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Bellefonte, Pa., September 23, 1927.
THE SALT OF THE EARTH.
As the wheels of the long transcon-
tinental railway pounded the spidery
rails toward the setting sun, Harry
Ralston sat hunched up in a corner of
one of the day coaches, staring out
through the window at the illimitably
rolling plains which, with the glow of
evening upon them, were like some
vast, golden carpet stretched for the
passage of noble kings. 4
The day had been hot; twilight was
bringing no surcease, and, though the
sweat dripped from his blunt, solemn
features and splashed on a shirt-front
which the smoke of the engine had be-
grimed, he stared ahead toward the
west, the direction in which, for the
past two months, he had been persist-
ently moving.
Beside him on the worn plush seat
Fred Romeisz twisted uneasily, al-
ready wearied by the thought of
spending the night in such restricted
and uncomfortable quarters. Not the
whole night either, for the train was
due in Frisco at three in the morning,
and Frisco was to mark their point of
separation. Fred was to stay there
while Harry went on up into Wash-
ington and Oregon. Harry's heart
was set on going up there.
Fred Romeisz was tali, gray-eyed,
and had a mop of stiff black hair.
His shoulders were broad, but had
sunk forward. Harry believed that
his hollow chest was caused by the
heavy work which Fred had been
forced to do before he had attained
his full growth. Fred coughed fre-
quently, could not stand so much work
as Harry, and continually fretted
about the heat.
“Lord,” Fred said, “I feel like I was
fried.” He plucked at his shirt, loos-
ening it at the chest where the heat
had sealed it to his skin. “Feel like I
can hardly get my breath.”
Continuing to stare ahead out of
the car-window, Harry answered: “I
guess we can stick the night out. They
say it’s cool on the coast. When the
old man was out there he said the
nights were so cold you had to sleep
under a blanket.”
Harry looked almost dreamily for a
while. “The old man said the people
you see out there ain’t like the people
you see anywhere else. They’re sorta
open-handed, split up anything they've
got with you—that is if you're on the
square. When he lumberjacked out in
Washington they jist had two words
to describe a man. If one man asked
another one ‘How’s So-and-so?’ and
the other one said ‘he’s white,” why,
that guy could have anything that
was in camp; but if he said ‘he’s a
stinker’, then look out! They hadn't
any room for stinkers out there, but if
you were on the square, there was
nothing too good for you.”
“Didn’t even know your old man
was out West.”
“Sure,” said Harry. “Clear up in the
Klondike.”
“How come he didn’t stay? Didn’t
he like it?”
“Liked it fine. But grandad was
pretty old to work the farm alone and
they kept writing the old man letters
to come home. Ain’t you ever heard
him tell about it out there ?”
“Never did,” said Fred.
“Never even heard him talk about
Clarence Rockway?”
“Not a word. Who is he?”
“Well, that’s funny! The old man
talks about him every once in a while.
They bunked together, kinda pard-
ners. They used to play the Louisiana
Lottery together too. They never
won anything playin’ together, so
Clarence said the old man was a
Joner. Clarence always won by him-
self. So the first time he played it
alone he won a big prize. Domned if
he didn’t split the money with the old
man jist the same as if both of them
had bought the tcket. Fifty-fifty,
see 7”
“That’s what 1 call
Fred.
“Sure was,” agreed Harry, “but it
wasn’t nothin’ to what the old man
and Clarence would do for each other.
I guess he ’bout saved Clarence’s life
one time up in the Klondike when he
got the fever and had to be carried I
don’t know how {ar into town in the
dead of winter.”
Darkness fell, and the train surged
on through the night. With almost a
smile Harry thought of the end of his
journey, of the joyous days he would
spend on the West coast. The great
forests, the swift rivers, the good-fel-
lowship among the lumberjacks, free-
white,” said
dom of action, night in a bunkhouse |
or wrapped in a blanket beside a leap-
ing fire. Jovial curses, hearty slaps
on the back. Exciting ground, all of
it. Hadn't his father told him time
after time?
