Devore ft | Belllefonte, Pa., November 23, 1928. EE ——————— A THANKSGIVING FEAST. We two are the last, my daughter! To set the table for two ‘Where once were plates for twenty, Is a lonesome thing to do. But my boys and girls are scattered To the east and west afar, And one dearer than even the childven Has passed through the gates ajar. I'm wanting my bairns for Thanksgiving. I thought last night as I lay Awake in my bed and watching For the breaking of the day, Hoy my heart would leap in gladness If a letter should come this morn To say thai they could not leave us here To keep the feast forlorn. Samuel, my son, in Dakota, Is a rich man, so I hear, And he'll never let want approach us, Save the wanting of him near; While Jack is in San Francisco, And Edward over the sea, And only my little Jessie Is biding at home with me. Oh! the happy time for a mother Is when her bairns are small, And into the nursery beds at night She tucks her darlings all. When the wee ones are about her, With gleeful noise and cry, And she hushes the tumult with a smile, Her brood beneath her eye. But a mother must bear her burden, When her babes are bearded men; On ‘Change, or in the army, Or scratching with a pen In some banker's dusty office— As Martin, is no doubt— A mother must bear her burden And learn to do without. I know the Seripture teaching, To help the halt and the blind, And keep the homesick and the desolate At the festal hour in mind. Of the fat and the sweet a portion I'll send to the boor man’s door, But I'm wearying for my children To sit at my beard once more, I tell you, Jessie, my darling, This living for money and pelf, It takes the heart from life, dear, It robs a man of himself, This old bleak hillside hamlet, That sends its boys away, Has a right to claim them back, dear, On this Thanksgiving Day. Shame on my foolish frettings! Here are letters, a perfect sheaf! Open them quickly, dearest ; Ah, me! Tig beyond belief. By ship and by train they're hasting, Rushing along on the way. Tell the neighbors that all my children Will be here Thanksgiving Day. —By Margaret E. Sangster. —_——— LESLIE THISTLE’S WAR-TIME THANKSGIVING. On evenings now the fire in Mr. Thistle’s great old-fashioned fireplace felt almost deserted. The big logs on great-great-grand-father’s brass andirons sizzled and scolded and crackled as loud as they possibly could to help make their best, they old times. To things lively; but do could not bring the be sure, Henry and John, boys of fourteen and sixteen and the twins, Alexander and James, besides eight-year-old Theodore, were always on hand to pop corn and roast apples; and then there wala baby, Ed- win and a girl, Leslie, just turned six, who, Theodore did not count; but the two eldest boys, Malcolm and MacGregor, were far pranks and salljes. and MacGregor were the tallest, hand- somest lads in the village of Bellport. h Everyone would have told you that. It was the evening before Thanks- giving, and Cousin Abbie White had driven over from the Cape for her semi-yearly visit. Baby Edwin was lying in her lap crowing at her deep soft laugh, and Leslie sat on a green cricket at her feet. Mrs. Thistle was gazing pensively into the flames which leaped higher and higher. “Dear! dear!” they were Men to themselves, “when Mother Thistle has that expression on her face we know that she is thinking of Malcolm and MacGregor. Come! more noise, bothers. Do cheer up!” The boys were stretched at full length crack- Ing walnuts on the stone hearth and between whiles teasing Leslie and playing with Baby Edwin. “What a queer Thanksgiving this will be without Malcolm and Mac- Gregor!” said James, Leslie drew the head of her dollie, Clarissa, close to her breast. The quiet little maiden was thinking sweet thoughts of Brother Malcolm and Brother MacGregor, who had given her Clarissa. She was a real store dollie, Clarissa was, about ten inches long, made of wood, and had such cute arms and legs, All Leslie’s other dollies were rag ones. It was in September that Malcolm and MacGregor, with the other Bell- port boys, took the steamer up to Bangor to Camp John Pope, where they stayed till they went to Boston in October. The Bellport people had a big meeting, with speeches, to say good-bye to the boys, in the town hall. Just before the boys marched down to the wharf Malcolm fastened a lit- tle pin in the form of a shield, with a red, white, and blue ribbon attach- ed to it, on Leslie’s dress, and Mac- Gregor placed Clarissa in her arms. “I wonder, mamma, will they let Malcolm and MacGregor have pump- kin pie with their goose for their Thanksgiving dinner? Clarissa and I were talking it over this morning, and we could not remember