Bellefonte, Pa., August 31, 1928. THE WEAKEST LINK. The gray light of a November moon filtered dully through the long win- dows of the city building and fell up- on the brown head of a small boy, who was seated in a large desk chair in one of the rooms. He had been there alone in the office for a long time, though his mother had said, “Just a few minutes, dear!” as she always did. He was engaged in shaping a large hook out of a bit of wire he had discovered, talking to himself mean- while in the animated fashion of chil- dren. “There!” he exclaimed at last, eye- ing his craftsmanship with the tough wire. “That’ll do, I guess, for the hook. Now for some string!” He felt in his pockets, then dived into the waste basket and emerged with a short piece of twine, which he fastened to his hook. The string was obviously too short for his purpose, and he looked about the bare room for further resources. Just then a clerk entered from the next room, where through the open door could be seen the faces of a num- ber of men and some women. The boy looked up eagerly. The clerk smiled at him, winked and said fa- miliarly. “Having a good time, son?” “Pretty good,” the boy replied with dignity. “Say, got any string around here 7” The clerk pointed to the recess where the office twine was kept, and with another smile left the room, clos- ing the door carefully. The boy im- mediately possessed himself of the ball of twine. “That'll reach fine!” he said, tying it to the shorter piece. Then he made for the window, which after considerable exertion he managed to raise sufficiently to en- able him to get his head through. It was obviously too high for comfort- able operations, and so after a mo- ment he drew in his head, looked about the room, and discovered a large wooden box. This he pushed over to the window and perched him- self upon it, sighing with satisfaction. “Now!” he said, cautiously drop- ping his hook and line over the win- dow sill. “Now we’ll see what’s com- ing to us!” He played the line in and out skill- fully, and jerked it to and fro as if he were making a long cast, all the time continuing his dramatic com- ment. “There goes one! Now! Almost There—the dub! Oh, hooked him. gee!” All that was left of the boy within the office was a pair of fat legs wig- gling ecstatically in time with the dangling hook. So absorbed was he in his sport that he did not notice when the door at the other end of the long, narrow room opened again, ad- mitting two men and a woman. The older of the men, who was slight, with grizzled hair and stoop- ing shoulders, took the chair behind the desk and motioned the others to seats. “Please sit down,” he said in a low voice. But neither the man nor the woman accepted the invitation. They stood stiffly one at either end of the broad, littered desk, showing a hostile dis. content with the situation by their at- titude and their faces. The man’s handsome face, especially, had a stub- born, wary expression, as if he sus- pected some trap. The woman was visibly excited. She clutched nervous- ly at a small bag, and her eyes were fastened upon the man at the desk. He looked from one to the other, realizing that the atmosphere was surcharged with the passion of con- tending wills. “I have brought you here,” he said, a little wearily, “so that we might talk this matter over to ourselves, quietly.” He paused, and his thin lips had a faint, conciliatory smile. “Without the ‘disturbing influence of counsel,” he added. “It seems to me,” the speaker re- sumed quickly, “that there is collu- sion in this case.” At the man’s de- fiant glance he hastened to say: “1 have no proof of it, of course, but I strongly suspect it—as I must always suspect it when a man and a woman of your position, of your evident standing and circumstances, come in- to my court and attempt to get di- vorce on such grounds.” His dry, slightly scornful tone made no impression upon the two hostile faces. The Judge, clearing his throat, continued more incisively, his eyes resting on the man: “I cannot believe that a man of your appearance, of your established reputation, would be guilty of strik- ing a woman—and that woman your wife—as she has just testified, uncon- troverted.” He paused for explanation, but the man merely stroked his mustache more rapidly. : “Nor that you would desert a wo- man you had sworn to support and protect, the mother of your child— desert, I mean, not in legal but in the real sense, leaving her to struggle for bread for herself and the child, leav- ing her to starve. perhaps. “I understand that no claim for alimony is made,” the Judge observ- ed. “I must infer that, as usual, this matter has been arranged satisfac- torily outside