There were so many things he
wanted to see and do; he would have
to hurry or he would not have time
for them all. A year at the most was
all he had allowed himself to be away
from the farm. When he and Fred
had decided to go, after long months
of discussion and heightened expecta-
tion, he had promised his father that
he would be back home in time for
ploughing the following spring.
Harry Ralston and Fred Romeisz
came from adjeining farms in Ohio,
farms of comparatively small acre-
age, where diversification of crops
was necessary if the planter was to
keep. free of debt. They were accus-
tomeed to a routine that lasted from
the moment the eastern sun obscured
the brilliance of the stars and moon
until the skies again had darkened in
the evening. Ploughing those sixty
acres in Richland township, planting,
hoeing, harvesting with the aid of
Bill Fletcher's machine, milking the
cows each evening in the stalls of the
red barn, gathering the eggs, finding
all the obscure places where the hens
had laid them—in the hay-loft, the
mangers, the old buggy-seat—feed-
ing the cattle and old Calamity, the
twenty-five-year-old mare, and the
team of black colts—these Yiings
were finished on one day only to be
renewed again on the next.
The Ralstons had owned their own
land as far back as their history went
in this country, a little more than two
centuries. Harry's great-grandfather,
arriving from York State in a pirogue,
had bought and cleared the land; and
never had there been a mortgage on
it. But it had given the family no
more than they had put into it, and
sometimes not nearly so much. And
while the farm brought security to
the family, it was not sufficient to en-
able them to think much about. leisure.
Harry’s short strong arms were need-
ed on the farm, had been needed ever
since his youth, but particularly were
they needed now. His father was a
few years short of sixty and had not
been so capable since an accident with
2 jesm of colts had smashed up his
side.
But a year’s absence was no more
than Harry's due, and his father had
said it would be good for the boy to
get out and see a little of the world.
He scratched his heavy black beard
and stared hard at the wooded land-
scape (where the sun went down each
evening) as he said good-by, remained
in the position for a long while after
the last puff of smoke from the train
which was carrying Harry and Fred
had merged with the darkening sky
“Go right on, Harry,” he had said; “a
man’s only young once, and it’s a
great country you're going to. You've
got plenty of time to work on the
farm—all your life, I expect, and you
better go now while I can still man-
age the team or you won’t be able to
go at all.”
So Harry and Fred were on their
way to the fabled West. Neither had
any money above a few dollars when
they started out. They had worked
their way. Arriving in Chicago they
had taken the job most readily to be
had; in a steel-mill of a distant suh-
urb they toiled in the glare of a bril-
liant, flame-gold heat and half suffo-
cated under the continuous smoke
which rolled like thunder-clouds from
the furnaces. There they discovered
the contrast between labor on the
farm and in the factory. Fred was
cursed roundly by a darked-face fore-
man, and a few hours afterward, when
he and Harry had drawn their pay and
taken a train for the city, he was
willing to go back home, “where one
man didn’t talk like that to another
unless he was looking for a fight.”
But Harry shook his head. “No, sir,
we're started now, and I guess there's
nothing in the world that could keep
me from spending that year out on
the coast. Like the old man said, it’s
a chance in a lifetime. We're lucky
to be able to get away.”
In St. Louis they spent a week
looking for a job, and departed from
that city with scarcely enough money
to pay for their ticket to Omaha. In
Omaha Harry worked in a restaurant
and carried food to Fred, who couldn't
find a job. Fred’s cheeks were an un-
healthy pink and he was coughing
with a hacking regularity. In west-
ern Nebraska they worked in the
grain-fields. At the last place they
were employed Fred decided he would
stay in California. see what San Fran-
cisco was like. “You go up north and
let me know how it is. If vou like it
better there than I like Frisco, I'll
come up. I'll let you know how I
like Frisco.”