when the boys had much of anything to eat be- sides hardtack.” I really cannot give you the reason —possibly it was owing to a strain of Seotch-Irish blood—but the This- tle family, in Blase of the customary chitken or turke always had roast goose for their Tha i The children’s playmates thought this very funny. “ pkin pie! you goosie your- self,” exclaimed John, pretending to jat Alec. | Dr. Sewell’s ax is going to have a jer!” said Henry, er learned a ! of meal in their i But why didn’t the doctor say some- | thing about {never been a time in this house, to ! headcheese and ‘is all extry, + his drawshave. out, “if she has not been hindered, ' Daniel’s daughter ought to be on the nksgiving dinner. , feed Clarissa a walnut meat. they will not see the end of a goose’s wing. I shall feel real mean when I am eating my drumstick. Malcolm and MacGregor always want drum- sticks.” The sound of footsteps was heard coming along the porch. A moment after Mr. Thistle entered the room. He was a pale, tired-looking man, and the depressi atmosphere of the in- clement evening outside seemed to still envelop him as he dropped into his arm chair at the right side of the fireplace. It was only a moment that he warmed his hands before the cheery blaze; then he lighted a lamp and opened the door of a room where ere was a mail carpenter’s bench. Theodore sprang to his feet. “0, father, what are you going to do?” Mr. Thistle smiled at him, and taking up an old ax handle, laid it on a piece of ash, and proceeded to draw an outline of it. “That is Mr. Nelson’s ax handle, isn’t it, father?” said Alec. “He breaks more ax handles than anyone else in the neighborhood.” Mr. Thistle smiled his teasing smile “Wrong, my son, this time. “Why, new handle.” “What a smart man you are, fath- carefully watching the progress of the pencil. “There is not a boy’s father around here who works as hard as you do after hav- ing been busy in the woods all day. They are only just farmers and nev- trade the same as you did. I heard Dr. Sewell tell Deacon Curtis yesterday that you were the Feoatost manager of any man that he ew. Cousin Abbie laughed. “I should think your pa would have to manage with all the bills he has to fill, and Inow your big brothers off in the army. Your father is smart, boys, and I can remember, as you cannot, when he used to make barrels even- ings; for he learned the cooper’s trade. That was when Malcolm was four years old. They were the neat- est, prettiest barrels. Then he would | take the hayrack and fill it full of ‘them and drive over to Faston and bring back barrels of flour and bags place in the hayrack. your ma? There has my knowing, when one could not find a crock of doughnuts and a pan of | gingerbread, besides a row of pies, on the buttery shelf, not to speak of other extrys. And it children—all extry. The Lord only promises us our daily bread. ' He does not say anything about gin- gerbread.” Mr. Thistle was now at work with “Mother,” he called boat tomorrow morning.” “So she ought, father, if there is anything left of the child after that long journey.” Leslie’s blue-gray eyes grew big with interest and tender with feeling. Uncle Daniel had been killed at the battle of Bull Run. He was shot down at the very beginning of the battle. Leslie and her young broth- ers were in the little red schoolhouse that July morning. A man on horse- back rode up through the village and out by the schoolhouse, crying, “A batle has ben fought at Bull Run! Heavy losses!” The teacher sent Alec and James out to ask the man some questions. They came back, saying that some of the Bellport boys were killed, but the man did not know their names. O, the dreadful uncertainty! The boys and girls who had brothers in that battle were pale with excitement. Alec and James shared the general alarm, for they knew that Uncle Dan- iel’s Minnesota regiment must have been in that battle. Leslie was not old enough to realize this till she ran ome and found her mother walking the sitting room floor and weeping. She seemed to have a presentiment that something had happened to Un- cle Daniel. He was her only brother. A week after a letter had come say- ing that Uncle Daniel had, indeed, been killed in that battle. Now, five days ago Mr. Thistle had brought home another letter. The shock had been too much for Uncle Daniel’s sick wife, and she had fol- lowed Uncle Daniel. Little Emily, who was only ten days younger than Leslie, was to be sent to her mother’s sister up in Monroe. A friend of Un- cle Daniel’s, who was coming East, would take charge of Emily as far as Boston, where he would put her in charge of the stewardess on the Bellport boat. Some tears fell on Clarissa’s