, for one thing, it’s a three-
mile walk to the station,” he told her.
“Jump in.’
Meekly, she obeyed him.
ed to the right.
“The station’s the other way,” she
told him.
“Sure thing,” he agreed. “And
that’s the first place they’ll go when
they start looking for us.”
“What d’you mean ?” che demanded.
“Mean? I mean that they piled all
the stuff you’d carefully collected in a
heap on Mrs. Curtis’s dressing-table
and that I have it. It may be ten
minutes and it may be two hours be-
fore the stuff is missed. We have a
little start, but not too much. But
it’s the chance that I’ve been waiting
for for six months,
East and managed to break into mon-
eyed circles.”
“For the love of heaven,
the crook too?” she cried.
“Surest thing in the world,”
laughed.
“Then why didn’t you tell
first time I met you ?”
“Now that would have been a wise
thing to do, wouldn't it?” he laughed.
“Say. what’s your name?’
“Ellen Daley,” she answered.
“Ellen Crandall it’s going to be,”
he declared.
With perfect love and trust, she
snuggled closer to him; his free arm
went about her waist. “I fell for you
the minute I saw you,” she said, “but
I thought you were way over my
head.”
“I fell for you the same way,” he
said, “and if you hadn’t been so hasty
that day at the Blenmore, we’d have
fixed it up that very afternoon.”
She sighed happily. “Ain’t it won-
derful when two people are so—so—
congenial ?” she said.
For love has no rules. Morality,
honor, virtue—these count for little.
If it only existed among the perfect,
how soon the race would die.—By
Arthur Somers Roche.
He turn-
are you on
he
me so the
Monthly Report of Cow Testing As-
sociation.
Cow testor Harold Brumgart sub-
mits the following report for the
month of June:
Herds tested, 2; cows in milk, 239;
cows dry, 24; No. cows producing over
40 lbs. fat, 39; over 50 lbs. fat, 9; No.
cows producing over 1,000 lbs. milk,
70; over 1,200 lbs milk, 36.
The highest producing cows in but-
terfat for month:
Owner Lbs milk Fat = Lbs.
Ward Krape 1461 3.4 49.6
A. C. Hartle & Bro. 1500 3.8 57.0
Edwin Way 1470 3.8 55.8
Nolan Bros. 1773 3.1 54.9
Paul Bradford 2031 27 54.8
Clyde Bechdel 1371 3.9 53.4
Boone Bros. 1419 3.7 52.5
Claude Bechdel 1513 34 51.4
B. A. Sampsel 1209 4.5 51.4
Claude Bechdel 1131 4.5 50.8
—Egg white is a good remedy for
slight burns or scalds. It excludes the
air and gives instant relief.
asked Cran- |
And |
now Mrs. Curtis had reached the door i
scornfully.
having wound |
! FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT.
i “How much joy and comfort
You can all bestow,
‘If you scatter sunshine
. Everywhere you go.
Scatter sunshine all along your way,
Cheer and bless and brighten every pass-
ing day.”
| —When babies cannot get breast
milk it is safer to feed them upon
dried milk rather than dilution of
,cow’s milk. Fresh clean, pure cow’s
milk is a very good food for a baby
i when mother’s milk is not available,
i but, unfortunately, the milk ordinar.
tily sold in towns is often far from
jclean and contains large numbers of
germs. Such milk, especially in sum-
; mer, will not keep a day without be-
| coming sour, and is apt to cause di-
| gestive troubles. Dried milk contains
| fewer germs than ordinary town milk,
; and is less likely to contain the germs
t of infectious diseases.
| not multiply in dried
{in ordinary milk.
{ Dried milk keeps well so long as it
is kept dry. Only as much should be
made up at a time as is required for
; ene feed, and there need, therefore, be
no waste.
Dried milk has been largely em-
‘ployed in connection with infant wel-
fare centres in England, particularly
{in Leicester and Sheffield, and Dr.
i F. J. H. Couths, in his report to the
{local government board says that the
milk as they do
: experience of the last 12 or 14 years
i shows that dried milk is one of the
' most satisfactory forms of cow’s milk
for the feeding of infants.
Pasteurized, sterilized or
cow’s milk are useful foods if proper-
ly prepared, but they have disadvant-
ages as compared with dried milk.