They were asleep when ‘the con-
ductor removed from their hat-bands
the colored bits of pasteboard. The
train slowed up and stopped. and
under the pale light of the San Fran.
cisco station, while the brakeman
swung a parti-colored signal lantern
from the steps, the two men talked.
“I'll find a boarding-house,” said
Fred. “Lord, I'm tired.”
“Pll wait aroand the station until
my train comes,” said Harry. “Seat-
tle tomorrow! Gosh!”
He could scarcely wait.
Mystery,
adventure, and the romance
of living
stretched ahead of him. There was | Th
no telling what piece of good fortune
might happen to him he thought as
the train carried him to Seattle. Only
one day did he remain in the city.
en he was off to a logging-camp.
The logging-camp wus in the upper
corner of the State. Harry saw a
few rough bunkhouses, long and un-
painted, in a clearing of the pines.
Smoke was twisting upward from the
chimney in the cook-shack. Except
for that sign the camp seemed desert-
ed. He didn’t care whether it was or
not. This was enough, just as it was
The great pines gave him a sense of
vastness, so different from the small,
picturesque country scenes of Ohio to
which he had been accustomed. The
air seemed freer, and he filled his
lungs until they hurt. This was the
place for him, the place to do the
work of a man.
After a while he got up and found
the office. A clerk sat writing at a
rude table. Harry handed him the
slip of paper he had received from the
employment bureau in Seattle.
“All right,” said the clerk. “Might
as well wait around camp till the crew
comes in, They’ll be back in a couple
of hours,”
“If it’s just the same to you I'll go
out and find them,” said Harry. He
set out on the path which the clerk
had indicated, striding through the
big woods where the hugh-based trees
grew tall and straight. He wanted
to get right into things, wanted to
meet the men and shake hands with
them. Yes he was already beginning
to feel the spell of the great North-
west which his father had told him
about so many times. Perhaps his
father had worked near this camp—
his father and Clarence Rockway. He
would have to write him about it!
The Pine-needles were crisp under-
foot, and fragrant. There was pleas-
ure to be had in walking over them.
Harry squared his shoulders uncon-
sciously; his chin thruss itself forward
It was great to on your own
among a bunch of men, free of the
constant worry and grind of the farm.
Ahead, he heard the quashing whirr
of a tractor. A man in a plaid shirt
sat in the driver's seat. Behind the
tractor, fastened with a chain, a great
log, shorn of its branches, was drag-
ging as the caterpillar tread moved
onward,
“Where's the boss?” shouted Harry.
“Follow the road,” said the man on
the tractor. ns
The boss was easy to distinguish.
Harry found him standing with some
sawyers, marking trees. He was the
only man to wear a mustache; he had
great cheekbones and small, sharp
eyes. Harry told him he wanted to
go to work, and felt the other men
critically eyeing him as he spoke.
They wore heavy flannel shirts, cordu-
roy trousers, and thick boots. Harry
had no boots, and his shirt was not
like theirs. He should have bought
some boots he thought ruefully. Then
ke could have more carelessly with-
stood the ugly stare from one of the
sawyers.
“Ever use an axe?” asked the boss.
“Some,” said Harry modestly.
“Try you out on skinnin’ trees,” the
boss informed him, handing him an
axe which he had picked up from the
ground. j
Harry grinned as he hefted the im-
plement. It was a good one. He set
to work trimming the limbs from a
felied tree, the blade smoothly sever-
ing the branches at the trunk.
There was just enough sharpness
in the morning to make a pleasure of
swift working. And Harry was not
a bungling woodsman. Near the farm
he had chopped down many a tree and
had cut up countless cords of wood.
This kind of employment was not new
to him; he used the resilient hickory
handle and the shining blade with
neatness.
Some time later, when the boss had
gone down the path, Harry heard a
voice from one of the sawyers. It was
a chuckling and malicious voice, and
it came from the man who had stared
so viciously at him,
“That lad’s cuttin’ hisself right out
of a job. Look at him work, will ya!”