wood- en head as Leslie remembered that bitter day. “I never felt so badly for anyone in my life as I did for Emily,” , she whispered to Clarissa. “What! tears!” sputtered a log. There was a great snapping in the fireplace, and a shower of sparks flew out. Some fell at Leslie’s feet, and others fell before Mrs. Thistle. John rushed with the tonges and Henry with the shovel. Leslie laughed heart- ily at the boys’ antics, and the tears dried on her cheeks. “That was the only thing that I ever had against Daniel,” remarked Cousin Abbie, “his taking poor Wini- fred out to Minnesota, away from all her kith and kin, and she the slim- b mest of her family. Mr. Thistle gave Cousin Abbie a funny look. kind of Daniel. It would not have Shjied you at all; now, would it, Ab- ie ? “Not but that Daniel did well with his mills out there,” continued Cous- in Abbie, “but there has never been the man in Bellport that could make me leave the State of Maine.” “I cannot think of Daniel as really gone,” said Mrs. Thistle, her voice taking on the sad tone that was so ‘often heard these days. “He was the i Abbie, “I should most think it was a most alive of anyone that I knew. Nothing could daunt or discourage him. O Abbie, think of a mother’s heart. Any day I may have the same tidings of Malcolm or MacGregor. But see, Leslie has fallen asleep. Car- ry her upstairs for me, Henry. Boys, it is time that you all were in bed.” Ten minutes afterward, when all was quiet under Mr. Thistle’s roof, : dear.” at surely was un-: “Alec, are you awake?” whispered James. . “No, I am thinking. Say, Alec, did you notice anything queer about mother today ?” “That is what I have been thinking about, James. I did notice something queer. She did not make any pump- kin pies for our T giving din- ner.” “That was it, Alec. I happened to see her, and what do you think? She got the pumpkin all strained and took down the pie plates off the pantry shelf. She stood a moment with them in her hand; then she wiped her eyes and put the pie plates back upon the shelf.” “She must have been thinking about Malcolm and MacGregor,” said Alec, “and how they have not had many good things to eat. Henry and John have been off in the woods all day with father, so they do not know anything about it, and Leslie has been too taken up with dreaming about Emily’s coming to notice anything.” “Twill be a strange dinner, though,” said James, trying not to speak regretfully, “but I do not blame mother for not feeling like making the pies, and I will give that Theodore a switching if he makes a fuss about it’ The next morning after Mr. Thistle and the other boys had set out on the long walk to the Congregational meeting house, to hear good old Dr. Woodbury deliver his Thanksgiving sermon, Henry took the two-wheeled chaise and started for the wharf to meet Emily. Leslie took up her sta- tion on a window seat between Mrs. Thistle’s monthly roses, eager to catch the first glimpse of the stranger cousin. She did not have long to wait, for the boat was on time, and white Bessie trotted home in a great hurry, as though she knew how very anxious Leslie was. Bessie gave her dainty head a toss as she reached the door, as much as to say, “Now, Leslie, see how well I have done!” Henry brought in a bundle of shawls and placed it on the cricket be- fore the fire. It swayed a moment and rolled off onto the floor, where it kicked vigorously, vainly endeavoring to extricate its arms and legs. Cousin Abbie rushed to the rescue. “For the land’s sake, Henry, couldn’t you have wrapped that child up with- out making a hippopotamus of her? Never mind, my plum, you will be all right in a minute.’ A few strong twitches given to Mr. Thistle’s blanket shawl, and two laced boots and white knitted stockings were revealed. Another twitch, and there was a black and white gingham gown, and above it a rounded flushed child face, surrounded with golden curls. Cousin Abbie gave one look and dropped down in a chair. Then she reached with trembling hands to the table for her spectacles, wiped them and put them on, and stared at the child with an expression of awe. Mrs. Thistle was staring oddly, too. Emily looked frightened. Leslie sat down on the hearth beside her and thrust Clarissa into her arms. Seing the two chidren so near togeth: er, the women and Henry almest jumped. There could be no doubt about it. Leslie and the little Emily were as alike as two peas and two peas of the same size, too. If Emily had had ona red and white checked dress like Leslie’s, not even Mus. Thistle herself could have told which was her own daughter. Emily hugged Clarissa. Then she put her arms around Leslie’s neck and hugged her, too. “Are you