Unsweetened full cream condensed
milk is also good for baby feeding,
but when mixed with water in the
| proportions some times recommended
jit is too weak for satisfactory nour-
tishment. Sweetened condensed milk
| is often used for baby feeding. Dried
‘milk has the advantage, when made
up with the proper proportion of wa-
| ter, of containing the essential food
‘elements in a proportion more suit-
able than full cream sweetened con-
densed milk. The latter, if made up
So as to give the right proportion of
| fat, has a very excessive amount of
sugar. The baby usually becomes fat
and flabby, and is liable to suffer from
diseases, such as rickets. These risks
attach to other infant foods contain-
ing excess of sugar. So-called “malt-
ed” milks, like sweetened condensed
milks, contain much too low a propor-
tion of fat as compared with sugar.
They differ from sweetened condensed
milk in the nature of the sugar. In
condensed milk this is mainly sucrose;
in malted milk it is largely maltose
derived from the malted cereal. The
ordinary patent infants’ foods, con-
taining large quantities of unaltered
i starch, are worse than sweetened con-
| densed milk or malted milk. They are
(not fit for use for a baby older than
1 Seven months.
{ It is not surprising, therefore, that
iat official infant welfare clinics dried
; milk is becoming used to an increased
| extent as, on the whole, the most con-
| venient and most suitable food when
{ babies cannot get breast milk. In
| feeding babies on dried-milk, the fuil
| cream variety should alone be used.
Commencing ‘with one teaspoonful of
dried milk in three tablespoonfuls of
water in the first or second weeks of
i life, it can be rapidly increased to one
‘and a half or two teaspoonfuls of
dried milk in from four to five table-
| spoonfuls of water by the end of the
| second month, and so on to five tea-
I spoonfuls of dried milk in 10 table- |
{ spoonfuls of water at the age of 5!
‘or 6 months. Fears were at one time
| expressed that the use of dried milk
might result in scurvy or rickets.
| Prolonged experience at infant wel-
| fare centres has refuted this; but as
lan extra precaution to avoid the pos-
i sibility of scurvy, particularly if dried
'milk is to be used for a long time, a
little fruit juice, such as orange or
| grape juice, may be given once or
twice a week. Dried milk is also a
i valuable food for nursing mothers.
' One of the distinct surprises of our |
| vital statistics here in the East in re-
(cent years was the discovery that the
| foreignborn mothers raised a larger
| proportion of their children than the
| native-born mothers. Almost needless
| to say, the native-born mothers, in a
very large proportion of cases, live
‘in rather comfortable circumstances
| and all of them have the advantage of
| our public school educational system
land of the educative influence of con-
| tact with other native fellow-citizens
{who have intellectual advantages.
| The foreign-born mother, on the con.
(trary, in the vast majority of cases,
lives in crowded slums; she has often
lacked the educational opportunities
afforded to the native-born woman as
she grew up, and until comparatively
recent years she depended, in the care
of her children, on the age-long fam-
ily traditions which had come down
from generations and the origin of
obscurity.
In spite of this difference, with so
many details of it apparently to the
advantage of the native-born mother
and the serious disadvantage of the
foreign-born mother, in” both New
York and Boston, the foreign-born
mother raises one in seven more of
her children than does the native-born
mother. When this fact was first re-
vealed by the statistics in New York
it was very seriously doubted, and it
was not until they had been confirmed
by the vitality and mortality records
of the neighboring Eastern city that
it would be quite credited. Of course
the principal reason for the differ-
ence in the survival of the two classes
of children is that the foreign-born
mother almost invariably nurses her
infant, while the native-born mother
almost invariably does not. This fact
alone is probably sufficient to account
for the difference in the mortality.
NUT SAUCE FOR ICE CREAM.
Boil together two cups water and
three-fourths cup each, chopped figs
and sugar for fifteen minutes. Re-
move from fire and stir in three-
fourths cup thick maple syrup and
one-half cup chopped hickory nuts.
Serve .on individual portions of ice
cream,
Also germs do
boiled '
which was often sunk in the greatest |
FARM NOTES.
—A chicken incubator never feels
worried when it hatches duck eggs
and its offspring go in swimming.
: —Keep the cultivator going in the
young strawberry bed. The next two
months determine the 1928 strawber-
ry crop.
—What have you in the way of
meat on the farm that will bring 40
to 50 cents per pound? Early broilers
will do it.
—Bulbs for the fall planting should
be ordered now. ocure a supply of
catalogs and study them carefully for
your favorite varieties.
—To hatch a desirable chick, hatch-
ing eggs should weigh between 24 and
ounces per dozen, and should be
uniform in shape, size and color.
—Because of their insectivorous
nature, guineas require a large pro-
‘portion of animal food, also green
food, and they must have plenty of
water to drink.
—Trapnesting is the only accurate
method of determining the exact egg
production of the hen. It is economi.
cal only for poultrymen doing careful,
accurate pedigree work.
—Beware of June hatched chicks,
They never pay for their feed, and are
more liable to gaps and cholera, Pen
the settlers up in the shade with food,
water, and a vigorous young cockerel.
—Sometimes a flock is slow about
laying, even when everything seems
right for eggs. If yours is lazying
“around that way, try a wet mash once
daily for a week or two. It often does
the work.
—Many an automobile is being
bought on the farm and paid for with
the profits from the farm flock.
—In feeding poultry the heavy
, grain feed should come at the even-
{Ing meal. The birds should have all
the grain they will clean up at this
ime.
.—Primary reliance on the preven-
(tive serum treatment is advised by
i veterinary officials of the bureau of
{ animal industry, United States De-
| partment of Agriculture, to prevent a
| recurrence of the serious hog-cholera
i losses encountered late in 1926.
| Though sanitation, local precautions,
| prompt quarantine and other aids in
| preventing the disease are helpful, the
| most dependable safeguard is immun-
i ity obtained by the preventive serum
| treatment.
| —In discussing the care of pigs
newly born, Professor Morton of the
Colorado Agricultural college says:
i “Pigs should be taken out into the sun
' Just as soon as the weather will per-
. mit, and the sow should be compelled
. to come some distance for her feed, so
| that she will keep up her exercise. If
! she starts eating pigs at birth or
| shortly after, it is probably due to
i extreme constipation, and = feverish
; condition as a result of improper feed-
ing or lack of exercise, A dose of
i salts will do much more good than
i feeding raw pork or meat of any kind.
“Where a sow has too many pigs
some of them may be transferred to
another sow, as many as she can han-
dle, provided this is done within a few
days after the sow with the smaller
number has farrowed, so that the ex-
‘tra pigs put upon her can develop
, teats for themselves.”
—Purdue university and the federal
bureau of animal industry, in casting
: about to find new uses for the oats
| crop, conducted an experiment at La-
| fayette to determine the value of oats
lin fattening Western lambs during
‘the past winter. Previous lamb-feed-
;ing results had indicated that oats.
i Was not equal to corn for the fatten-
{ing process, but in this case, with
| cottonseed meal added to the ration,
| ory satisfactory results were obtain.
led.
The lambs fed on oats and cotton-
! seed meal gained 1.2 pounds more in
84 days than did the lambs fed on
j corn and cottonseed meal. Corn silage
and clover hay were fed in addition
{ to the other feeds named. It has been
i definitely demonstrated that a legume
(hay is essential in feeding lambs on
| the dry lot, although the amount fed
jmay be small. Two feeds of clover
thay every five days are enough to
keep the lambs in good condition, ac-
cording to the results of this experi-
ment. Compared with the lot fed
clover hay daily, the lot receiving a
limited amount of this feed made
cheaper gains and finished just as
well. The oats lot required less hay
than the corn lot.
—Cornstalks, the largest single
item of waste of America’s largest
industry, farming, have had their
challenge answered not by an Amer-
ican scientist but by a Hungarian.
Dr. Bela Dorner, head of the labora-
tories of the Royal Hungarian rail-
ways, has recently come to this coun-
try with a process which he states is
commercially practicable for the utili-
zation of the stalks in the manufac-
ture of paper, rayon, auto finishes
and many other products for which
wood pulp at present is the only sat-
isfactory basis.
A number of New York capitalists
have become interested in the possi-
bilities of Doctor Dorner’s method,
and a prominent consulting chemist
retained by them has reported favor-
ably on it, after a series of large-
scale tests.
It has long been known that corn-
stalk substance is chemically and
physically suited for the needs now
met only by wood pulp, but certain
practical difficulties prevented the de-
velopment of a stalk-pulp industry.
One of the chief obstacles in processes
hitherto tried has been the necessity
for cutting out the hard cross-plates
at the joints, which made too great
an expense for commercial develop-
ment. In the Dorner process, how-
ever, the whole stalk is ground up,
and it is claimed that the hard parts
1 make no trouble in the later manufae-
| turing stages.