The sawyer whistled and made a mock
appeal to the man who was working
with him.
Harry looked up and answered with
a levelly directed glance. The sawyer
was his better in height and weight
he judged. He had irregular teeth,
a shock of black, unkempt hair, a bulg-
ing forehead, and deem-set eyes. You
could break your knuckles on that
forehead and never make a mark
Harry thought as he went on about
his work. He determined to think no
more about the sawyer. Life then
was too rich and glowing for him to
be annoyed.
In the evening, when sunset came,
he shouldered his axe and followed
the men down the path through the
woods to the bunkhouse. When he
reached the clearing the smell of pork
and beans was unmistakably in the
air. Harry whetted his lips and looked
cavernously at the cookshack.
He washed, dried his face on the
communal towel, and went briskly
into the cook-shack, from the door of
which the cook was bawling: “Come
an’ get it! Come an’ get it!”
It was a simple but none the less
delightful pleasure to be sitting at the
long, rough table, among these broad-
shouldered, ruddy-faced woodsmen,
eating pork and beans from a tin
plate and drinking strong and steam-
ing coffee from a cup of the same ma-
terial.
And at night he would sit with the
older hands, leaning against the bunk-
house wall, listening to interminable
stories, reminiscences of how each
man had spent his year’s pay, of how
this one had gone on a wild jamboree
in Butte and got a great deal of ac-
tion for his six hundred dollars before
the police of the city snapped a pair
of handcuffs on his brawny wrists and
led him off to the hoosegow. This was
the life! He could scarcely keep away
from these men long enough to write
letters to Fred and to his father.
To Fred he simply said: “Old boy,
I bet you'd like it up here. I got a job
right away, and they certainly are a
fine bunch. I guess the boss would
Just as soon take on another hand.
When you get tired of fooling around
Frisco, let me know and I'l] ask him,
hope your cough is better. You sure
would like it up here.”
He wrote more fully to his father.
“Well, here I am, am I like it fine.
€ camp 1s a good way north of
Seattle. Maybe you and Clarence
were up here over this same ground.
I don’t see how you ever left it, blamed
if I do. These boys are the salt of
the earth and they trea, me fine. But
there’s one guy ‘that thinks he can
walk over me because I've never been
in 4 logging-camp before He's rot
another think coming. I'll up and
bust him in the nose one of these
days.”
That chance came earlier than
Harry had expected. It came in the
evening, just as the men were gather-
ing to walk back to camp for their
supper. Jess Lewis, his antagonist
of the first day, was leaning against
a great pine, unoccupied except for
smoking a cigarette. As Harry ap-
proached, Lewis stared at him con-
temptuously and said: “Boy go git my
coat.” ,
Harry laughed.
“Reckon he didn’t hear you?” one
of the older men ingenuously asked
Jess Lewis.
“Heard me! I guess the——better
hear me!” jeered Lewis.
Harry stopped and confronted
Lewis. “Maybe I'll hear you too well
some of these days.”
“Hell!” said Lewis. He flipped his
cigarette away from him and walked
toward Harry. His shoulders were
down and his head thrust forward.
“You better run, boy, ’cause I'm
acomin’ at you.”
Harry stood his ground. Well,
well! he thought; so there was to be
a fight. He had counted on something
like this: not that he was a good
fighter, not because he liked to fight,
but because he had always heard that
a new man in a Western camp had to
be initiated with fisticuffs. That
proved one’s mettle.
But Harry was experienced enough
to know that the first blow counted
considerably in the final reckoning.
He grinned. “Lewis, if you were twice
as big you’d fall jist twice as hard,”
and after this nonchalant expression
he leaped with his right arm swing-
ing. Lewis staggered and tried to
cover his face with his arms as Harry
followed up his attack. : .
The older men made a ring. “Give
him a swift one!” “Bloody his nose!”
“Crack him in the jaw!” Harry heard
them bloodthirstily shouting. He had
no knowledge whether he was being
encouraged or discouraged. All he
knew was that Jess Lewis was the
heavier man, and if he ever got Harry
down the fight would be over. So he
bore in, and his fists shot out like
inspired plummets, smacking against
the skin of his opponent. Lewis
threshed out wildly, landing a random
blow now and again, but realizing
more and more firmly that it was
“Blood!”
Blood it was.
Lewis’s flaring nostrils.
“A clean blow,”
oldslers in appreciation.
“No,” said Harry.
are friends. Ain't we, Lewis?”
And not to his surprise the surly face
“It’s all right with me,” agreed his |
together.
critical notes. He was happy, had
never been happier in his life. Now,
for certain, he was one of the boys.
This was the most gratifying peri- :
od of his existence, the time that he
always looked on with regret for its
passing. It was the sort of existence
that had thrilled his father in earlier
days, a care-free, adventurous wan-
dering, a life of gusto, of doing a
good job and living close to luxuriant
but treacherous nature. If Fred were
only with him instead of in Frisco.
What had become of Fred he wonder-
ed; he had not heard from him since
he left him that night at the station.
He found out one afternoon. It was
in late October and there was wine in
the hazy atmosphere. He saw the
pay-clerk coming down the path and
wondered what he could want. There
was a yellow envelope in his hand,
and when he reached Harry he gave it
to him.
“A telegram for you, Ralston,” he
said; “didn’t know but what it might
be important.”
Harry said, “I'm much obliged,”
and tore open the flap. He stared at
the message much longer than it took
him to read the words. It was from
Fred’s mother. Fred was dead and
the body in San Francisco. Would
Harry bring it home at once! At
once! For a moment he may have
thought of what it meant to him, that .
once back on the farm he would never
be able to get away again, he may |
have felt his resentment against years |
of incessant toil on the same spot, |
going over the same ground, doing the |
same chores—the end of youth and |
adventure just as his father’s had |
been cut short years before.
He looked up from the yellow slip |
of paper. “I've got to leave right
away. Can you pay me off to-night?
This is from the mother of the fellow
I came out West with. He's lying
dead in Frisco.”
rr eee fester i
|
$500,000 for State Forests. :
+ Much of the land to be purchased
fox. State. Forests from. the $500,000
appropriated for this purpose by the
1927 Legislature will be in the north ;
and central parts of the State it has
been learned. The purchase is to be
made by the Department of Forests
and Waters, to which the appropria- |
tion was made.
The Department’s program calls !
for the purchase of land in new re- !
gions wherever possible. It is plan-
ned to acquire small tracts that fre- |
quently separate two State Forests so |
that the Commonwealth may have
control over a continuous section.
Last year almost 1,000,000 persons
visited the State Forests and to make
them even more accessible and at-
tractive the department, this year,
is opening many new trails and con-
structing new forest roads. This work
also is in line with its protection pol-
icy as the opening of additional trails
gives casier access to fire fighting and |
in extinguishing forest fires. The
time element frequently is the decid- |
‘ing factor as to whether or not a
blaze becomes a real menace. :
The forest system of roads and
trails closely follows the State sys-
tem of highways with primary and
secondary roads. The primary trails |
are those which vehicles may tra-
verse with comparative ease, while |
the trails are more difficult to nego- |
tiate, and frequently can be used only !
by hikers. . |
The Department is planning to is- |
sue “handy” maps of the various for- |
ests showing the trails and roads. |
Officials said they believed this would |
lead to the increased use of forests
for with sign boards, which are to be
erected, it will make it practically im-
possible for persons to become lost
if they follow the maps and boards.
i
Trees Should Frame House, Not Hide
t.