hungry, my sweet one?” inquired Mrs. Thistle. Emily continued to hug Leslie, as though she had not heard the ques- tion. Mrs. Thistle, thinking that per- haps she had not understood that the question was addressed to her, repeat- ed it, calling her by name. No answer. Emily did not even turn her head. “Poor little creature! She tired to talk,” said Henry. “She has not spoken a word since she left the boat.” Mrs. Thistle stepped into the but- tery and returned with a plate of mo- lasses cookies. “Here is a is too cookie for you, my Emily smiled brightly at her, and eagerly commenced eating a cookie. “Don’t you think that Clarissa is a beautiful dollie, Emily ?” said Les- lie. “She is the only store dollie that I ever had. Brother MacGregor gave her to me the day that he went to the war.” No reply. But the cookie seemed to have refreshed Emily, and she ran to a window, dragging Leslie by one hand, and stood looking at the flow- ers. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed up at a pink rose. She turned to Mrs. Thistle, gesticulating with her hands. Mrs. Thistle’s heart seemed to stop beating, and she saw in Cousin Ab- bie’s eyes a question that she would not answer. Mrs. Thistle took Emily up in her arms and rained down kisses on her blossom face. “Fatherless, mother- less, lovely as an angel, and a deaf- mute—my Brother Daniel’s baby.” The kisses and Mrs. Thistle’s emo- tion must have reminded Emily of her own mother, for she burst into a pas- sion of weeping. Mrs. Thistle held ner shaking form close, and half an hour later when Mr. Thistle and the oys came in all glowing from their battle with the wind, Emily was still clinging to her. ; : Cousin Abbie drew Mr. Thistle in- to a corner, and in a loud whisper told him of the painful discovery. Funnily enough, she was unmindful of the fact that she need not whisper on Emily’s account. Mr. Thistle was a and his first thought was for Emily. “Well, this is a pretty box! There is not one of us who knows the sign language. The child might as well on a desert island.” “0, Cousin Samuel,” said Cousin practical man, judgment of the Lord's for my cur- iosity. I suppose that I have laid up one hundred and fifty questions to ask that child, if I have one.” “It is not half as bad as you think, father,” spoke yg: John. “You have forgotten that I had old Captain Bently. teach me the deaf-and-dumb alphabet one winter just for fun, The captain once had a deaf-and-dumb passenger who went around the world with him on the Sally, and I tell you the captain had plenty of time ~ to practice with him.” “Praise the Lord!” exclaimed Cous- in Abbie; “I never felt more like get- ting down on my knees than I do now. I might have known that John would help us out; for he was named for my father, and there never was such a man for taking the ship by the helm when everything appeared to be going to pieces.” Emily- had raised her head when the boys entered and was now peek- ing coyly at Theodore over Mrs. Thistle’s shoulder. After some coax- ing she allowed herself to be trans- ferred to Mr. Thistle’s lap, and there was a scene of pretty confusion. John dropped on one knee in front of her, and the others formed a cir- cle around He made some signs. Emily’s eyes shone, and she imme- diately responded with more signs. “0, what did she say? what did you say, John?” they all cried out at once. “I asked her if she liked the looks of us all, and she answered that she did, and especially Leslie's. She was the dearest little girl that she had ever seen, and had such a beautiful dollie. Then she wanted me to tell her which one of the boys was Alec, Alec, the one who ran a pitchfork in his hand. I told her that Alec was the red-headed one, and she said, ‘0 pretty hair ! Too bad about the pitch- fork.’ ” “My stars! but isn’t she a bright young one?” said Alec, blushing over the unwonted compliment to his hair. “To be sure, I remember when I wrote Daniel about Alec's accident,” said Mrs. Thistle. “But who would have thought that Emily would have made so much of it? ~ How tender- hearted!” “Aren't we going to have any Thanksgiving dinner?” whined The- odore. “We can talk to Emily after dinner.” “Yes, yes, Theodore.” Mrs. This- tle bravely tore herself away and hurried out to the kitchen. Cousin Abbie lingered to have John put a few questions to Emily on her be- half. When she too had gone to help hurry up the dinner the boys asked Emily funny questions, just to hear her smart answers. At the dinner Emily was placed be- tween John and Leslie. Carlissa came to the table, too, and sat in Em- ily’s lap. Mr. Thistle’s voice trembled as he asked grace, and he pickel up the carving knife and fork twice before he