2
Bevan
Bellefonte, Pa., May 4, 1928.
————————
GROWING OLD.
A little more tired at close of day;
A little less anxious to have our way;
A little less ready to scold and blame;
A little more care for a brother's name;
And so we are nearing the journey’s end,
Where time and eternity meet and blend.
A little less care for bonds and gold;
A little more rest than in days of old;
A broader view and a saner mind,
And a little more love for all mankind;
A little more careful of what we say;
And so we are faring a-down the way.
A little more love for the friends of youth
A little less zeal for established truth;
A little more charitable in our views,
A little less thirst for the daily news;
And so we are folding our tents away
And passing in silence at close of day.
A little more leisure to sit and dream,
A little more real the things unseen;
A little bit nearer to those ahead,
With visions of those long loved and dead;
And so we are going where all must go,
To the place the living may never know.
A little more laughter, a little more tears,
And we shall have told our increasing
years;
The book is closed and the prayers are
said,
And we are a part of the countless dead.
Thrice happy, then, if some soul can say
‘I live because he has passed my way.’
—Author Unknown.
rns A —
THE GUARDEEN ANGEL.
sen
Got a match? Thankee, I guess
I'll light up. Ain’t much for smokin’
on trains. It sort of gets muh—stom-
ach. I don’t get around very much.
Only, once a year I go up to Chamble
to the insane hospital. Huh? Me?
Nope, I already been there. I'm
bound for home. Yes, sir, bound for
home. Alvin’s my town. Up in Nod-
away county. Was you ever at the
insane hospital? I don’t blame you.
No, sir, I don’t blame you.
I wouldn't go but you see I got
—well, a sort of friend there. I guess
you’d call him that. Orrie Watts.
Guess you don’t know him. No, of
course you wouldn’t never have met
him. Maybe you read about Orrie in
the papers, though? Blake Hughes
was the name of the man he kilt.
Huh? Yep. Don’t you remember?
Why, it was a big killin.” All the St.
Louie papers had pieces about it.
Well, as I started to say, I and Or-
rie is sort of friends, and I tried to
see his side of it even when most ev-
erybody in town was down on him. I
will say you couldn’t hardly blame
’em. Blake Hughes was just about
the biggest man in Alvin. He was
president of the Farmers’ State Bank
and a deacon in the Methodist church
—you know, it was in church that
Orrie kilt him. Yep, in church. I
wasn’t ten feet from ’em both. Me
and the old woman was in the third
pew from the back door, and on the
right side. Lord, I never will forget
it. Stuck a butcher knife in Blake,
he did, before anybody knew what
was happenin.’
Funny how things like that stay in
a man’s mind. I“won’t forget it as
long as I live. No, sir, I won’t forgat
it. I remember it as if it happened
yesterday when it was the second
Sunday in October three years ago.
Parson Doppelkopf was prayin’ when
all of a sudden Blake give a sound
like “Ou-00,” like that, and sort of
slumped down.
The first thing I knew my old wom-
an—she’s right spunky and don’t lose
her head easy—was hittin’ Orrie over
the head with a hymn-book and yell-
in’, “You did that, did you? You did
that?” Then Mrs. Hughes keeled ov-
er and everybody crowded around and
Doc Perkins tried to help poor Blake.
But there wasn’t nary chance of sav-
in’ him. The blood, Lord, man, that
was a sight I never will forget.
Orrie? Oh, he never done nothin.
Jack Saunders and Mel Dinghman
grabbed him—Tom Dowell bragged
around town afterwards that he was
the first to catch holt of Orrie, but
he wasn’t nowhere near—and we all
took Orrie outside.
Well, sir, there was talk of stringin’
Orrie up on the spot. But us older
men said, “No, we’ll let the law take
its course.” Nobody ever was lynched
in our town but once in a while a
darky. We have a mighty clean lit-
tle town and we didn’t want folks to
say we didn’t give a white man a
fair, square show. That was just
what Jim Tanning said in the Appeal.
You had ought to read the dandy
piece Jim wrote. I'll send—say, 1
don’t believe I know your name.
Mine’s Willis Hutchins and I run the
drug store at Alvin. Mighty glad to
meet you. Yes, sir. Got another
match? This pipe’s gone out. What
was that last town we passed? Didn’t
see. Well, I guess we’re not at Ne-
dina yet where I change.
Why did Orrie kill him? Well, sir
I just don’t know exactly. Yes, I do,
too, but it don’t make sense. That is,
it don’t unless you knew Orrie. You
see, Orrie never was right bright.
Nobody but an insane person would
get up and tell a judge and jury what
Orrie told ’em. He just stood up
there—Ci Halling what was app’inted
to defend him didn’t want him to
make no statement, it being against
his constitutional rights, they tell me
—but Orrie got up anyways and
Blined at the Judge and. jury and
said:
“I wanted to send Mr. Hughes to
Heaven to be a guardeen angel.”
Yep, that’s his very words. I was
there, all but the first day when I
couldn’t find no place to stand, and I
would of been on the jury too except-
in’ I was ruled out because I'm a sec-
ond cousin of Blake’s wife. That’s
his very words. Crazy? Sure Or-
rie was crazy. Guardeen angel.
Where did he get the idee? Hold
on a bit. I was comin’ to that. They
had a What do-youscall ft-—lev’s see a
—an alienist, that’s it, an alienist.
They had an alienist down from K. C.
to examine Orrie and the alienizst
told Doc Perkins that Orrie didn’t
have no more brains than a ten-year-
old. Doc Perkins asked him where
Orrie got the idee about a guardeen
angel, but the alienist couldn't tell.
He said Orrie must be a religious fa-
natic. You know—cracked on relig-
ion. That just shows you what little
an alienist knows. ;
I don’t put no stock in these high-
priced experts. Say, you know it cost
the county a hundred and twenty-five
dollars and expenses to bring that
alienist from K. C.? Huh. And he
didn’t know where Orrie got that idee
about a guardeen angel. Huh. Orrie
wasn’t no religious fanatic. I'll allus
say that. Where did he? Listen. He
got that idee in his head on account
of Minnie Davis’s little girl. You ask
Sol Yokum or Andrew Johnson or any
of the men in town who knew Orrie
and they’ll tell you I'm right.
You see, Orrie was all wrapped up
in the child. They can say all they
want to about Orrie but he had a
good heart, only his brain was addled
and that landed him up at Chamble
in the insane hospital. I started to
tell you about him and Minnie Davis’s
little girl and how come she was reel-
ly the cause of his gettin’ that idee
about a guardeen angel. Well—let’s
see, I'd better tell you first about Min- |
nie. She’s sort of a town character |
on account of folks’ talkin’, not be- |
cause I think Minnie’s so bad.
She used to be quite a pretty girl |
—she was an orphan and Mark Rit- windows and I used to let him wash
son’s wife raised her—but about sev- | the floor in the store, but I had to 4,2
en years ago she took it in her head , stop it because he’d steal candy for ,.teq right queer.
to go off to Kansas City. Accordin’
to what we heard she worked as a
waitress in Fred Harvey’s place at
the Union Station. Then she took up !
with a soldier at Fort Leavenworth.
Well, in about a year she come back
with this baby and a wedding-ring.
Well, you know how people are in a
little town. There was some talk of
turnin’ Minnie out of the church, but
Parson Doppelkopf wouldn’t stand for
it. The first Sunday she come with
the kid he shook hands with her at
the door and said:
“How do you do, Mrs. Wilson”—
that was: the soldier's name, accord-
in’ to Minnie—“and how is the dar-
lin’ baby this mornin’ ?”
Still, the talk made it sort of hard
for Minnie. She used to come to my |
place for patent medicines—she was '!
always takin’ some sort of truck—
her health not bein’ good—and the
young fellows hanging’ about would
always try to josh her. Oh, it was
hard for Minnie, all right. She got
a job waitin’ table at the Greek’s
place—that’s just two doors from my
drug store-—but she didn’t have no
one to leave the kid with. I don’t
know what Minnie would have done
if it hadn’t been for Orrie; her hav-
in’ to work from eight in the morn-
in’ till ten at night—that George De-
metrios treats his help like dogs—
om, no one to leave the kid with but
rrie.
It was lucky for Minnie Davis that
Orrie took a fancy to her little girl.
She roomed at the Central House—
you should stop at the Metropolis if
you ever come to Alvin—and nobody
around there wanted to be bothered
with a baby. Say, I can see Orrie
walkin’ up the street in his ragged,
dirty overalls—he usually wore just
them and a flannel shirt in summer
and put on a red sweater that Sam
Stikel’s wife give him, when it was
cold—I can see Orrie walkin’ up the
street with that kid of Minnie’s in
his arms. He'd go along singin’ fo
it, “Nice little baby, nice little baby,
nice little baby,” over and over again.
It used to give me the willies to hear |
him when he come into the store. He
come into my place a lot.
I had two big bottles of red and
green colored water in the front win-
dow then. Orrie used to look in at
those bottles. He'd come in to show
them to the kid all the time singin’
“Nice little baby, nice little baby, nice
little baby,” over and over again.
Sometimes I'd get so I couldn’t stand
it any longer and I'd say:
“Look here, Orrie, sing something
else to that kid. Don’t sing the same
thing all the time.”
Orrie was allus a great one to ar-
gue. It tickled him, I guess, when
someone was willing to talk to him
and he wanted to make it last. So
he’ ask: “What shall I sing, then, Mr.
Hutchins ?”
So I'd tell him things to sing, but
the poor nit would forget ’em right
off and go back to his “Nice little
baby” song.
What did the town folks think?
Well, I guess they were sort of glad
Orrie was helpin’ with the kid. It
sort of relieved their consciences, 1
reckon. I know my old woman would
sometimes say:
“That Davis girl oughtn’t to trust
Orrie Watts with her child. It’s a
shame.” :
I shut her up right quick. I'd
come back with: “Well, why don’t you
take the kid, then?”
My wife is a good woman and all
that, but I'm not sayin’ she was any
better than the rest. I'm not saying
that it didn’t look bad, either, to have
Orrie wanderin’ around with the kid.
Orrie is sort of cracked-looking. He
must be twenty-five or thirty now and
his head is flat in back and his hiar
is short like a pointer dog’s and he
allus grins. He was silly-lookin’ you
understand? Not wild or anything
like that, but Orrie allus did have pale
blue eyes and a trick of starin’ at you.
He was allus chewin’ the corner of a
dirty handkerchief, too.
Tourusts who’d come. through town
sometimes would see Orrie and the
kid down the road and think he’d
stolen her. They'd stop and try to
take the kid away from him and that
would make him mad and he’d either
fight or pick the kid up and scoot in-
to the bushes with her. Of course,
the tourusts would come back to town
and raise a row, and it did give us a
sort of a bad name, I guess. Strang-
ers, not knowin’ Orrie, you see, would
figure that we oughtn’t to of allowed
him to take care of the little girl. As
it turned out, I guess, they was right.
Got another match, please, sir?
Thankee. This pipe keeps goin’ out.
Hey, conductor, what was that last
station? Steubenville? Thank ‘ee
kindly, sir. Well, I guess I got time
to finish this yarn if you ain’t tired?
I know, but sometimes my old woman
|ing? Oh, odd jobs.
!sus and Heaven and the like.
tells me I run on when folks ain't a
bit interested.
as I say, things sort of drifted along
and Minnie Davis's kid :
right smart little girl. She had Min-
nie’s yaller hair and eyes sort of like
Minnie’s only they wasn’t such a dark
brown. -
Orrie got crazier and crazier about
her. He made a walker for her out
of a dry-goods box. I gave him some
old casters I had about the store, but
he was such a fool over her he would
not give her a chance to learn to
walk.
He was allus wantin’ to carry her.
I'd tell him.
“Qrrie, put that kid down and make
her use her legs. She'll be so sp’ilt
her ma won't be able to do nothin’
with her.”
And he’d allus want to argue. Or-
rie was a great one for arguin.’ He'd
say, “I can’t, Mr. Hutchins, because
I heard Doctor Perkins tell Mrs.
Samphoff it would make you how-
legged if you walked too soon.” Of
course it wasn’t no use tellin’ him
that applied to kids under a year old.
Somehow it sort of made you feel
good to see how Orrie loved that lit-:
tle kid and how she took to Orrie.
He was a great hand at pickin’ black-
barries and daisies and black-eyed
Susans and hickory nuts and truck
like that.
He used to milk
several cows around town and wash
the kid whenever he got a chance.
No, he wouldn’t steal nothin’ else. He
was right honest, thataway. But he’d
take something he knew the kid would
like. I recollect seein’ ’em lots. of
times comin’ back from Sharp’s pas-
ture, him with a pail of berries or
maybe mushrooms, and this young-
ster of Minnie’s walkin’ alongside,
pretendin’ she was helpin’ Orrie with
the pail.
What was her name? Let’s see.
I ought to remember. Why, Mary
Elizabeth, wasn’t it? Of course, I
mind now because Orrie called her
Mary Beth. Orrie never could han-
dle long names. Well, as I say, things
sort of run along until the kid was
about four years old. Minnie had to
quit the Greek’s she was too sickly to
| pack trays and I give her a job in my
drug store. Of course she wasn’t
worth much but I figured somebody
in Alvin ought to hire her. She
wouldn’t have lasted very long in K,
C. where she wanted to go, so I told
her, I said “You just stick around
here, Minnie. The country’s the best
place for you and the kid.
Besides, if Minnie had gone off with
the kid I don’t know what Orrie would
of done.
Now I've come to where I can ex-
' plain where Orrie got‘ the idee of a
: guardeen angel.
| why he kilt Blake Hughes.
And that explains
That
there alienist feller’s talk about Or-
rie’s bein’ a religious fanatic ain’t
right. It don’t stand te reason. Of
course Orrie went to church. But
after Mary Beth got big enough for
infant class he mostly went with: her.
I kinda think he understood more
what the infant class teacher—she’s ¢
Miss Liza Roberts and a good Chris-
tian woman, though there’s some who
don’t like her gossipy ways—well, Or-
rie understood what she said about
religion better'n he did what Parson
Doppelkopf preached. Meanin’ no
criticism on the parson, you under-
stand. But what I aim to say is, Or-
rie liked to sit next to Mary Beth in
the infant class and learn about Je-
But
that don’t make him a religious fa-
natic, now, does it? Orrie just liked
to be where the little girl was.
Well, along about thrashin’ time
three years ago Mary Beth took sick.
Doc Perkins said it was cholery she
had, but Doc Struthers that had come
from the county-seat said it was dys-
sentery. I don’t know which was
Tight. But anyway, she died in three
ays.
day, and Thursday night she died. Me
and Orrie and Minnie and Doc Perkins
was there. Poor little kid. It was
hot in that room of Minnie’s, I re-
member. We took turns fannin’ her,
but Orrie did the most. We couldn’t
get him away from the bed. I don’t
think he slept any the hull time. Let |
me tell you friend, it was sad. I ain’t
much on the weeps, but I cried like a
baby that night.
You know, none of us in Alvin but
Orrie had paid much attention to Min-
nie Davis and her kid. I see that
now. We just sort of took for grant-
ed that Mary Beth and Minnie was
gettin’ along all right.
Minnie never asked for help. She
was right proud that way. But that
night I looked around the room—it’s
on the second floor of the Central
House, back over the kitchen—and I
could tell that Minnie hadn’t been
gettin’ along all right. She didn’t
have hardly no clothes and the kid
didn’t have neither. She didn’t have
hardly anything.
Just after Mary Beth breathed her
last the Doc asked Minnie if she had
any money—you know, about the fun-
eral and things. She just pointed to
her pocketbook on the bureau and fell
across the bed, sobbing real hard. I
looked in the pocketbook. Listen,
friend, she had just eighteen dollars
and forty-six cents.
Well, that sort of got me. I looked
at Mary Beth’s clothes, lyin’ in a heap
on a table. They were all patched
and she’d kicked the toes out of her
shoes. I couldn’t find but one pair.
It was about two in the mornin’, near
as I can recollect, when Mary Beth
died. Well, sir, I just walked out of
that room, got in my car and drove
to my house. We live on Poplar
street, that’s the best residence street
in town. I got my wife out of bed
and I said: “Minnie Davis has lost
her kid.”
My wife is a good-hearted woman
underneath. I didn’t need to say no
more. She started to get dressed to
go down and do what she could for
Minnie. Then I left the house and
drove to Sim Judson’s. He runs the
best dry-goods store in town. I ham-
mered on the front door and got him
out of bed, too. :
“Sim,” 1 said, “have you got a stock
of clothes for little kids?”
He said, “Yes, but what’s got into
you, Willis Hutchins? Be you crazy?
t to be a |
night!”
‘Well, I explained what I wanted
and he didn’t say another word. He
looked just like my wife looked. He
got on his clothes and drove down
with me to the store.
We picked out the best clothes Sim
had in stock for Mar Beth. Shoes,
a dress, everything. I'd made up my
mind, you see, that Mary Beth was
goin’ to be laid out in nice, clean new
things. When we had the outfit to-
gether I took it to the hotel.
Did any women come? Yep, about
a dozen of ’em. You know, folks are
all right at heart. They just don’t
think until something happens to
make them get next to theirselves.
Everybody in Alvin felt sorry for
Minnie Davis. The next morning we
didn’t have any trouble at all takin’
up a collection for the burial.
Blakes Hughes, I remember, gave a
hundred dollars. That's the sort of
man Blake was. As upstanding a
Christian as you'll find anywhere.
Course, he could easily afford it, bein’
What did he do for a liv- lars, enough to buy Mary Beth a pret- -
Yep. She took sick on a Tues- |
the richest man in town, but then, he
didn’t know Minnie or the likes of her.
i He may have heard of her, I guess,
' because she’d been around town since
she was a little girl. Well, anyway,
we collected about four hundred dol-
ty little white coffin and to have the
‘motor hearse from the county-seat.
| Orrie? You mean, what did Orrie
How did he act? Well, sir, he
That is, he allus
i acted queer, but after Mary Beth died
be acted queer even for Orrie. You
see, we sort of expected him to feel
sorry Mary Beth was gone. We kinda
thought he’d cry and carry on that-
|away. But he didn’t . He just stayed
i by the body and wouldn’t stir. He’d
| fall asleep but he’d wake right up if
he thought we was tryin’ to take!
| Mary Beth away. But he didn’t cry.
| Nary a tear. I loaned him—well, that
lis, I give him, reelly—some of my
‘ clothes to wear at the funeral. But
we couldn’t make him wear ’em. It
looked kinda bad in church, too. Or-
rie settin’ up there in his old clothes.
But he didn’t seem to mind.
know, I sort of think Orrie liked the
, funeral.
i He sat up there all durin’ the serv-
ice and kept sayin’ “Pretty, pretty,
| pretty,” over and over again.
looked like he was proud that every-
body had come to May Beth’s funeral.
Well, after the burial—Parson Dop- |
plekopf preached a real good sermon,
too; he made all the womenfolks
ashamed of theirselves; you never
heard such bellowin’ and carryin’ on
at a funeral—after we had buried
Mary Beth, Orrie wanted to stay by
the grave. Just like a dog.
We dragged him away though, and
he didn’t go back for several days.
I think it was a Sunday after church
that the sexton told me Orrie had
been back to Mary Beth’s grave and
set there all afternoon, talkin’ to her.
Queer. It give me the willies.
Then, Orrie went and took this
guardeen angel notion. He come into
| my drug store one mornin’ and said,
“Mary Beth has
Hutchins.”
I felt sorry for him so I said, “Yes,
i Orrie, she has gone to a better place
| than this.” I sort of wanted to com-
fort him you understand.
Orrie was worried, it seemed like.
He shuffled around the store, chewing
on the corner of a handkerchief like
the always did, and finally he come up
to me again.
ain’t it, Mr. Hutchins?” he asked me.
Not gettin’ his drift exactly, I told
him: “Yes, Orrie,” I said, “Heaven
is a big place of many mansions.”
+ Well, he wanted to know what
mansions are. I told him they were
big houses. Then he said:
| “But who'll take care of Mary Beth
in those big houses?”
| I wanted to set his mind easy so 1
‘said, “God takes care of even the
- sparrers.”
i That seemed to satisfy him for a
I time, but the next afternoon he come
“into the store again. “Mr. Hutchins,”
he says, “are you sure God’s lookin’
{after Mary Beth? She ain’t very big
iyet and I was thinkin’ God might be
busy and not notice she had to come
‘to Heaven.”
The poor feller looked so worried it
kind of got me.
should have shut him up short and
‘not humored him. Maybe he’d of got
i the crazy idee out of his head. But
i I told him, I said: “Just you rest easy,
'Orrie. God is everywhere in Heaven.
{He don’t overlook little girls like
{ Mary Beth. He sends an angel to
[watch over ’em. Don’t you might
i what they taught you in Sunday
school 7”
Well, sir, Orrie cheered up a bit
when he heard me say that. “A guar-
deen angel?” he said, insistent like.
“Does God send a guardeen angel to
jel are of little girls like Mary
e 90
So I patted him on the back and
said, “Sure, a guardeen angel. That’s
right. You just bet your hat on it,
{ Orrie, that there’s a guardeen angel
| lookin’ after Mary Beth this very
{ minute.”
He went out, thinkin’ that over. I
didn’t see no more of him for a week.
He must of kept close to that shack
in Coon Hollow where he lived. It
had a feather-duster stuck from the
roof. He put it there to please Mary
Beth after she had got too big to ride
it for a horse.
But Orrie still had that fool idee
in his head. One mornin’ he come
into Hank Dipp’s barber shop where
I was gettin’ a haircut and sidled up
to my chair.
“Mr. Hutchins,” says he, “I think
somebody ought to go to Heaven and
look after Mary Beth. Them flowers
on her grave is all withered and I
don’t think her guardeen angel is
lookin’ after her like she ought to be
tooken care of.”
Hank Dipp is something of a josh-
er, so he cut in and said, “Well, Or-
rie, why don’t you go up to Heaven
and look after the little girl?”
Orrie tock him real serious. He
scratched his head and chewed some
more on his handkerchief and then he
says, “I wouldn't never get to Heaven.
Gosh, Mr. Dipp, it would take a good
man, I guess, to go where Mary Beth
1
i
I
is. It would take just about the best
man in this town. I'd never make it.”
Well, where was I at? Yep—well, | Wakin’ up a man at this time of the |
You |
It
“Heaven is a big place,
I see now that I,
You see how his notion was runnin’
on.
It got to be quite a joke around
town, this fool idee of Orrie’s. I told
him several times durin’ the next
month that it didn’t look right for him
to go about questionin’ the goodness
of Almighty God. He’d just hang
his head, and bein’ how he just loved
to argue, he’d say:
“But, Mr. Hutchins, Mary Beth was
terrible shy. I'm afeared she’ll get
in one of them big houses and hide
in a corner and God’ll never find her.”
Now, Minnie Davis was actin’ sen-
sible. It seemed like after her first
grievin’ she felt it was best for Mary
Beth to go. She perked up. It ap-
peared like Mary Beth’s goin’ had sort
of taken a load off her shoulders.
Which it had. though that may look
like a hard way to talk about it. Any-
way, she didn’t go around makin’ a
nuisance of herself like Orrie done.
Whenever I tried to shut him up
he’d say: “I still got an idee, Mr. Hut-
chins, that this town ain’t doin’ right
by Mary Beth. The best man in this
town, one as is sure of goin’ to Heav-
en, oughta go up there and be her
guardeen angel.” Or else he'd try to
argue that Mary Beth was too little
to be trusted in Heaven, and that she
would fall down the golden stairs and
‘hurt herself, or else that nobody but
a man from Alvin who knew her
would take the right interest in Mary
Beth. ul
i I saw it comin’. Orrie was bound
:that he’d get a guardeen angel for
Mary Beth.
| The thing that put him clear off’n
‘his trolley was when Jasper Crou-
| chitt’s cows got into the cemetery one
i" night and tromped Mary Beth’s grave.
| He come rarin’ into my place the
next day, his face all red. “See!” he
yelled. “See, Mr. Hutchins, what
comes of not havin’ no one to take
; care of little Mary Beth? Them cows
tromped her grave. If some good
man in this town had been up there
watchin’ out fer her he’d never of let
this happen. She oughta have a
guardeen angel, I tell you, a guardeen
angel!”
“down. But even then we never had
| the slightest idee he would do what
he done.
STORY—5 j
So you see, friend, that’s why Or-
rie Watts killed Blake Hughes. Yep.
| Death loves a shinin’ mark, they say.
. Guess that’s what led Orrie to pick
{ Blake. Best man in town. I'd back
1 his chances against anyone else’s in
Alvin. Sure. The jury couldn’t do
nothing but declare Orrie insane and
commié him to the hospital at Cham-
: ble.
Funny thing, though. Orrie’s nev-
; er had no remorse. He's happy—they
let him work in the garden—and he
told me this time I visited him: “I
ain’t forgot little Mary Beth. Do you
suppose Mary Beth likes the guardeen
angel I sent her?” So calm he said
lit. Gives me the willies.
| Minnie? You mean, what did she
i think of what Orrie done? Well, sir,
| that’s another funny thing. Seems
guardeen angel notion from Orrie, or
| else she was just sorry for him and
didn’t wanta say nothin’ ag’in him. Be-
cause I asked her one day, when folks
1 had been talkin’ in the store and say-
iin’ how unjust it was for Blake
{ Hughes to have to die because an
idjit took a notion; well, sir, I asked
{ her what she thought.
“It wasn’t so unjust, what Orrie
done,” she said. “I should of kilt Blake
Hughes before Orrie did it.”
I guess Minnie was just talkin’ to
find an excuse for Orrie. Well, here’s
where I get off. Mighty glad I met
ou.
FO drink H. Brennan in Cosmopolitan.
Through Traffic Stops.
| Through traffic stops may be desig-
nated by the secretary of highways
ion state highways and by the local
authorities in cities of the first, sec-
;ond and third classes of thorough-
fares within their territorial limits.
| When such through traffic stops are
fixed and designated by appropriate
signs, drivers of vehicles about to en-
ter main thoroughfares or arterial
‘highways will be required to come to
a full stop before entering or cross-
ing such designated thoroughfares or
through highways. The law requires
the secretary of highways and the au-
thorities of flrst, second and third
class cities to erect signs, designating
through traffic stops at the entrances
of intersecting highways, and these
signs must bear the words “Thru
Traffic, Stop” in letters at least six
inches in height and such signs shall
be illuminated at night or so placed
as to be illuminated by the headlights
of an approaching vehicle or by street
lights. By legislative enactment the
word “through” is spelled “Thru”.
For example, the thru traffic stop
means that if Front street, Harris-
burg, is designated as a through thor-
oughfare by the council and mayor of
Harrisburg the drivers of motor ve-
hicles approaching Front street, from
a side street which intersects it, must
come to a full stop before entering or
crossing this “thru traffic street.”
Broad street, Philadelphia, should be
designated as a “thru thoroughfare”
by the city of Philadelphia ; or Bige-
low Boulevard, Pittsburg, should be
designated as a “thru thoroughfare by
by the city of Pittsburg, or the Wil-
liam Penn highway designated as a
“thru” thoroughfare by the secretary
of highways, the same rule would ob-
tain. This rule does not mean that the
driver should merely slow down, but
that he must come to a full stop be-
fore entering the “thru” thoroughfare
or crossing it.
De You Know
That Pennsylvania produced more
buckwheat in 1927 than any other
State ?
That 50 per cent more capital is in-
vested in agriculture than in mines
and quarries in Pennsylvania ?
That the first exhibition of farm
products and livestock in Pennsylva-
nia is said to have been held in Berks
county in 1766 7—Pennsylvania De-
partment of Agriculture.
—Subscribe for the Watchman.
We had an awful time quietin’ him |
EE IRA Ra OARS DE I it
FARM NOTES.
Always have feed and water avail~
able when lights are on.
Face the henhouse to the south.
Make the north, east, and west sides’
wind proof.
Ground oats may be used for grow-
ing stock or laying hens when fed in
limited quantities. ;
Eggs going into the machine are
just as important as the incubator it-
self, in the spring hatch.
Danger from overfeeding is less-
ened if the chicks are fed often and a
little at a time for the first few days.
Rye, oats, or spring wheat or oth-~
er spring grains would be very sat-
isfactory as a forage crop for geese.
Red mites may be controlled by
thoroughly painting the house with
carbolineum. Spraying coal-tar dip is
also effective. :
The greatest need of poultrymen
today is not more hens, but better
producing hens. Hens that will re-
turn a larger profit on the feed con-
sumed.
Many digestive troubles are avoid-
ed if no solid feed is given for the
first 48 to 50 hours, in order that the
yolk in the chick’s body may be par-
tially absorbed.
There are four different kinds of
oat feeds employed in chick feeds.
Oat flour is used in practically all
mixtures. It may be made at home
if one has a huller.
Sweet clover is considered the best
temporary pasture crop, but the soil
must have enough lime to insure sue-
cessful growth. Inoculation also is
necessary on soil that has never
grown sweet clover or alfalfa.
When cabbage plants have attained
a fair amount of leaf spread, break-
ing off leaves can be avoided by cul-
tivating after mid-day on sunny days
when the leaves are somewhat wilted..
They will then yield more readily.
The value of good drainage is re-
vealed again this spring in State crop
reports which say “Wheat that had
a good start last fall and was planted
in well-drained soil or was favorably
i located for protection is in excellent
condition.”
Every man and woman owes a duty
to the forest. From it they get tim-
ber, fish, game, recreation, water and
inspiration. In return the forest’s
needs should be respected. Protect it
from fire and help plant a tree for
every one used.
Health reports show that the ty-
phoid fever death rate is now down:
to 2.7 per 100,000 in Pennsylvania and!
the disease is no longer an important.
mortality factor. In rural sections
the building of septic tanks has aided
in curbing the disease and promoting
health.
i
| Use water glass for preserving
spring eggs for later use, say Penm
State College poultry specialists. Add
| one quart of commercial water glass
| to nine quarts of water previously
boiled and cooled, and mix thoroughly.
{ Allow two quarts of the mixture for:
gone to Heaven, Mr. like -Minnie musta picked up that each three dozen eggs.
| Few crops give more profitable re-
'turns for heavy fertilizing than cab-
| bage, says a bulletin on early cabbage
| just issued by the Pennsylvania Agri-
i cultural Experiment station at State
| College. Whether the plant food ma-
| terials are supplied in barn-yard ma-
!nure or in commercial fertilizer, the:
: effects of liberal feeding are always
evident.
Commercial damage to corm de-
pends upon the number of borers per
stalk, the variety of corn and the size
and vigor of the plants. As a rule,
an infestation of five borers per stalk
produces little commercial loss while
: 80 borers per stalk produces total loss:
i of the crop. A commercial loss prob-
i ably will be felt with 10 borers per
stalk in field corn and with a smaller
‘number in sweet corn.
When all the previous year’s corm
crop is properly disposed of before
, June 1, 95 ta 98 per cent of the corm
| borers are killed. Plowing controls
them when no pieces of plant material
are left on the surface. The borers
will erawl to the surface from some
of the buried stalks, but if the sur-
face is clean they find no shelter there
and die from exposure or the attacks
of their natural enemies.
Most people consider that it is prac-
tically impossible to raise turkeys.
However, the results of some breeders:
as well as those of the experiment
stations show that it is not only pos-
sible to raise turkeys, but it is also
possible to make a profit at the work.
When turkeys are being raised a
producer has only one thing in mind,
namely, keeping them alive and
healthy so that they will grow into
marketable poultry. With chickens
there are two propositions to watch,
eggs and market poultry.
Turkeys are subject to many of the
ailments that bother chickens, but the
chief trouble has been a disease
known as blackhead. This disease af-
fects turkeys of all ages, but is par-
ticularly disastrous when poults are
just nicely feathered.
There has been a reason for these
losses in many cases. Chickens are
affected with blackhead, but it does
not usually kill them. In many cases
chickens have acted as carriers of the
disease to the turkeys. In view of
this many people have found it ad-
vantageous to raise the poults away
from chickens and on fresh ground.
This has encouraged the use of incu-
bators and brooders for turkeys and,
where properly managed, they have
proved very satisfactory. ;
When young poults are reared with
chickens they usually get worms.
Worms seem to help the parasites
that cause blackhead, as it makes an
opening for the parasite to enter the
system. People who raise their young
turkeys on fresh ground, away from
other poultry, are not apt to be both-
ered with blackhead. Turkeys will
even stand confinement, if plenty- of
green stuff, good sanitation and ad-
equate protection is provided. The
Minnesota experiment station raised
turkeys in confinement for the last
three years. It is not necessary for
the young poults to catch grassho
pers, as animal protein needed in the
ration can be supplied with meat
scraps.
|
1