Planting in the front yard should
consist of trees, so placed as never to
screen the view of the house from
the street, but always to frame it and
to provide shade; and of shrubs plant-
ed about the foundation of the house
and to mark the boundaries of the
lot.
The placing of trees is of first im-
portance. The first object of plant-
ing is to create a picture, and trees
are a vital element in the picture of
home. They suggest rest in pleasant
shade and provide atmosphere which
every observer will feel, when it is
there, and miss when it is absent. The
love for trees is universal, and often
uninstructed, so that tree planting is
over-done or badly done.
Perhaps one of the commonest
faults is to plant trees directly in
front of the house. If the house is
ugly and it is desired to hide it from
view, this is all rght. But most
houses do not deserve such treatment.
They are beautiful and do not need a
sereen before them, but a frame about
them. :
To provide shade is a secondary ob-
ject to tree planting and should be
studied carefully. In considering
shrubs to be planted in the front yard,
there is a very large variety to select
from.
——The “Watchman” is the most
punishment for him to remove his |
arms from Berets) his fees PYetéh
Ye ereamin. Peal Toss | city; it therefore has moats outside
i of its ramparts. On account of these
Harry danced back, away from |
those powerful arms whicn swung
like a windmill in a heavy gale. Then |
he bore in once more; his fist struck
Lewis Souarsly on the joni Jere \ was
Se aes Gi gears | ishment. The old chimneys also offer
said one of the & good warm site, and on top of them
. the storks build their big
[4 3 3 ” 3 i
gh Egy Food cuipy Saul snotnes, | Africa and settle for about six or
versary - and demanded menacingly: :
“Lewis, you think you had enough?” & >S th
“Hit im ag’in!” came a shrill voice. | ©ome back to their old nests, if win-
“Me and Lewis :
leaned over and extended his hai ‘cle above the houses to select a site.
of Lewis broke painfully into a smile.
late antagonist. i 3
They walked back to the bunkhouse | He throws back his leng neck and,
Behind them Harry could ; With his head flat on the back, opens
hear the other lumberjacks comparing
‘all directions,
dow. It took some time,
‘the biggest birds would
DISIPLINE AMONG STORKS,
Strasburg in Alsace is a fortified
moats and swamps, where there is
nt water, storks have
made their home in this city in great
numbers. Those waters hold toads,
frogs, eels and many other amphib-
ious creatures that offer them nour-
‘always sta
nests. They
generally come in April from South
: Seven months, leaving again in Sep-
tember for Africa. Sometimes they
ter ravages have not destroyed them.
When they wish to build, they cir-
If one or the other finds what he
thinks is a favorable spot, he calls
his mate. He does that by standing
on the top of the chimney selected.
his long bill and closes it sharply,
producing a noise as if two sticks of
wood were forcefully clapped togeth-
er. He keeps that up until he gets
an answer from his mate. The won-
derful thing about it all is that each
bird can distinguish his own mate.
Then they inspect and talk the
matter over while circling over the
selected spot. If satisfied, they come
to build their nest.
After the eggs are laid, while
hatching them, they sit alternately
on them, never leaving them exposed
to the cold, and, as a rule, obtain re- | 1
sults. Before long one can see from
two to four—five are exceptional—
young birds sticking their bare heads
out, asking for food.
So they live all summer with no-
body disturbing them. A severe pun-
ishment for
their nests is meted out by the gov-
ernment. Very likely this custom is
still derived from olden superstitious
times. But also because the birds are
really beloved. Alsace cannot imagine
itself without its storks!
About four weeks before they were
to fly South, I heard, very early in
the morning, a peculiar noise, and my
husband, who was born in Strasburg,
said to me: “Quick, get up and let us
go out.” He knew what was coming.
hen we came to the swamps, we
found a strange but very interesting
sight. The storks were coming from
alighting on one mea-
during which
call contin-
uously in the same manner mention-
ed before.
When all were together—and,
queerly enough, they seemed to know
their number—the big old stork be-
gan to range them in lines, absolute-
ly like soldiers in a review. The big
birds—there were four of them—were
marching up and down in front of the
others, picking here and there, until
they had their lines in order to their
full satisfaction.
Now, after a sharp screech of the
four in front, all the birds threw their
breasts out as far as they could. A
very strange scene began, especially
for ene who saw it for the first time,
like myself.
The big birds actually held a review,
but, after passing along the line once,
while coming back, they struck every
bird as hard as they could in the
breast, and they repeated this three
times. The fourth time they passed
slowly and, once in a while, pushed
one out of the line, backwards.
A signal! By clapping their bills
and after what seemed a great talk
amongst themselves, those that had
been pushed back were excluded.
They arose and, with a great noise,
flew away.
The four big hirds held counsel;
the remaining birds looked very
solemn. They had not tried to fol-
low the others, they knew they had to
stay where called and gathered, but
they were put in line again by their
superiors.
And now came the crucial moment!
All but the two who were allowed to
fly were stabbed in the breast by the
big bills of those great powerful birds
and killed! But although they knew
their fate, there was no shrinking.
They stocd bravely to meet death!
By the will and decision of their su-
periors, they died. It was not cruelty
that prompted the killing, it was pity!
By the examination of the big birds
it was proved that those killed would
have been too weak to stand the long
travel to Africa and they would not
leave them behind to starve and die
from exposure, fatigue and hunger.
Seed Supply Stations in Our State
Forests.
State Forester J. S. Illick announc-
ed Tuesday that a series of forest
tree seed supply stations will be es-
tablished on special forest areas set
aside for the production of high qual-
ity forest tree seed for use in the
State nurseries, in which the nursery
stock is produced for the big and
rapidly growing reforestation pro-
gram now under way in Pennsylvania.
Among the seed supply stations
that will be established during the
years are a Scotch Pine station in
Franklin county, a white pine station
at Greenwood Furnace in Huntingdon
county, a white ash station at Anson-
ia in Tioga county, and a red pine
station in York county. In addition
to these areas set aside especially for
the production of seed, individual
trees capable of producing high qual-
ity seed will also be selected covering
all the important trees used in the
reforestation work of the State.
Each selected tree will be designat-
ed as a “seed tree.” Each seed tree
will be given a label and a serial
number. When the seed collectors
come to one of these specially desig-
nated trees they will know that it is
an improved tree and that seed may
be collected from it for nursery stock
production.
Pennsylvania takes first place
among the States in establishing these
special forest tree seed supply sta-
tions. This new plan will guarantee
the production of high quality trees
and make possible the promotion of
a sound reforestation program that
will stand well among the best in the
world. The growing of trees from
high quality seed and approved an-
readable paper published, Try it.
cestry is a sound forestry practice.
hurting these birds or | Pu
FARM NOTES.
—Pack Pennsylvania standard
grades. Learn what these grades are
and pack in conformity with them.
—To cover all tourable highways of
the United States and Canada, it
would take three years and 16 days
in an automobile going 12 hours a day
8 the average speed of 30 miles an
our.
—Open air machine sheds never
have proved profitable. Rust spells
loss, depreciation, inconvenience, A
good tool shed will keep your ma-
chines clean and your own temper
even.
—The Lincoln highway between
New York and San Francisco, 3,142
mile long, has been improved on all
but 41 miles of its entire distance. The
entire length is uniforml marked
with characteristic signs. y
--T0 provide dairy farmers with
practical information about feeding,
a handy, pocket-size circular, “Feed-
ing the Dairy Cow,” has been pre-
pared by the Pennsylvania State Col-
lege agricultural extension service, It
contains 28 pages of the latest recom-
mendations and shows what different
rations to use. It may be obtained
free upon application to your county
agent or by writing to the Agricul-
tural Publications Office, State Col-
lege, Pa.
—DMany pullets and
fested with intestinal round worms
and tapeworms during the summer.
When the pullets are placed in the
aying quarters, it is a good time to
treat them for these intestinal para-
sites. Two per cent. tobacco dust in the
mash the pullets receive helps to con-
trol round worms. There are some
commercial worm remedies on the
market that give satisfactory results,
ullets suffering from chronic cocci
diosis should be fed heavily on milk
for several weeks.
—Frequently one hears some one
claim that animals do not need salt.
The man who makes such a claim is
ignorant of the animal body and its
requirement. All farm animals need
salt—and must have it. In addition,
extra iodine is frequently needed to
prevent goiter—big neck in calves—
and hairless pigs. There are some
firms in the United States producing
iodized salt for farm stock. When
salt is so made it must, of course, be
sold at a price above that paid for
good farm salt, but where goiter,
hairless pigs, and other such trou-
bles exist, this method of securing io-
dine is exceedingly satisfactory, since
iodized salt is usually only twice as
expensive as ordinary salt. One hun-
dred pounds of such salt would feed
ten head of cattle—two ounces of salt
for each individual daily—approxi-
mately three months.
hens become in-
. —Work stock—horses and mules—
is the one class of animals in which
practically every farmer is concerned
whether he is a stock farmer, cotton
planter, wheat grower, or cane raiser.
The approaching shortage of good
work stock is, therefore, of vital con-
cern to all farmers, says John O.
Williams, in charge of horse and mule
Investigations for the United States
Department of Agriculture.
—PFarmers in the corn belt where
surplus work stock has previously
been raised should consider the pos-
sibility of increasing the production
of the types of horses and mules that
are suitable to meet the expected de-
mand from the eastern and southern
States. . Furthermore, says Mr. Wil-
liams, it is important that farmers
thoroughly study the relative advant-
ages of animal and mechanical power
for their own conditions in order to
convince themselves of the necessity
of planning to raise colts for replace-
ment purposes before the inevitable
shortage in desirable work stock oc-
curs.
. —Although the ordinary fruit tree
is an “assembled article” in which the
part under ground is generally grown
from seed and the part above ground
is the result of grafting a bud on the
seeding root stock, horticulturists in
the past have cofined their improve- -
ment efforts to the part of the tree
above ground. Recently, however, the
United States Department of Agricul-
ture, has undertaken to bring about
further improvement by developing a
method of producing better root
stocks, or underground parts on which
to graft or bud the desired varieties.
It is well known by nurserymen and
orchardists that most fruits do not re-
produce varieties from seed; that bud-
ding or some other form of vegetative
propagation must therefore be used to
multiply a given variety. It is not so
well recognized, however, that seed-
ling root stocks also vary in their
hereditary make-up. The practice of
producing most root stocks from seed
is probably responsible for much of
the irregularity in their performance
and the ultimate failure of many or-
chard trees.
Guy E. Yerkes, horticulturist in the
bureau of plant industry of the de-
partment, has conducted enough tests
to show that some root stocks can be
propagated by means of root cuttings
and in this way faithfully reproduce
the mother root system. The mother
trees selected have shown exceptional
vigor and indications of resistance to
insects and diseases. The vegetative
propagations from these mother trees
are being tested to determine their
affinity for the varieties worked on
them and their adaptability to a wide
range of conditions by planting in or-
chards.
Several apple, cherry, and plum
selections already made are showing
speriority over seedling stocks in the
nursery. By propagating them vege-
tatively—by means of cuttings or lay-
ers rather than by seed—the charac-
teristics of the mother plant are as-
sured in the progeny. Inexpensive
and rapid propagation of the selected
and proved individuals is an impor-
tant problem. Much of the difficulty
experienced at first in that connection
has been overcome and methods have
been developed which promise com-
mercial application of this means of
improving the underground part of
fruit trees. Several years’ tests un-
der orchard conditions will be neces-
sary to bring out the qualities of
these selected stocks before introduc-
ing them.