of court?” The woman nodded and waved her hand impatiently, as if to say that money was not the question. “So it seems that you are not real- ly willing to leave this wife of yours penniless—to desert her in the full sense of the word—as she sets up in her plea?” The Judge turned sharply toward the man, who lowered his eyes. After a few moments of painful silence he resumed meditatively: “Aware as I must be of such col- lusion as I suspect in this case, nev- ertheless, like most Judges of divorce courts, I usually grant the decree, dissolve the marriage. At least, when there are no children involved!” sn As he spoke his eyes traveled down the room until they fell upon the small boy who was still absorbed in his angling out of the window. “But where children enter the case, I believe it is my duty to accept the subterfuge offered until I have con- vinced myself to the best of my abil- ity that there is no other resort— that divorce would be best for the child, too.” He pointed to the boy. The man and the woman, turning their heads, followed the direction of his finger. The man’s face showed surprise. “In your case there is a child,” the Judge said softly. “I had his mother The eyes of the man and the wo- man still rested upon their child. “Think,” the Judge resumed, in his of yours must mean to him—now and forever after throughout his life!” The Judge paused, then turned to the man directly. “You had a home? Yes! Your father and mother may have quarrel- ed—may have seen their mistake as plainly as you think you see yours. It may not have been a good home always, but they managed to stick to their job somehow. And so their child had something solid beneath his feet as he grew to manhood. You knew both your parents!” During this little homily the man and the woman fidgeted. The woman kept her eyes upon the child, but the man looked hard at the Judge and his eyes spoke fiercely. But the Judge kept on, more swiftly now: “Can’t you—the man—put yourself aside for him? Forget that other— least. Can’t you both find something by, other than your own desires—for his sake?” The woman’s face paled. “Judge,” the man interrupted husk- ily, “IY? “One moment, please!” The Judge raised his hand. “Your life is half spent, but his is almost unspent. What, then, will you do for him? Will you give him mon- ey or will you give the strength of your right hand now? It’s a chain you two have made—a chain of three, made by your wills and your desires. You have been pulling at that chain for years, I suppose, but now you are trying to pull it apart and it will break—where? At the weakest link, at him!” And rising from his chair he point- ed to the boy with his trembling hand. “There is the weakest link—al- ways!” As the Judge spoke his concluding words there bobbed into sight above the window ledge a man’s stiff hat, securely hooked to the curved wire. Involuntarily the three spectators smiled, softening the tense expression of their faces. The boy, in his eagerness to land his catch, pushed too hard on the box the floor with a clatter, still clutching hat and hook. He picked himself up and his attention was arrested by the grown people. There was a sharp in- quiry in his eyes, as if for a moment he was puzzled by this combination of persons. Then, dropipng hat and fishline upon the floor, he ran for- ward. “Dad!” he cried. “Dad! Where did you come from?” The man put out his hand. The boy, seizing it with a laugh, swung himself up on his father’s shoulders. Then, putting out a hand to steady himself, he caught hold of his moth- er's arms: It was the instinctive act of the playful small animal—full of grace and the exuberant good will of youth. He slipped down a bit and swung, like an athlete on the rings, between his father and his mother. The Judge smiled and picked up the hat from the floor. “Good fishing, sonny ?” he inquired. “You bet! He looked mad, though!” The boy was singularly like both his parents, with the handsome blond head of his father and the mouth and eyes of his mother. he ‘looked to his mother, then to his father, with that wise, mature expres- sion which had come into his eyes at first sight of the three. “Judge!” the man muttered huskily. But the Judge said to the woman, as if he had not heard the man’s voice: “I shall not grant your decree to- day. I shall hold it for six months— Then you may both come back here with him—with him, remember!” Heo patted the boy’s head. “And we will see what to do next.” He crossed the room briskly and opened the door into the hall, holding it wide for the three to pass out. “Remember,” he whispered to the man, pointing to the boy, “the weak- i est link!” With bewildered faces, husband and wife