attacked the goose. Theodore had to pull his coat sleeve in order to hurry him up. The children chattered joyously and Emily beamed upon them with the air and graces of a -princess. Her sorrows were all forgotten in this merry crowd. Mr. Thistle’s goose was still un- tasted. He seemed to have somethin on his mind. “Mother, Daniel os to write you pretty regular, as I re- member.” “Yes, indeed, father. Once a month anyway. There never was a more de- voted brother than Daniel.” “And Winifred? She was quite a hand to correspond, too, was she not?” “Why, yes, father. If Daniel was the least bit ailing, she always sat right down and wrote me all about it. “Well, they used to have consider- able to say about Emily, didn’t they 7” “There never was much else in the letters but about how she was grow- ing, and how forward she was.” “And you do not call to mind one word that might have given you a hint that Emily was in any way un- like other children?” “Not one word, father. I have had the biggest surprise of my life to- day, and I cannot understand it yet. But I do know this one thing—that two prouder people never walked the earth than Daniel and Winifred Pres- cott. They could not have stood your sympathy or mine. - Cousin Abbie shook her gray curls impressively. “Well, there is one thing that is perfectly clear to my mind, and that is, that it all comes from living out in Minnesota. If Daniel and Winifred had been living among their own respectable kins- folks, there would have been some one to have written us the news. That is what the Lord gives us kind- red for.” The goose and its accompaniments having been disposed of, Mrs. This- tle proceeded to help the children to generous slices of gingerbread and doughnuts. Theodore watched his mother with growing disapproval. “Mother, where are the pumpkin pies? Arent we going to have any pumpkin pies for our Thanksgiving dinner?” Mrs. Thistle looked troubled and rather shamefaced. She opened her lips to give an explanation. “It is all right, mother,” called out James, much embarrassed, but deter- mined to stand beside his mother in the breach. “We do not want any pumpkin pies on Thanksgiving Day when Malcolm and MacGregor are faring so poorly.” He threw a scorn- ful look at Theodore. “And I will punch the head of the first fellow who is mean enough to say that he does. Theodore here is only a baby. He cannot be expected to know what he is talking about.” Emily saw that something was the matter and questioned John. He an- swered her that the folks were talk- ing about Malcolm and MacGre Tr, and did not mention the pumpkin pies, so she contendedly ate her ginger- | bread and deughnuts. “That was sermon of Dr. Woodbury’s,” comment- ed Mr. Thistle around the fireplace. “The doctor has an excellent gift, but I have been thinking that if he had had that sunbeam of an Emily up in the pulpit alongside of him, the peo- ple that have children with tongues that can go like mill clappers wouldn’t have needed any other, Thanksgiving sermon.” Cousin Abbie laid her hand on Em- ily’s head. “That is so, Samuel. A little child shall teach them. .I know that isn’t exactly what the Scripture says but it is what it means.” a good Thanksgiving And now the shadows were gath- ering. Soon the only light in the room was that which came from the glowing logs. Alec brought out the corn popper and held it over the fire. Emily clapped her hands to see the white kernels jump up and down in the popper, and held Clarissa up to see, too. Leslie’s arms were so lonesome. She had never gone so long without holding Clarissa. She brought out all her rag dollies, and they were a pret- ty lot, and showed them to Emily. Emily petted them, but become much excited when Leslie tried to substitute one of them for Clarissa. At bedtime Emily and Leslie were tucked up in one bed, and Clarissa reposed betwen them, Emily’s left hand fast hold of Clarissa’s arm. When the little girls were asleep Mrs. Thistle called the house-hold to look at them. They fairly gasped. Of the two curly heads emerging from the white counterpane no one could tell which was Leslie's. “And you and Daniel did not look any more alike than a crow and a red robin,” ejaculated Cousin Abbie to Mrs. Thistle. “It certainly is a mir- acle,” “I could not tell how that child has grows into my heart today;” Mrs. istle kissed Emily’s dimpled hand that lay upon the counterpane. “How can I give her up to Mary ?” Mr. Thistle became sober. “You make it hard for me, mother. What if I should tell you that Emily must leave us in the morning? Mrs. Ames, of Monroe, is in the village, and told me after service this forenoon that Mary had charged her to bring Emily home with her. Mrs. Ames is going by the stage in the morning, and they will call for Emily. You know how Mary is, mother. “She will fret her- self sick till Emily gets there. And after all, Emily is as near to her as she is to you. When Mary has had Emily with her for a spell and gets sort of used to her I will drive up and bring her back for a good visit.” Mrs. Thistle smiled pitifully. In her heart of hearts she did not for F one moment believe that Mary ever could love Emily as she did af that moment. After the others had re- turned to the fireside she sat by the bed murmuring soft mother talk to the motherless litle one. At five o'clock the following morn- ing Mrs. Thistle awakened Emily, and John explained to her that she was to go with a kind lady to Aunt Mary’s. He succeeded so well in con- vincing Emily that it would only be a short time before she would be with them again that she recived the news quite calmly. : At half past five the stage stood before the ‘door. After Emily had kissed everybody good-bye .she kissed Clarissa, and tenderly laid her in Leslie’s arms. Mr. Thistle then lift- ed Emily and placed her beside Mrs, Ames in the stage. The driver cracked his whip. “0, wait!” cried Leslie. “I want to give something to Emily.” Her father swung her up, and she thrust Clarissa into Emily’s hand. Another crack of the whip, and the stage rolled out of the dooryard. Mr. Thistle and the boys went off to the barn, and Mrs. Thistle and Cousin Abbie disappeared into the kitchen. There was no one left to see a little figure fling itself down on the hearth. “0, my Clarissa! lie!” Leslie wailed. She had given Clarissa to Emily, because she was so sorry for her, and she felt it was her heart’s blood. “0, what shall I do without my Clarissa, that Brother MacGregor gave me the day that he went to the war?” A whole row of flamelets danced up from a log and glowed brightly at Leslie. “But aren’t you glad that Emily has Clarissa?” she heard them sing. “Sweet Emily, who cannot call the chickens and the bossies the same as you can.” : Leslie sat up straight, and smiled, 0, my store dol- fo wan smile at the bright flame- ets. “Yes, I am glad that Emily has Clarissa.” Thousand Islands Park, N. Y.— From the Christian Advocate, in the year of 1900. Sour Cream Gets College Attention. Experiments on the methods of manufacturing commercial sour cream are being conducted by the dairy department of the Pennsyl- vania Agricultural Experiment Sta- tion at State College. This product is also known as “Jewish sour cream” because of its extensive use by Hebrew people. It is not restricted to them entirely, be- ing also very popular with the Slavie races generally and to a lesser extent with the Germans, Austrians, and Bohemians. The sour cream is, when properly made, a thick-bodied, smooth product with a clean, acid flavor. It finds use as a dressing for vegetables, either cooked or raw, as well as being the important ingredient in certain typi- cal cold vegetable mixtures not un- like salads. The most difficult problem in mak- ing commercial sour cream is to pro- duce a body thick enough and smooth enough to satisfy the customers. The experiments at State College show | that there are many factors to con- trol where a high quality product is desired. This work is expected to be of considerable aid to the milk dealers who are attempting to supply the market, says F. J. Doan, of the dairy manufacturing department. —Anglican rector in the South of Ireland, wanting to replace his old church by a new building, ventured to send his appeal to the Roman Catho- lic priest of the parish, with whom he was on friendly terms. His response was: “I cannot subscribe to the build- ing of your new church, but here is | two guineas toward the demolition of the old one.” when one is run down?” asks a news- paper correspondent. “The number of the car.”—Strat- ford Beacon-Herald. ‘meat desired. He FARM NOTES. —Many of the poultry houses that are used for laying quarters need some repairing or remodeling, says county agent, R. C. Blaney. Many outbreaks of colds and roup will be eliminated if the housing conditions are corrected before the fall rains and cold weather comes. Eliminate all draft from the houses by covering the east, west, and north sides of the house with 2-ply roofing paper. Damp litter in the hen house is usally a result of poor ventilation or overcrowding rather of a poor- ly constructed floor. If the greater part of the front of the house is in- closed with glass it is almost impos- sible to have dry litter without in- stalling a ventilating system. The open front type of house with muslin curtains is recommended. The curtains. must be replaced with new muslin when they become dirty, so the air will pass through them. Most laying houses do not have sufficient mash hopper space. Plan to have at least eight linear feet of hopper space for each one hundred birds where the birds can eat from sides. Several small mash hoppers. in a pen are more satisfactory than one long hopper. Also provide hopper space for feeding oyster shell and grit. It is a good plan to have a 2-inch mesh poullry wire stretched over the perches from the rear of the house to the front of the dropping boards. This wire will keep the birds out of the droppings on the dropping boards and will aid in cutting down the num- ber of dirty eggs and losses from dis- ease. When the wire is stretched across the top instead of being fast- ened to the under side of the perches there will be less sagging and it will last longer. The wire on top of the perches does not seem to injure the birds’ feet. —In curing pork scrupulous care and cleanliness are fully as essential as the salt, sugar and saltpeter. K. . Warner, meat specialist of the United States Department of Agri- culture, elaborates this point. “One hundred pounds of meat,” he says, “can be cured with three pounds of salt or twelve pounds of salt and widely vgrying amounts of sugar and saltpeter, but unless care- fulness is included, the resulting pro- duct will be neither economical nor palatable. The boys complain con- siderably nowadays about the fussy crankiness with which grandpa learned his lesson in the hard school of ex- perience, and he knows that unless meat is put down with care, refined almost to the degree of crankiness, the result will be unsatisfactory.” Mr. Warner also calls attention to the fact that the home butcher should select the animals for slaughter with a view to the weight and quality of says: “Where lard and sausage are the products desired, very large and very fat hogs will serve, but when shoul- ders, hams and loins are desired these will be in proportion to the weight of the animal. A trimmed ham will weigh about 7 per cent. of the live weight of the hog, the bacon strip about 5 per cent. If one desires ten- pound hams the hogs should be buteh- ered at about 140 to 150 pounds. weight. If the family can make eco- nomical use of twenty-pound hams the weight of the hog may run up to 300 pounds.” ’ —An agricultural college in anoth- er State says that “there is more hope for the good farmer on poor land than for the poor farmer on good land. This is applicable to any State as many have frequently ob- served. —Growers find that they can get from 10 to 25 cents a bushel more for apples that are well packed instead of being just poured into the basket. Honestly facing a bushel of apples does not improve the flavor or value of the fruit but it makes a more at- tractive package. —If pullets are to lay well all win- ter their body weight must be kept up. This can be done by feeding a £00d grain mash and some cod liver oil. —See that you have good viable and disease-free seed for use next spring. Be sure that all seed is thor- oroughly dried and stored in a place where it will not get wet or be de- stroyed by rats and mice. —It is not necessary to put off ov- erhauling the sprayer until spring. On rainy days it may be taken apart, oiled, and the worn parts replaced. —Many vegetable growers find that they can grow their own plants for early use ir the spring where they have proper equipment. Hundreds of Pennsylvania gardeners are using the small sash greenhouse planned and recommended by State College vege- table gardening extension specialists. —Good Thanksgiving turkeys are well fed and fattened. A fat turkey carries a great deal of flesh and the meat is of higher quality. Fat tur- keys are worth more on the market than those lacking finish. It pays to fatten the birds for market, —With liberal feeding the brood sow will be able to recuperate from suckling her fall litter so that she will be thrifty and vigorous when mated for her next litter. Rations rich in protein and mineral content should prevail prior to mating as well as throughout the gestation period. A combination of corn and oats, plus tankage, fishmeal or buttermilk, will serve the purpose well. —Protecting farm machinery from the weather now and during the win- ter will save heavy drains on the bank account next spring. —Cutting the “weed trees in the farm woodlot will improve the qual- ity of the stand in future years. “What is the best thing to take | —A cool ‘temperature (above freez- ing) and a somewhat moist atmos- i phere is needed in storage for cab- bage, celery, chinese cabbage, kohl- , rabi, and the root crops.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers