Demon ladon
Bellefonte, Pa., June 8, 1928.
THE WEATHER MAN.
From day to day the Weather Man
The changing skies prognosticates
For every live American
- In these alert United States.
His Fahrenheit he calibrates;
He reads the signs to us obscure
And generally terminates
With “Not much change in temperature.”
The ‘‘cit” arising, rather than
See what the sky premeditates,
Consults the paper, there to scan
‘What weather likely him awaits;
And there the atmospheric states
The seer announces, crisp and sure,
As, “Showers today”’—but perorates
‘With “Not much change in temperature.’
The prophet is no partisan;
The plain truth he disseminates
As briefly, tersely, as he can
"And ne'er with joking levitates.
Yet now and then he overtakes
Or understates the Simon-pure
As when he thins his estimates
With “Not much change in temperature.”
ENVOI
If ever hell he habitates
. He'll no doubt with less a blithe “bon
jour!”
Foretell its weather variates
With “Not much change in temperature.”
—C. C. Zeigler.
A DOG LIKE THAT.
Ed Sibley and his Airedale, Derry,
were footing it briskly down the river
road on their way from Twin Forks
to the ferry landing. Derry’s high
spirits and Ed’s lusty though none
too musical whistle suggested they
were going to some favorite hunting
ground instead of taking a tramp to
install new piston rings in a pump
engine at a ranch across the river.
It was indeed a prosaic errand but on
such a zestful day anything was bet-
ter than work within the drab walls
of the garage.
From roadside ditches came the
drawling “c-r-rawk” of frogs a-sprawl
in the May sunshine; bursting buds
clouded the tops of the alders in a
haze of delicate green; and the growl-
ing chorus of the river’s wild freshet
told of the rout of Northland winter.
Over both youth and dog had been
cast the spell of the first perfect day
of spring. Because of it Derry’s
pranks became waggish—droll—ut-
terly absurd, and not even the pros-
pect of a meeting with old Cap Me-
Guire, the ferryman who had taken
so violent a dislike to Derry, could
rob Ed's whistle of its blitheness.
When they were a mile below the
settlement they heard a willow grouse
drumming in some hiding place
among the thickset alder clumps. The
sound provoked Derry to extravagant
gestures of alertness. He cocked his
ears, scanned the bushes with a tre-
mendous knowing eye, then leaped the
ditch and rammed his way into the
thicket with a loud “yawp” which he
intended to be a compelling invita-
tion for Ed to follow him but which
had a hollow heartiness that meant
he had not the foggiest notion whera
the drumming grouse was hiding.
“Old stuff,” Ed derided, and Derry |!
looked out of the brush with grinning
mouth and lolling tongue to admit he |
had beer indulging in a colossal bluff. |
To cover his confusion he com - |
menced to dig out a purely imaginary
rat. He snuffled and snorted, hurled
clods of leaf mould into the road, try- |
ing to give a realistic portrayal of a
remarkably spry young terrier about !
to capture a most elusive rat. But
Ed merely paused in his whistling
long enough to advise him to “tell it
to the marines” and marched on down
the road.
“Blah!” Derry barked in disgust.
He picked up a stick twice as long as
himself and cantered ahead to show
that he had found something worth
while in that hole after all. But even
in his moment of greatest elation
luck was most unkind for, as he was
trying to pass between two trees with
the stick crosswise in his mouth, it
jammed and hurled him down so vio-
lently that he had scarcely time to
grunt his surprise before he was
somersaulted into a puddle of soggy
leaves.
“Closed you up like a concertina,”
Ed chuckled. At which Derry yawn-
ed with laborious indifference before
trotting ahead to find a grassy spot
where he could roll and clean his
splattered coat.
At the next turn the road eame out
on the river bank and Ed stopped to
watch the swirling water. Like all
dwellers in the valley, he had a whole-
some respect for the river, but Derry,
to show how little he cared for such
awesome sights as spring freshets,
swaggered to the very edge of the
perilous cut-bank and contemptously
regarded the silt-laden water snarling
over the bowlders twenty feet below
him.
“Come here, you,” Ed commanded.
“Don’t get gay with that old river.
Anything that goes in there now,
stays—for keeps.”
Derry turned his head toward his
master, looked at him with much the
same lofty amusement as a duckling,
new come to the farmyard pond, must
have for the warning squawks of the
hen that Latched it. But Ed insisted
he stand clear of the crumbling bank.
For in that country of untamed rivers
and among the white-water men who
traveled them, this great stream had
a reputation more notorious than any
inland water between Vancouver and
Nome, and along its entire course
there was no place so evil as Hell's
Kettle, a short canyon five miles be-
low the ferry landing.
They started on and as they neared
the ferry’s cable tower Ed’s whistle
dwindled and died as he remembered
his meeting with McGuire a week ago.
They had crossed the river early and
stayed until after dark and during
that time something—probably a coy-
ote—had killed one of the ferryman’s
lambs. He had insisted Derry was to
blame and had taken no heed of Ed’s
honest assertion that the dog had
not been out of his sight all the day.
“The old grouch,” Ed thought as he
{
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came to the landing. “Why couldn't
he take my word for it? Seems like
he’s never happy unless he’s picking
a row with somebody.”
At the landing a short length of
steel rail suspended by a wire served
as a gong and Ed pounded on it to
call the ferryman from his shanty on
the distant bank. Derry, not satisfied
with the gong, added his bark to the
ringing summons.
“Soft pedal,” Ed warned. “Maybe
he’s cooled down since a week ago.”
He saw McGuire come from his shan-
ty and walk aboard the cable ferry.
As Ed watched him ease the awk-
ward craft into the full sweep of the
current a feeling of sympathy and
tolerance for the lonely, embittered
old man stirred him. In his day—
the departed day of steamboats—Me-
Guire had been a figure of importance
in the North. Old-timers said that
when Cap couldn’t get a stern-wheel-
er up the lashing waters of a riffle or
through a canyon no one else need
try. In his proud day he had had no
peer as a river man but now, since the
coming of the railroad, the last of the
paddlewheelers was rotting on the
mud flats at the river mouth and the
man who once piloted them was com-
pelled to swallow his pride and spend
his declining years as a mere tender
of a government ferry.
make a crab out of anybody,” Ed
mused, his eyes on the thickset man
at the wheel of the chunky craft buck-
ing the rips and eddies in midstream.
In spite of its ungainly appearance, |
the ferry’s two dory-like pontoons,
with the twenty feet of decking be-
tween them, offered little resistance
to the hard-driving water. On the
cable suspended between the wooden
towers was a traveling block and
through its lower half a long wire
rope ran into smaller blocks set on
the upstream wings of the ferry. By
turning the wheel and shortening one
side of this stout bridle, McGuire
could hold the pontoons at an angle to
the current so that they sideslipped
acress in a suprisingly short time.
The keen black bows sheering the
water and tautness of the main ca-
ble told of the stream’s tremendous
power but McGuire held the wheel
hard over, his thirty years’ mastery
of the river had made him contemp-
tuous of its might. “He’s sure crowd-
ing her,” Ed thought. Y’d think he
couldn’t get here fast enough to suit
him.” The cable hummed, the water
ripped past the tarred flanks of the
pontoons, and the moment the ferry
bumped the landing apron Ed heard,
in no uncertain terms, the reason for
this haste.
“Keep that blasted malamute close
t’ yal” the old man roared. “I’ll brain
him if he comes near me. I'm tellin’
va.” Step aboard.”
Ed had resolved to get into no more
futile arguments with this impossible
old man. He stepped aboard but Der-
ry—who had chosen that very mo-
ment to bark defiance at an abusive
jay—had his back to the river and
did not realize the possibility of being
left behind.
“Is that hound comin’—or ain't
he?” McGuire demanded and before
Ed could assure him crisply that Der-
ry was most certainly coming, he
spun the wheel and swung the noses
of the pontoons into the current. The
Airedale came charging across the
landing but by that time eight feet
of rolling water lay between him and
the ferry that was bearing his master
away. He crouched and would have
attempted to jump had not Eq shou:-
ed to prevent him.
“Let the river finish him,” McGuire
grunted. “Blasted poultry-killin’ fool.”
“Poultry ?” Ed demanded, angry in
spite of himself. “What you talking
about?”
“About that gander a’ mine he
killed the same day he killed the
lamb, that’s what I'm talking about,
young fella. An’ if I hear any a’
your jaw, y’ll pay for it.”
McGuire was almost shouting now.
to make his words plain above the
increasing commotion of the river.
“I told you before the dog was not
out of—” Ed began. But the sentence
was never finished, for with a start-
led exclamation McGuire threw the
wheel over, working desperately to
avoid collision with a huge stump a
boiling eddy had brought to the sur-
face directly in front of the bow of
the . offshore pontoon. Eq had only
time to clutch the rail before the im-
pact threw him to his knees. Every
timber groaned with the strain and
then the roots, like the tentacles of
an octopus, wrapped themselves over
the bow and tons of water banked be-
hind the sprawling tangle of stump
and multiplied the crushing force.
“Crab the pike pole!” McGuire bel-
lowed, trying to swing the ferry and
free it of the increasing strain. Wat-
er surged across the deck, the main
cable was bar-taut, the bridle
twanged like a bowstring, the ferry
wallowed sickeningly. Ed leaped ov-
er the rail and standing close to the
stump with the smother of foam to
his hips tried to get some leverage
against the gripping roots.
During each of those tortured sec-
onds while the two men struggled,
the river like a vindictive beast which
at last has turned to annihilate its
captors, threw itself higher over the
bow—and then with ghastly abrupt-
ness the main cable parted, the tray-
eling block dropped with a choked
splash and the ferry started down-
stream, turning crazily end for end.
Ed saw the stump flounder out of
sight as an eddy sucked it down. He
heard quick barks of alarm from Der-
ry, saw him race along the bank to
keep abreast of them. The vibrant
tone of that bark he understood so
well told him the dog knew the dan-
ger and there flashed through Ed’s
mind a sharp sensation of relief that
Derry at least would escape the fate
that must claim them.
Five mileg downstream, death was
waiting,
Hell’s Kettle would be seething to-
day; everything entered its vortex
would come to the surface—if it ever
came up—as matchwood. He himself
had seen stout trees sucked down and
though he had often watched, nothing
but short lengths and splinters ever
appeared. The ferry would be crushed
like a berry box.
And now the river was hurrying
them to that bottle-neck between the
sloping rock walls where the Kettle
“Guess it'd '
waited for its prey. To keep abreast
of them Derry had to leap wind-falls,
splash across the flooded mouths of
sloughs, in places swim them but des-
perately he charged onward to keep
them in sight as if his master’s life
depended on that alone.
Ed waved to him and the salute had
all the poignancy of farewell. Derry
responded with one quick bark; then
for a moment he was hidden by the
bushes fringing the raw bank.
Ed turned in time to see the ex-
steamboat man, his back against the
now useless wheel, draw his big sil-
ver watch from the pocket of his
soiled buckskin vest, study the dial,
and then drop it into the pocket again.
“Twenty-five minutes an’ we'll be
into the Kettle,” he remarked casual-
ly and spat into the river—the river
that had overpowerel him after thir-
ty years of mastery.
The inevitableness, the cold certain-
ty of things, was more than Ed could
stand. At least twice before, his ac-
tive outdoor life had brought him face
a chance to do something, a chance to
fight, while now they could do nothing
during those twenty-five minutes ex-
cept that which in times of danger is
hardest of all—there seemed nothing
to do but wait.
. “Sooner’n ride into the Kettle, I'll
{try to swim it—" he began.
“Y’know how fer y’ll get. You seen
that stump dragged down.”
| “Meller! What about him? His
cabin’s close above the Kettle.
pose he saw us and—”
“Suppose we had wings son,” Me-
Guire said not unkindly. Ncpe, we're
in fer it. I slipped up this once.
“Should-a towed a skiff today. Was
going to launch it when I heard that
dog yappin.’ That riled me so I did
not wait. Oh, I ain’t blamin’, him fer
this. Ferget it.”
He may have said more but Ed did
not hear him for, looking across the
water toward the black-and-tan body
weaving its way in and out of the wil-
lows, he conceived a wild, impossible
plan. It was absurd to think Derry
could—but no plan was absurd to be
attempted now ... the Kettle . . .
twenty minutes more . . . after that!
straw Ed sprang to action.
With Derry—this dog in whose
heart loyalty and independence of ac-
tion were so strangely blended—lay
their only slim chance of salvation,
and on the deck of the derelict that
the river was sweeping along Ed
stood up, waved his arm, motioned to
the road and shouted, “Mush!”
“Save yer wind,” McGuire advised,
but Ed ignoved him. His body, his
making Derry understand about the
Short cut down the rcad to Meller’s
cabin.
| He saw the dog outlined against the
1 soft green of the willows, knew by the
| way he ran up and down the bank
that he was puzzled. But over and
over,again Ed shouted and waved his
arm in the direction of the road. The
ferry was turning slowly end for end
sistently toward the road that led
straight through the woods around
which the river swept in a mile-long
arc.
And as they swung into the bend
he saw Derry hurl himself into the
willows saw their tips sway to mark
i his plunges, and heard the sounds of
| barking from the road.
“Off after a rabbit most like. Dogs
‘ain't mind readers. An’ allowin’ he
1 be, he couldn’t get there fast enough.
We only got fifteen minutes more.
Nice day for a bathin’ party.” It was
the first jest Ed had ever heard the
old man attempt. In spite of the hope
he would not let himself abandon, he
knew he would probably never see his
dog again.
The water grew rougher on that
mile of curve. Outcroppings of rock
along the shore sent curling waves
angling outward to meet in mid-
stream in spearheads of foam and
these prevented any remote chance of
the ferry’s being swept close to the
steep bank. The pontoons circled one
another, the deck rose and fell unev-
enly, the cross timbers and stringers
creaked with the strain.
But never did Ed cease watching
the bank. A dozen times he fancied
he saw the brush move and each tire
he steeled himself for the sight of
Derry; a dozen times he thought he
heard barking far back in the woods
—the sharp bark of a terrier hot on
a rabbit trail. Then before he knew
it, they were into the straight run of
river where the water quickened re-
lentlessly to plunge over the brink of
the Kettle.
Beyond the brink they saw where
the water spouted against the wall of
drenched rock beyond, and on their
lett, close above the Kettle, they saw
the weathered shakes of Meller’s cab-
in roof. They could even see the stove-
pipe and in vain they looked for some
telltale wisp of smoke to show that
Meller was at home. Nowhere, nei-
ther along the broken bank nor on the
eddies near the shore, was there any
sign of dog or man.
Derry had failed to understand?
The ferry rode evenly now. As if
the river had tired of toying with its
prey, it set straight and strong for
the entrance to the Kettle. Ed's fin-
gers fumbled with his boot laces. Ha
freed his feet, pulled his sweater over
his head, and threw it down. McGuire,
watching him, shook his head.
They were only a half mile from
the Kettle now, and from its roaring
vortex they saw a big cedar rear
slowly upward with water streaming
from its shaggy bark, saw it gyrate
crazily, stand almost vertical with
two-thirds of its length above the sur-
face and then still wobbling, start to
sink into the thundering core of the
whirlpool. The sun glinted on its
forked top for an instant and then it
was taken completely under.
Ed’s bare feet thudded on the
planking as he ran to the upstream
end of the deck. For an instant he
poised above the numbing, glacial
water. “I'll fight for it,” he shouted
as his arms came up above his head.
He leaned outward, threw back his
arms and was on the verge of plung-
ing when McGuire roared “Steady!”
in a voice that in day gone by had
to face with death but then there was !
and as it turned Ed kept pointing in- |
He's off!” Ed shouted to McGuire. |its close, will mark a significant per-
iod in the history of education
| Pennsylvania, Dr. John A. H. Keith,
'
Sup-
frozen more than one deckhand to
immobility. As Ed turned and caught
the rail he heard from the shore an
answering bark, a bark that was un-
believably like the bark of Derry—
the dog he thought had failed. But
it was not until he heard McGuire say
between clenched teeth. “It’s a fifty-
fifty chance,” that he saw Meller’s
poling boat come from a narrow eddy
under the overhanging branches and
shoot out to intercept them.
Meller was a brave man but the
river was not cheated yet. A cur-
rent setting strongly toward the far-
ther side, one that was in fact the
trailing edge of the great whirl, car-
ried them across stream. The old
veteran of the river was muttering.
“He should go back—he can’t buck
the rip,” but still Meller careened af-
ter them.
He was close now . . He was spin-
ning the boat’s nose up into the eye
of the current... Now they were
tumbling into it, seizing paddles, try-
ing to work the overloaded craft
against the water that swept into the
river's great cauldron. The roar of
the tortured water was close at their
backs.
waist, threw his body onto the paddle
with every stroke. Up—down—back
his arms worked as his blade bit into
the slipping water. Nobody spoke;
there was only the roar of the river
behind and from the shore. As if de-
fying it, as if urging them to one su-
preme effort, came the staccato barks
of Derry.
They fought—but the could not
gain, though Ed was sure now they
were holding their own. Meller turned
ithe boat a few degrees toward the
hundred yards of hurrying, glacial |
Like a drowning man clutching for a ' the
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{
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voice, every fiber of his being was | Derry tightl
concentrated on the forlorn effort of | let him go.
|
shore. Ed slashed his paddle over-
head and plunged into the water to
keep them from being swung broad-
side over the brink. They seemed to
be coming nearer to the shore; Der-
ry’s barks came more loudly to his
ears; but with each snapping stroke
Ed's head came down and he dared
rot risk even a fleeting glance shore-
ward. “Now! Horse it to ’er now!”
McGuire panted and with that rally-
ing shout Derry barked again and Ed
Sou feel the boat
y.
Now they were ranging close to
sloping wall of loose rock . . ..
Now they bumped, Ed’s fingers found
a fissure and held grimly, and now
they were ashore and Derry was leap-
ing on Ed, clawing his bare shoul-
ders in the madness of his joy, while
dare-devil Meller told how the dog
had found him and made him come to
the river in time to see the ferry
drift helplessly around the bend.
While the brief story of that great
race against death was told, Ed held
y as if he would never
None of them saw the ferry sucked
under, but from the top of the bank
the old steamboat man pointed to a
few pitched pontoon planks the whirl
‘had spewed into the rapids below. He
said no word at sight of this wreck-
age of his ferry but as he turned
away Ed heard him say something
' that made his arms close more tightly
‘around his dog.
|
I
|
| the public.”
“Wish’t I had a dog like that Der-
ry—fer myself, I mean,” McGuire
said, and only Ed Sibley knew what
worlds of feeling those few gruff
words . implied.—The American Boy.
Teachers Must Have Higher Rating
for Next School Year.
The school year now approaching
in
superintendent of Public Instruction
said recently. It 1egisters the time
he said when all new teachers enter-
ing service in the public schools of
the Commonwealth must hold a stand-
ard certificate.
The advance Pennsylvania has
made toward higher teacher qualifi-
cations is best understood when com-
pared with the year 1920, Dr. Keith
asserted. At that time more than 45
per cent of the teachers in the public
schools were without standard certifi-
cation. To-day, 90 per cent of the
teachers possess standard licenses and
the remaining 10 per cent are rapidly
acquiring the necessary credits for
standard certificates.
To date, 26,000 teachers’ licenses
have been issued by the Department
of Public Instruction—4000 of which
were granted to college graduates,
7400 to normal school graduates, and
the remainder to teachers with mis-
cellaneous preparation.
Bus Line Owners Must be 21.
Ambitious youths who want to run
bus lines as common carriers must
wait until they reach 21 years of age
under a recent decision of the Public
Service Commission. The decision
was made on an application of Haxr-
ry Davis, Butler.
The order of the commission point-
ed out that its policy is to require
holders of public convenience certifi
cates to take all “necessary steps and
precautions for the protection of their
patrons in case of accident and for
This the commission be-
lieves would be impossible if a certifi-
cate holder were a minor with all “at-
tendant legal and administrative lim-
itations.”
The commission’s order also cited
the provision of the motor vehicle
code which prohibits persons less than
21 years of age from operating pas-
senger buses.
Plan Epileptic Colony.
The board of trustees of the Selins-
grove State Colony for Epileptics has
advertised for bids for the construc-
tion of the new cottages. The bids
are to be in on May 16.
This institution will be the first
State colony for epileptics. At pres-
ent the epileptics are being accommo-
dated in the mental hospitals and in
the schools for mental defectives. It
is estimated that 2000 epileptics are
now being cared for with the insane
and feebleminded. Many of these pa-
tients can be given better care if seg-
regated in such an institution as is
being developed at Selinsgrove.
~The Watchman gives all the
news while it is news.
RR
FOR AND ABOUT WOMEN.
DAILY THOUGHT
Isn’t it strange that princes and kings
And clowns that caper in sawdust rings
And common folks like you and me
Are builders of eternity?
To each is given a bag of tools
A shapeless mass and a book of rules:
And each must make, ere life is flown,
A stumbling-block or a stepping stone.
—Anon.
Curls have come back to make some
charming new coiffures which certain-
ly point to the return of the chignon.
The new evening silhouette with
emphasis on frills, flounces and even
bustle trains, are calling for a much
fluffier, fuller type of hair-dressing.
The closely-cropped head with little
ringlets simply pasted down is not
in harmony with the more feminine
spring fashions, say the smart Paris-
ian hairdressers.
To take care of the ugly in between
stage of growing, they have devised
a convenient coiffure with the hair
Ed in the bow, naked to the
gaming very slow- |
upcurled in a roll all around the nape
of the neck.
Others take care of the growing
i locks by having them curled and piled
up in a mass at the back of the head.
| For fortunate women with a clear-cut
, profile, there is the coiffure which ex-
poses the ears with the hair brushed
up to curl about the neck.
The bob with the hair cut in a hor-
i izontal line from ear to ear is also re-
turning to favor. It is often worn
‘with a bang or fringe that goes
straight across the forehead. For ev-
. ening it is dressed with waves which
(spiral about the head giving to the
| originally symmetrical that touch of |
| irregularity which is quite in keeping
| with new uneven hemlines.
“Hyacinth” curls and “windblown”
coiffures are still fashionable, but
made much fluffier and more elaborate
than ever before.
{ Even with daytime costumes, new
. coiffures show increased bilk and hats
| with wider brims are decidedly
{ bunchy. Trimmings of flowers, rib-
| bons, longer haircuts and even some
| “knobs” are being seen again.
Veils are gttting lacier and more
| important at some French millinery
i houses.
| Several famous models are promot-
|ing shculder-length ‘veils and some
| show Turkish veils of figured lace
| swathed around the face and throat.
| These veils are worn under the hat
i instead of over them, being draped
scarf-fashion over the head.
Suzanne Talbot, who is a dressmak-
{er as well as milliner, shows shoulder-
| length veils of stiff black tulle with
, many hats.
| In recent years, we have tried all
| colors in hose, but this season, we
{ will conflne ourselves to the various
| shades of “flesh,” abondoning the
strong pinks, tans, yellows and hard
greys. For dress we will wear deli-
i
est of hose. For the afternoon tea
{and semi-dress, it will be biege, a
sort of light tan or cream-ivory, and
{it may be livened a bit with a yellow-
{ish or rose tint. For sports it will be
(a dusty beige or light tan. Rayon
and lisle hose will be in better taste
for sports and the business frock
‘than silk, and will also be more
{ fashionable. This is some relief to
| the pocket book.
| Rochester, N. Y.—Feeling that it is
‘easier to tell a woman “what not to
do’ than “what to do,” members of
the men’s college of the University of
Rochester have assumed the rele of
big brother to their fair sisters of the
women’s college.
Through the medium of the
‘Campus college undergraduate pub-
lication, the men are offering their
advice to all coeds—free.
\ Some advice has been offered in the
following list of “don’ts,” which ap-
‘peared in the Campus.
Don’t look over our shoulder to
‘read our newspaper.
‘they only cost a few cents.
| Don’t say you “just adore” any girl
{ who is your rival.
| Don’t accept an invitation to have
‘a sandwich and then order a whole
meal.
Don’t keep us waiting more than a
half hour, especially when a to-be-
paid-for chariot awaits you without.
On the way to a picture show, don’t
rave about what a wonderful musical
comedy is in town.
Don't say you are reducing—and
then eat everything in sight.
Don’t ask whether or not to let your
hair grow.
Don’t explain that you know it’s
bad form, but that you just like to
chew gum anyway.
Don’t poise your cigarette gracefui-
ly and then puff the smoke out before
you have time to taste it.
Don’t be afraid to accept a date at
the last minute, especially when you
want it. We know we are sup-
posed to think you're popular.
Don’t be avidly interested in the
things you say shock you.
For an: old fashioned strawberry
shortcake sift enough flour to fill a
pint measure, then sift again togeth-
er with 1 teaspoon of cream of tar-
tar, ¥ teaspoon of soda and % tea-
spoon of salt. Add 2 tablespoons of
sugar and rub into this mixture 4 ta-
blespoons of butter. Stir in 1 cup of
milk. Lightly roll the dough and cut
or shape into individual cakes and
bake in biscuit pans or in muffin rings.
Mash 1 quart of strawberries which
bave been washed and hulled and add
to them 2 cup of sugar. When the
cakes are baked take them from the
oven, split open and butter them and
put the strawberries in between and
on top. Make a meringue with the
white of egg and 1 tablespoon of
powdered sugar over the cakes.
For fruit salad boil one pint of
syrup. This is made by adding a half
pint of water to one pound of sugar.
It should be flavored with lemon rind,
cloves, a bay leaf and sprig of mint.
Prepare all the fruit in a bowl, pour
the hot syrup over it, and let it cool,
tossing from time to time until it is
cold. Place the salad on the ice, and
serve it with cream.
i
Winter apples need a third Spray-
ing for a really good job. This should
be applied along about the middle of
July.
FARM NOTES.
Requests are received by the Penn--
sylvania Department of Agriculture:
for more than 8000 farm bulletins.
each month. While most of these re-
quests are from farmers within the:
Commonwealth, some are received
from all parts of the world.
During the past few months bulle-
tins have been sent to Africa, Japan,.
Russia, France, Germany, Philippine
Islands and Porto Rico, in addition to.
England and Canada.
All the summer flowering bulbs
should be set out now. To assure a
continuous supply of gladioli, they -
can be set at intervals of two weeks.
Follow the rule of planting all bulbs
twice as deep as their diameter.
Be sure to spray your potatoes this.
summer. The practice is no longer:
experimental. Hundreds of farmers.
have sprayed and experienced a com-
fortable filling of their pocketbooks
as a result. It pays to protect a crop
after it is planted so that the har-
vest will not be fruitless and disap-
pointing.
If earthworms are troublesome in:
the lawn, saturate the ground with a.
solution of lime. Use 20 pounds of
, cate nude or flesh tints in the sheer- !
Go buy one— |
| the profits from winter
stone lime to 40 gallons of water. Al-
low the solution to stand unti] clear:
an then apply the clear liquid to the-
turf.
| Black locust is an ideal tree for-
growing fence posts. If your supply
is getting short, try an acre, State-
| College foresters suggest.
| More than 200 plants are know to:
: be acceptable hosts to the European:
| corn borer. These include all kinds of
succulent plants and some, like the
grapevine, which is not considered or--
_dinarily as succulent. This shows
how serious the corn borer menace is:
and why it is important to have ade-.
quate control every year.
| Sweet clover is considered one of"
| the best honey-producing ‘plants. The:
| plants bloom abundantly and the bees:
|are very fond of the nectar. Sweet.
! clover honey-is of the highest quality.
| Many new features will mark the:
| Pennsylvania State College Farmer’s:
| Field Day program, June 14 and 15,.
{in addition to those found so popular~
in past years, T. I. Mairs, in charge-
; of arrangements announced.
| For those arriving in State College-
| Thursday evening, June 14, an enter-
| tainment program has been arranged..
{ President R. D. Hetzel will welcome-
their families. The
{ the farmers and
} Speohers who will address the meet-
| Ing are Miles Horst, Palmyra, repre--
senting the State Council of Agricul-
i tural Organizations; R. G. Bressler,.
( Harrisburg, deputy secretary of ag-
| riculture, and Fred Brenckman, of:
Washington, representative of the Na--
{ tional Grange. Several musical se-
lections will complete the entertain-
ment.
! Educational exhibits, demonstra-
i tions, informational talks and recre-
i ation will compose the Friday activi-
i ties. These cover every line of farm-
(Ing, so that there will be something
i of interest for everybody, Mairs de-
' clares.
! Laying an egg for every work day
{in April and then another for good
| measure, 5256. White Leghorns owned’
by Mrs. Frank Ferris, New Wilming-
| ton, led the demonstration farm flocks
of the State, the Pennsylvania State:
' College poultry extension service re--
ports.
Other high flocks for the month:
were those of John H. Wilson, Hunt-
ingdon, 281 birds, 25.1 eggs each; J.
H. Rolar, Cumberland county farmer,
1 290 birds, 25 eggs; Abner E. Rider,
' Mechanicsburg, 105 birds, 24.8 eggs;
Charles Hood, New Cast.e, 203 birds,
124.1 eggs; Mrs. J. A. Evarts, New
Castle, 22.8 eggs; Mrs. Blair David-
son, Carlisle, 241 birds, 22.6 eggs; L.
J. Mohn, Newburg, 100 birds, 22.4.
eggs, and Mardi McQuilken, Dayton,.
120 birds, 22.1 eggs.
| Indiana county sheep growers will’
hold a purebred ram sale this year:
for the first time, it was decided at
| the recent annual meeting, W. B..Gon--
. nell, extension sheep and wool spe--
cialist of the Pennsylvania State Col.
lege, reports.
This decision brings the total of
purebred ram sales in the State to
four. The others will be at New Cas-
| tle, Montrose, and State College.
{ Cutting the poor trees on two acres:
of his woodland, Clayton Dunham,
Sullivan county farmer, sold 200
standard railroad ties, has 10,000 feet
i of inch boards and planks and 160!
cords of stove wood, C.. R. Anderson,,
extension forester of tlie Pénnsylva--
nia State College, reports. This area.
ran heavily to inferior beech and
birch and consequently was thinned
severely. Dunham plans a regular
winter-cutting schedule on his 150-
acre tract.
Where wheat originated no mam
knows. Efforts have been made to
trace it to its ancestral plant, but:
they have never been certainly sue--
cessful. As soon as a botanist dis--
covers a wild plant closely akin, to it.
some other scientist suggests that the
“wild” plant is a degenerate escaped’
from cultivation. The Swiss lake
dwellers had two distinct species, one:
of which is quite different from any-
thing found in the ancient Egyptian:
tombs. The earliest Parisian writings:
note wheat as an old-established plant:
but the usual guess is that it origin--
ated in Mesopotamia. Some day;
doubtless, the sands of Mesopotamia.
will be as carefully raked as those of"
Egypt and yield as rich additions to
man’s knowledge of his origin; today:
it is safe to attribute the origin of al-
most anything to Mesopotamia, he-
cause we know so little about it,
Free access to water or watering
cows at least twice daily will increase
dairying.
A loose separator vibrates and
mixes the milk and cream. Have the
Packie level and anchored to the
oor.
The amount of milk produced for
each cow in the United States in 1916
was 3,700 pounds; in 1921 it was 4,-
000, and in 1926 it was 4,700 pounds.
The average person is using more
milk than he used to, but the number
i
{
|
of cows in the country is decreasing
each year. The answer is, each cow
is producing more than formerly.