slowly left the Judge’s chambers. | The boy, still holding to a hand of | san parent, skipped friskily between | them. | The man, the woman and the child | between them got as far as the near- | est street corner and there stood ir- ‘resolutely in the crowd of passers- | by. The man pulled out his watch, as if calculating an appointment, “Are you tired, mother?” the boy asked gently. “We'd better ride home.” Turning to his father with a little nod of masculine competency, he obscrved: “Mother looks pretty tired, dad.” The man beckoned to a taxi across the street, and when the car drew up to the curb he held open the door for the woman to enter. She gathered her coat about her with a frigid care lest it should touch the man and step- ped in. “You're coming too, dad?” the boy said tentatively, still holding the man’s hand in a tight grip. The man got into the cab. Noth- ing was said for a time. Husband and wife drew away into the corners of the seat and stared out of their respective windows. When the cab stopped before a gently musing tone, “what this act: possibility! For the sake of your son, | forget yourself for a few years at ' in yourselves to rest upon, to abide on which he was standing and fell on The boy glanced at him roguishly. | From the Judge | large, dark house the boy waited for his father to get out. Then he took the man’s hand again, as if he had been turning matters over and had determined that this elusive parent should not give him the slip. The wo- : man swept up the steps and into the house, leaving the man and the boy to follow as they would. The man, once within the door of his abandoned home, stood irresolute, but the boy, taking his hat and coat from him, hung them up in the empty closet. Then the child ran out to the dining room, where he shouted breathlessly to the sevant: “Father’s home, Margaret! Set two more places! I'm going to sit up for which the gloom of human failure seemed to have settled with the chill of the tomb. The courses dragged on and off. The man felt in his pocket for a ci- gar, then unconsciously got up and looked in the corner ef the sideboard, : Where the cigar-box used to be kept. The woman spoke for the first time. “They aren’t there,” she said cold- ly, as if she wished him to know that in this house, which was to be wholly hers, every trace of him had been re- moved. i He made a gesture of indifference and sat down again. | “I'll get you a pipe, dad,” the boy | suggested hospitably. “I know where , they are, in the attic.” i Then husband and wife, left aloae for the first time in many months, looked at each other furtively across the table. “Well,” he said, a slight smile at 'the iweny oi the situation creeping, ragainst his will, over his handsome features. “I don’t understand what that Judge means!” she exploded in a high key. “He can’t do things that way. I'll see my lawyers about it tomorrow.” “It means another six months like the last six, unless—” He hesitated a moment, and then went on with false monchalance. “Unless you will be good enough to go somewhere, as I suggested in the first place—one of those places in the West—" “Nevada!” she exclaimed. “Out i there away from my friends—in that sneaking fashion—never!” “Here, dad!” The boy came run- ning, breathless. “The big one you like best! And here’s some tobacco I found, too!” He gave his father the pipe and to- bacco in a glow of joy at being able to satisfy the wants of this distin- | guished stranger. Presently the man strolled into the : library. The room had a cheerless, unfamiliar air. All his books had . been removed with his other posses- sions, and the usual clutter of papers and pamphlets about the reading- | lamp had been cleared away. Even the curtains had been taken down, as if for immediate departure. The room was bare and bleak—like the woman, I dressed all in black, who sat staring “dull out into the dark street. Why had she affected that ugly black, as if there had been a death in the family ? I “Well?” he began, in a tone dis- tinctly conciliatory, puffing hard at his pipe, “we must make the best of it. | She turned her head sharply, and with the light falling on her face he | saw how pale she was, how worn. In the heat of battle in the courtroom ihe had not noticed how ill she was | looking. ! “It is easy enoguh for you to make | the best of it!” she sneered. { “Well, you can bring another suit rand make what charges you wish,” he i suggested defiantly. I “I will! Tl show you up to the world! I'll—Pll— He hated emotion, he hated fuss. The Judge was an ass if he thought any man could live with this hysteri- cal creature. His self-control was | fast giving away under the heat of the storm. He made for the door. i “I see,” he said quietly, “that I | made a mistake in coming here. It was for the boy’s sake. He couldn't i understand, and I didn’t want to hurt | his feelings.” { “If you cared for him this would never have been!” He looked at her fiercely. At sight 'of her haggered face, still working nervously, his anger suddenly died out. For the first time he saw it as , she saw it-—how it had been for her |all these months while they were | waiting for the divorce, how hate and shame and despair had preyed upon i her until she was no longer herself, { but some wild creature. For the first time he could put himself quite out- side the situation, as the Judge said, and it made him wonderfully calm. “Louise,” he said, standing still be- fore her, “don’t! It only makes it worse!” She looked at him out of hating eyes, but was quiet. A burst of joy- ous laughter came through the closed door from the hall. | “Heh, there! Come on up!” cried | the quick, staccato tones of the boy. “He’s a chatty little chap,” the man muttered. | “He’ll miss you now more than | ever,” the woman said, collapsing ino .a chair. “He thinks vou have been .away on a journey—ijike the other times. He won’t understand your i leaving again so soon. Oh!” A gob i shook her. ‘He will have to be told now!” ing more for the child than for her- self. “Oh, Master Ned!” The man opened the door into the hall and revealed the cause of the disturbance. The boy had stolen up to the landing on the stairs when the | maid had gone to light the lamp be- low, and had hooked her deftly by the hair with his curved wire, which he , had carefully preserved. The man walked over and unhooked the gig- | gling maid. “Where did you get this?” he ask- ed, examining the piece of bent wire. | “Made it while I was waiting for | you and mother in that old man’s room,” the boy explained proudly, The man got his hat and coat. It seemed that she, too, was suffer- | There were fresh squeals of laughs ter outside, and a cry from the maid." woman was crying softly. The boy, who had followed his father, looked “from one to the other anxiously. His face, just now so childishly merry, had become suddenly grave. “You're going away?” he said. “I'll be back again. I'll see you i soon, sonny,” the man stammered. i “It was a long while the last time,” the boy observed with a sigh. “Why—" ! Then he paused, as if he realized the hopelessness of understanding these queer grown-ups. ‘My room isn’t ready for me,” the man said desperately. i ‘Then you can sleep with me!” As bring him to my chambers in order dinner,” he added with a tone of ithe man hesitated, the boy grasped that I might see his side of the case. conscious dignity. the suggestion more firmly. There s A nice lad! He has not suffered— | It was another of those dreary |lots of room. Goody! Goody! yet.” meals in this cold, silent house, in! The man looked questioningly at “the woman. “Do you want me to go?” he ask- ed in a low voice. ‘As you like,” she murmured, turn- ing away her miserable face. | The boy had grabbed the hat and coat from his father’s hands and chucked them out into the hall. ‘Won’t I rough-house you in the morning? Oh, my!” he reflected glee- fully. “Well, for the night, then,” the man muttered, rumpling the boy’s hair. At breakfast, some weeks after the return of the man, the boy’s round, shiny face gleamed across the broad table opposite his father. At this jmatutinal hour he was especially chat- ty, like a brisk robin. He always al- lowed his father to immerse himself in the newspaper for a few moments, then drew him out with a line of skill- ful questions. This time, after grave meditation, he observed: “Dad, I don’t think mother is well.” “Why 2?” “Because she cries too much, and {she stays in bed too much,” he said | firmly. His tone was grave, as if the two men of the family must consult to- | gether in regard to the weaker mem- er. “Ned doesn’t seem to think you are quite well,” he remarked casually. “Why don’t you go South and get a change? It might make you more | “I expected to be out of this awful i place before this, but now—" She sighed wearily. “I'll look after Ned.” “Leave him—to you?” she flashed. “No, thanks!” “Let’s all go,” the boy suggested. At the awkward pause which fol- lowed between the elders, he remark- ‘ed, as if announcing a much medi- i tated truth: | ‘I think famblies”—he always had trouble with this word—“famblies i should keep together and stay in one i place. Don’t you, dad?” { A frosty smile crept over the wo- man’s face. The man moved uneasily | beneath the irony implied in that i smile, then said suddenly: ! _ ‘Suppose we all go South? I think can get away. Business is pretty | “Won't that be swell 2” | marked ecstatically. | say! Oh, my!” the boy re- jer for her decision. The woman | glanced irresolutely at the man. “Will your — engagements — per- mit ?” she asked. “I can arrange all my—engage- ments,” he replied with a smile. “There’ll be real fishing, won't there?” the boy put in. “T’ll catch ja whale for you, mother—you bet!” 1 He danced around the table, put his arms about his mother’s neck, and mauled her boy fashion. i “You'll get better,” he said. “We'll | take you fishing with us—you can do {the cooking!” { The man and the woman laughed. [It did not seem that thus far the boy | was the weakest link in the chain of i three. | Life, grinding after its impersonal j manner, shaped matters for these {in a way that neither man nor wo- man had designed. In due time it i fashioned its own crisis for them out lof the multiform detail of its other | activities. It was not a sentimental but a business erisis. Again the family made its appear- ance in court. It was a pleasant sum- mer day, but very little of the fra- (grant, sunny air got into the dingy room where the Judge sat all day long listening to the contentions of men. His brows were puckered in {lines of weary thought while he tried to solve the insoluble riddles of con- duct and justice. At last the man’s name was called, and he went forward. Presently the Judge, gathering up the papers in the case, beckoned to the woman and the child, and ushered the three into his ‘private office. The boy went at once to the window and gazed speculatively into the street. | “So,” the Judge said, casting his eyes over the papers, ‘you have been , unfortunate in your affairs?” | “Failed, Judge!” the man replied grimly. The Judge looked thoughtfully at the crestfallen, drooping man before him, then at the woman. “Everything seems to have gone wrong with me,” the man muttered. I “I don’t believe that,” the Judge said, with a little smile. | “So I say, Judge,” the woman in- terposed again. “He must not do that. And there’s no reason why he should | —everything’s ahead!” She smiled back at him confidently. i “We are going to begin again, Judge,” she said with a blush. “That’s the only way—to begin all over.” He turned to the boy, who had grown weary of his former fishing ground and had come to join the others. “How’s fishing, sonny?” he inquir- 1 i ed. “That kind of fishing’s no good,” the boy said with the large disdain cf real experience; “but pretty soon we're going to the country to live— aren’t we, father? And I’ll have a boy dog and a girl dog, and then there’ll be puppies. I'll give you one if you like.” : “Thanks!” the Judge replied, laugh- ing. “Shall I keep him here?” “No school— ! He looked breathlessly at his moth- | accidents of life merely presented to him delightful solutions. “In the country, where things grow you know!” “Yes,” the Judge agreed, patting his head; “boys and puppies—and other things.” He looked at the three for a mo- ment. Then, as he signed the pa- pers, he said to th man: “If you don’t lose your nerve, the chain will hold.” It was plain enough now who was the weakest link. “It will!” said the woman. And the three went out of the Judge’s room together.—By Robert Herrick.—From the Public Ledger. Popular Record by State Insurance Fund. During the twelve years of the ex- istence of the State insurance fund, which was established January 1, 1916 by act of the general assembly, pol- icy-holders have paid into the fund a total of $29,847,966, Philip H. Dewey, manager, today announced. Out of this amount $3,708,594 has been re- turned to policyholders as dividends, $500,000 has been returned to the State treasury, which represents the total of two appropriations made to the fund by the commonwealth at the beginning for the purpose of organi- zation, and $15,462,463 has been paid ' to injured employes and the families of deceased persons. The total assets of the fund, as of December 31, 1927, amounted to $8,322,126, while the sur- plus was in excess of $3,069,573. The interest earnings derived from invest- ment of surplus during 1927 amount- ed to $326,234. The fund has grown in popularity, : despite the fact that it is not compul- | sory for employes of labor in Penn- sylvania to insure in this manner. The form of policy does not differ materially from some fifty-odd com- panies licensed to carry on business in the State, and the rates also are the same as approved by the Pennylvania Insurance Department. Prior to 1928 policyholders in the State fund received a 10 per cent. ini- tial reduction from the published rates for the reason that the fund paid no commissions to agents and brokers, and it was deemed advisable (to give the policy-holder immediate | benefits resulting from this saving. 1On January 1, 1928, the fund was { authorized to use the same rates in the underwriting of their policies which all other compensation insur- ance carriers doing a business in Pennsylvania are compelled to use. | While this plan requires that a policy- holder in the State fund pay the same premium which he would pay to any other insurance carrier, it is believed that, with the additional 10 per cent. income the fund will be able to de- clare a much larger dividend for 1928 on the assumption, of course, that conditions affecting the business are similar to those of the past years. i 1 Smut Control Train to Treat Seed | Wheat. Starting August 27 at Newberry a i wheat smut control train will pass “through 19 Pennsylvania‘ counties and i 2 counties in New Jersey. The Penn- sylvania State College will cooperate ! with the Reading railway system and the Central Railroad of New Jersey in operating the train. Chadds Ford ‘Junction will be the last stop on Sep- tember 29. During the past seven years stink- ing smut has risen from a place of al- imost no economic importance to that j of being the most destructive disease of wheat. For the past three years the annual toll | vania farmers has averaged 1,000,000 bushels a year. On the train thousands of bushels of wheat will be treated with copper carbonate dust, which controls stink- ing smut. The service will be princi- ! pally for growers residing in sections i inaccessible to commercial treating machines installed in mills. Millers also are invited to visit the train to see the various types of machinery which can be employed to control the smut. : Stops will be made in Lycoming, Union, Northumberland, Schuykill, Berks, Lebanon, Dauphin, Cumber- land, Franklin, Adams, Lancaster, Carbon, Northampton, Lehigh, Mont- i gomery, Chester, Bucks, Philadelphia and Delaware counties in this State and in Mercer and Somerset counties, New Jersey. Five Men Pay Fines On Blue Law Charges. Charged with violating the Sunday blue law of 1794, five persons connect- ed with the 200-mile speed classic at Tipton Sunday were discharged at a : hearing before Anthony O’Toole, al- derman of Altoona, Monday afternoon, upon payment of the fines, $4 each, | and costs. i Those fined were Paul Sheedy, man- | ager; Van Haresnape, starter; Harry E. Emerick, in charge of the pro- gram; Francis Straney and Edward Martin, concessionists. The five men were served with war- L. Young, constable, early Monday morning on information in which Young, constable, early Monday morning on information in which Young was nominal prosecutor. the Month of July. Pennsylvania’s industries took a toll of 142 lives and caused injuries to 12,291 workers during July, accord- ing to reports made public by the bu- reau of statistics of the Department of Labor and Industry. Detailed figures announced last night by the bureau showed that 50 less fatal and 212 less non-fatal ac- cidents were reported during the month than in June. The largest decrease was in the coal mining industry. Fatalities in the anthracite mines were 17 less than in June and in the bituminous, 20 less. 3 Fatalities in the construction, re- tail trading, hotel and restaurant “I've always wanted to live in the , groups showed an increase over the ! States When he returned to the library, the - country,” the boy said, as if all the preceding month. exacted from Pennsyl- ! i rants charging the violation by Clair 142 Lives Lost in State Industries in FARM NOTES. ! —Too often dry pastures, flies, and especially insufficient grain and wa- ter cause scrawny looking calves that never develop into average-size cows. The calf should be eating some grain from the time it is three weeks old and at weaning time this should be slightly increased, especially if the: pasture is short. If no pasture is available a little alfalfa hay will help materially. With good pasture, grain .is not necessary more than two weeks after weaning. —Indications point to a “fairly heavy” fruit crop; according to an an- nouncement made by Federal State Crop Reporting Service at Harris- burg. Estimates in the State for July 1 indicate that 1928 crops of apples, pears, peaches and grapes will he greater than last year, while the cher- ry crops will decrease somewhat, The forecast for the State’s apple crop exceeds the 1927 harvest by more than 8,000,000 bushels, the bu- reau declares. Last year’s apple crop in the State was 6,300,000 bushels, as compared with 9,306,000 bushels fore-- cast for the present season. The to- tal crop of the United States is now estimated at 178,185,000 bushels, about a third more than was harvest. ed last year, and a fourth less than the “bumper” crop of 1926. The peach crop forecast is 78 per cent. over the 1927 harvest, although prospects range from total failure to heavy crops requiring trimming in various sections of the State. Pear production is expected to double last | year’s crop, but only three-fourths grape crop is anticipated, and cher- ries will not make more than half a. crop. _ Despite the increased apple produc- tion forecast, the joint Federal-State- announcement for Pennsylvania de- clared that “although trees in gener- ‘al blossomed well, made excellent: growth and produced heavy foliage, the set fruit has been disappointing. Late freezes, lack of pollination, pro- longed periods of wet weather, and local hail storms are blamed for the: situation. The July 1 condition of the apple crop is 55 per cent. in the State, as compared with 57 per cent. for the ten year average. i The commerical crop in Pennsyl- vania is estimated at 1,148,000 barrels, an increase of 300,000 barrels over last year’s production. A “fair crop, of clear, good sized fruit,” is report- ed. Baldwin and York varieties ap- pear to have an “off year,” showing only 30 and 37 per cent. normal, re- spectively. Wealthies will produce: 63 per cent. normal, it is expected. The peach crop has been heavy ac- cording to the announcement, but: many orchards are still very promis- ing. Damage from insects has been less than usual and the quality is good. The estimated crop is 1,680,000 bushels, compared with a 1927 har- vest of 947,000 bushels. The United States forecast is 65,981,000 bushels, only 4,000,000 bushels short of the 1926 record crop. Pear production in the State is es- timated at 614,000 bushels, an in- crease of 50 per cent. over last year’s crop. Almost two-thirds of the es- mated United States crop of 23,356,- 000 bushels will be produced on the Pacific Coast, it is expected. The grape forecast is 20,639 tons, 40 per cent. better than the 1927 harv- est. Heavy productions are predicted elsewhere. i A light set in many localities and considerable loss from rotting on the trees, because of the rainy weather, is acountable for the poor cherry forecast. —Cleanliness and proper feeding are absolutely essential in the success- ful raising of the dairy calf, says J. B. Shepherd, associate dairy husband- man of the United States Depart- ment of Agriculture, in Leaflet No. 20-L, “Care of the Dairy Calf,” jut issued by the department. Many small dusturbances of the calf’s stomach digestive system which hinder growth: and development are caused by un- clean pens, bedding, feed pails and feed. Proper care exercised in keep- ing the pens clean and well supplied with dry bedding, in washing and scalding the pails after each feeding, and in removing discarded feed from the feed boxes each day will aid ma- terially in giving the calf a good start. During the first two weeks the calf should have whole milk, preferably from its mother. Six to nine pounds ‘of milk daily for the first week, di- vided equally into three feedings, in sufficient for the average-size calf. This amount may be increased by three pounds a day during the second week if the calf is doing well. A few calves are raised on whole milk, but it is usually too valuable to feed. Calves do nearly as well on skim milk, and most calves are raised on this feed. If fresh skim milk is not available, dried or powdered skim milk may be fed instead, or the calf may be raised on so-called calf-meal gruels. Although calf-meal gruels are not quite so satisfactory as skim milk, fairly good results will be obtained by proper feeding. A good meal devised by the bureau of dairy industry and known as the Beltsville calf meal consists of 50 parts, by weight, of finely ground corn, 15 parts linseed meal, 15 parts | finely ground rolled oats, 10 parts dry ‘skim milk, and one-half part salt. To prepare it for feeding, mix to a [smooth consistency with an equal weight of cold water. Then add 8 pounds of warm or boiling water for each pound of dry calf meal used. ; Stir thoroughly until well mixed and ‘allow to stand for several hours. | Warm to 100 degrees Fahrenheit be- fore feeding. Mix only enough at one time for one or two feedings. | The best results from feeding calf- meal gruel are obtained by substitut- ing it very gradually for whole milk {after the calf is four weeks old, tak- ing at least four weeks to complete the change from milk to gruel. Other factors essential to Success in raising the dairy calf during the i first six months of life are discussed in this leaflet, a copy of which may be produced by writing to the United Department of Agriculture, i Washington, D. C.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers