6 MOONLIGHT AND MIDNIGHT. The flowers know the story Of what the moonlight sees, At midnight, at mi«ininlit. Beneath the forest trees. All day they stir and whisper And toss their heads in glee; ■Of moonlight and midnight They know the mystery. For all too dull are mortals. Their senses all too slow. In moonlight, at midnight, To catch the passing show. But all the flowers know it; They wake when mortals dream. In moonlight, at midnight. They see the fairies gleam. They see the mystic dances Of elves and spirits gay. In moonlight, at midnight. How merrily they play! The beauty of the flowers Is won in hours like these. In moonlight, at midnight. Beneath the forest trees. Elizabeth French, in Springfield (Mass.) Republican.. J J [Copyright, 1897, by F Tennyson Neely.) | CHAPTER XXIV. Never unless sure of its ground and the weakness of the adversary does the modern Indian band attack at night. Folsom aud his people well knew that. Yet not five minutes after the Indian firl, faint with exhaustion and dread, was carried within doors, the big mastiff challenged again. The dogs •harged furiously out to the northeast •nd would not be recalled. For nearly half an hour they kept up their angry clamor. Time and again during the aight, suspicious and excited, they dashed out again and again, and once «ue of them, venturing further than his fellows, broke suddenly into loud •cries of mingled pain and rage, and n hpn at last he came whining piteous •ly back to the ranch it was found that ■he was bleeding from a gash along the flank, where an Indian arrow had •eared hitn. Only by fits and starts did •ny man sleep. Hour after hour Fol •om's little garrison was on the aleft. The women had all been moved to the deep, dry cellar, Mrs. Hal moaning over her baby, utterly unnerved, Jessie >»ilent, but white and tremulous; the herdsman's wife, an Amazon, demand ed the right to have a gun and fight by her husband's side; Lizette. the Indian girl, faint and starved, asked nothing but to be allowed to crouch at the door of the room where Halbert lay, fevered •nd unconscious, and Pappoose, scorn ing danger, flitted from her brother's bedside to her father's log-barricade at the east porch. In dread anxiety the hours dragged by, and at last Lannion reached forth his hand and pulled the shirtsleeve of his comrade Jake, half dozing at his side. In an instant the latter was kneeling at his post. "What Is it?" he queried, and Lannion, point ing to the first faint, pallid gleam in the eastern sky, whispered: "Time to be up, man. It's coining." For half an hour, except for the rush ing of the Laramie, a silence almost un earthly had brooded over the prairie, and even the dogs seemed lulled to •leep. But now, as the cold light crept •slowly over the distant range, and a •oft flush began to overspread the pal lor of the dawn, far out over the valley the yelp of a coyote began again and all men strained their ears and listened, while strong hands grabbed the growl ing dogs and pinned them to earth, for, beginning at the east, the cry was taken up on every side. Folsom's ranch seemed beleaguered by the £aunt, half-famished wolves of the tip land prairies. "Look to your sights, now, men! Down into the cellar, Pap poose!" exclaimed Folsom, kindling with fierce excitement. "I've been the friend of all that tribe for 30 years, but when they break faith with me and mine that ends it! Look to your sights and make every shot count!" he ■cautioned, as he made the rounds of the little shelters thrown up during the past two days. "We can stand off a hundred of 'em if you only keep your grit." Perched as it was on a little rise, the ranch stood forth conspicuous over the valley. At the foct of the slope to the eouth lay the corral and some of the buildings, about 100 yards away, w here the shallow Laramie curled and lapped beneath their walls, and now the dogs seemed to concentrate their attention on that side. Folsom, rifle in hand, was kneeling on the porch, listening intently. Two of the hands were with him. Jake and Lannion, experienced and reliable, had been given independ ent posts 011 the other front, and just as objects could be dimly recognized along the flats, there burst upon the •ears of the little garrison a sudden •chorus of exultant yells. A tongue of flame leaped upward from beyond the huts lately occupied by the ranchmen. The half-used haystacks caught and held one moment the fiery messenger, and then in a broad glare that reddened the flood of the Laramie for miles and lighted up the ranch like a sunburst gave forth a huge column of blaze and • moke that, could be seen far over the Black Hills of Wyoming, and all the •valley seemed to spring to instant life. On evjry side arose the stirring war cry ®f the Sioux, the swift beat of pony hoofs, the ring of rifle, and brave John Folsom's heart sank within him as he realized that here was no mere marauding party, but a powerful band •organized for deliberate vengeance. The bullets came whistling through the morning air, biting fiercely into the solid logs, scattering the chinking, smashing pntie after pane. Some of the dogs came howling and whining back for shelter, though the mastiffs held their ground, fiercely barking and bounding about, despite the whistles aud calls from the besieged, who sought to save them to the lust, but not once as yet had the ranch replied with a shot. Down in the cellar women cluug together or clasped their wail ing children aud listened fearfully to the clamor. In Hal's room the fevered sufferer awoke from his stupor, and, demanding his rifle, struggled to rise from the bed, and there John Folsom found Pappoose, pale and determined, bending over her weakened brother and holding him down almost as she cou'.d have overpowered a child. Lift ing his son in his strong arms, he bore him to the cellar and laid him upon a couch of buffalo robes. "Watch him here, my child," he said, as lie clasped her in his arms one moment. "Put on no account let anyone show above ground now. There are more of them than 1 thought, yet there is hope for us. Somebody is vexing them down the La ramie." Pounding up the steps, the veteran was almost back at his post upon the porch when there came a sound that seemed to give the lie to his last words and that froze the hope that had risen in his breast —the sudden rumble and thunder of at least 200 hoofs, the charging yell of an Indian band, the sputter and bang of rifles close at hand, and then a rush of feet, as, with faces agonized with fear, three of the men came darting within. "It's all up! There's a million In dians!" tbey cried. Two of the de moralized fellows plunged into the passage that led to the cellar. One burst into childish wailing and clung to Folsom's knees. "Let go, you coward!" yelled the old man in fury, as he kicked himself loose, and then went bounding out upon the porch. God, what a sight! Sweeping tip the gentle slope, bran dishing rifles and lances and war clubs, racing for their hapless prey, came 50 Ogallallas, Burning Star among the leaders. Bullets could not stop them now. The two men who had stood to their posts knelt grim and desperate, and Lannion's last shot took effect. Within 50 yards of the walls Burning Star's rushing pony went down on his nose, and in the fury of his pace, turned sudden and complete somersault, crushing his red rider under him, and stretching him senseless on the turf. An inspiration, almost God-given, seemed to flash upon the old trader at the instant. Bare headed, in his shirt sleeves, throwing upward and forward his empty hands, he sprang out as though to meet and rebuke his assailants. "Hold!" he cried, in the tongue he knew so well. "Are my brothers crazed? Look! I am no enemy. It is your friend! It is old John!" And even in the rage of their charge, many Indians at sight of him veered to right and left; He felled the old trader witb one itunniag blow many reined up short within ten paces of the unarmed man; two sprang from their ponies and threw themselves between him and their brethren, shouting to be heard. And then in the midst of furious discus sion, some Indians crying out for the blood of all at the ranch in revenge for Chaska, some demanding instant surrender of every woman there in expiation for Lizette, some urging that old John be given respectful hearing, but held prisoner, there came lashing into their midst a young brave, cry ing aloud and pointing down the now well-lighted valley where, darting about a mile away, a few Indians were evidently striving to head off the com ing of some hostile force. Leaving two or three of their number trying to restore consciousness to the strick en chief, and a dozen, Folsom's advo cates among them, to hold possession of the rancn, away scurried most of the warriors at top speed to the aid of their outlying scouts. Meantime, under cover of the fierce argument, Jake and Lannion had managed to crawl back within the building. Folsom himself, in such calm as he could command, stood si lent while his captors wrangled. The warriors who pleaded for him were Standing Elk, a subchief of note, whose long attachment to Folsom was based on kindnesses shown him when a young man, the other was Young- Shows-the-Road, son of a chief who had guided more than one party of whites through the lands of the Sioux before the bitterness of war arose be tween the races. They had loved Fol som for years and would not desert him now in the face of popular clam or. Yet even their influence would have failed but for the sound that told of hotter conflict still among the foothills along the opposite side of the valley. With straining ears, Fol som listened, hope and fear alternat ing in his breast. The mingling yells and volleying told that the issue was in doubt. Man after man of his cap tors galloped away until not half a dozen were left. Now, Jake and Lan nion could have ehot them down aud CAMERON COUNTY PRESS, THURSDAY, APRIL n, 1901. borne him within, but. to what pood? Escape from the ranch itself was im possible! Such action would only in tensify the Indian hate and make more horrible the Indian vengeance. For 20 minutes the clamor continued, then seemed to die gradually away, and, with fury in their faces, back at full gallop came a dozen of the braves. One glance was enough. They had penned in their foe among the rocks, but not without the loss of several at least of their band, for the fore most rode with brandished war club straight at Fofsom, and despite the leap of his two champions t« save, felled the old trader with one stun ning blow, then gave the savage or der to burn the ranch. By this time the sun was just peer ing into the valley. The smoke and flame from the corral were dying or drifting away. Eagerly half a dozen young braves rushed for fag ots and kindling with which to do his bidding, and a cry of despair went up from within the walls. Recklessly now Lannion and his comrade opened fire from the loopholes and shot down two of the dancing furies without, sending every other Indian to the nearest cover. But the arrows that came, whistling speedily were fire brands. The besiegers gained in force with every moment. Poor old Fol som, slowly regaining senses as he lay bound and helpless down by the stream, whither his captors had borne him, heard the jeers and shouts of triumph with which the Indians within the corral were rapidly mak ing their fire darts, when suddenly there rose on the morning air a sound that stilled all others, a sound to which the Indians listened in super stitious awe, a sound that stopped the hands that sought to burn out the besieged and paralyze just long enough all inspiration of attack. Some of the Indians, indeed, dropped their arms, others sprang to the ponies as though to take to flight. It was the voice of Lizette, chanting the death song of the Sioux. An hour later, once more in force, the band was gathered for its rush upon the ranch. Jake, gallant fellow, lay bleeding at his post. Hope of every kind was well-nigh dead. The silence without was only portent of the storm so soon to burst, l'appaose, grasping her brother's rifle, crouched facing the narrow entrance to the cellar. Jessie clung to the baby, for Mrs. Hal, only dimly conscious, was moaning by her husband's side, while Lizette in silence was kneeling, watch ing them with strange glitter in her ej'es. Suddenly she started, and with hand to ear listened intently. Then she sprang to an air port and croi>ehed there, quivering. Then again the ground began to tremble under the distant thunder of pony feet, louder and louder every second. Again came the rush of the Indian braves, but with it no exultant yell, only cries of warning, and as this sound swept over and beyond their walls, there fol lowed another, the distant, deep throated trooper cheer, the crack of carbine, the rising thunder of the cav alry gallop, and then the voice of Ned Lannion rang jubilantly over the dull clamor. "Up! Up, everybody! Thank God, it's Dean and the boys!" Long years after, in the camps and stockades alid the growing towns of the far west that almost marvelous vescue was the theme of many an four's talk. The number of men who took part in it, the number of hardy fellows who personally guided the troops or else stood shoulder to shoul der with Ned Lannion at the last tri umphant moment, increased so rapid ly with the growing moons that in time the only wonder was that any thing was left of the Sioux. Official records, however, limited the number of officers and men engaged to a se lect few, consisting entirely of Lieut. Loring, United States engineers; Lieut. Loomis, —th infantry; a few men from scattered troops, "pickups" at Frayne and Emory, with Lieut. Marshall Dean and 50 rank and tile of company "C." Loring, it will be remembered, had taken a small detachment from Em ory and gone into the hills in search of Burleigh. Loomis, fretting at the fort, was later electrified by a most grudg inglj' given order to march to the Lar amie and render such aid as might be required by the engineer officer of the department. Dean, with only 15 men all told, had dashed from Frayne straight for the ranch, and, marching all night, had come in sight of the valley just as it was lighted afar to the westward by the glare of the burn ing buildings. "We thought it was all over," said he, as he lay there weak and languid, a few days later, for the wound reopened in the rush of the fight, "but we rode onto the Laramie, and there, God be thanked! fell in with Loomis here and 'C' troop, heading for the fire. No words can tell you our joy when we found the ranch still stand ing and some 40 Sioux getting ready for the final dash. That running fight, past the old home and down the valley where we stirred up Loring's be siegers and sent them whirling, too — why, I'd give a fortune, if 1 had it, to live it over again!" But Loring, after all, had the most thrilling story to tell —of how he wormed a clew to Burleigh's hiding place out of a captured outlaw and beat up the party in a nook of the hills, nabbed the major asleep, but was warned that all the Birdsall "outfit" would rally to the rescue, and so sent a courier to Emory for "C" troop, and, making a wide detour to avoid the gang, ran slap into the Sioux in the act of firing Folsom's ranch. Then he had to take to the rocks in the tight that followed, and had a desperate siege of a few hours, even Burleigh having to handle a gun and fight for his life. "I spotted him for a coward that day we stumbled oa Red Cloud's baud up by the Pig Horn. Tffta remember it. Dean. 1 thought iiint a villain when I learned how he was trying to undermine you. Time proved him a thief and a scoun drel, but, peace to his ashes, he died like a gentleman, after all, with two Indian bullets through him, and just as the rescue came. He had time to make a full confession, and it was all pretty much as I suspected. The note Dean picked up at Reno, that so stam peded him, told how a blackmailing scoundrel was 011 his way to Emory to expose him unless headed off by fur ther huge payments. It was the fellow who called himself Newhall." "The fellow who gave the tip to Bird sail's people?" said old Folsom at this juncture, raising a bandaged head from his daughter's lap. "Who was he, really?" "Burleigh knew all the time, and I suspected the moment I heard Miss Folsom's description, and was certain the instant I laid eyes on him. He was a rascally captain cashiered at Yuma the year before, and I was judge advo cate of the court." "And Mrs. Fletcher?" asked Pap poose, extending one hand to Jess, while the other smopthed the gray curls of her father's forehead. "Mrs. Fletcher was his deserted wife, one of those women who have known better days." The ranch is still there, or was 20 years ago, but even then the Sioux were said to raise more hair iu the neigh borhood than Folsom did cattle. The old trader had been gathered to his fathers, and Mrs. Hal to hers, for she broke down utterly after the events of 'G3. Neither Pappoose nor Jessie cared to revisit the spot for some time, yet, oddly enough, both have done so more than once. The first time its chronicler ever saw it was in company with a stal wart young captain of horse and hi* dark-eyed, beautiful wife nine years after the siege. Hal met us, a shy, si lent fellow, despite his inches. "Among other things," said he, "Lieut, and Mrs. Loomis are coming next week. I wish you might all be here to meet them." "I know," said Mrs. Dean, "we are to meet at Cheyenne. But, Hal, where'a your wife?" He looked sh3*er still. "She don't like to meet folks unless —" "There's no unless about it," said the lady, with all her old decision, as she sprang from the ambulance, and pres ently reappeared, leading by the hand reluctant, yet not all unhappy, Lizette. Some people said Hal Folsom had 110 business to marry an Indian girl be fore his wife was dead three years, but all who knew Lizette said he did per fectly right; at least Pappoose did, and that settled it. As for Loring— But that's—enough for one story. THE END. THE LAST LAUGH. It Wai tlie Brut an<l M ai Enjoyed bj tbe Man Who Owned the Linn. "There's another case of the man who laughs lasit," remarked a practical joker the other day, pointing to a tur nip patch in front of a private resi dence, says the Washington Star. "I don't understand where the la/Ugh comes in," admitted the listener. "Of course, you don't, but I do, and the laugh is on me. I thought I was playing a joke on my friend, who occu pies the house, but he has the turnips and I have to buy mine. Some time ago he wanted grass and clover seed to plant in front of his house, and like many other people he thought the ag ricutural department supply would make a better showing than any he could buy in a store. I volunteered to get the seed, but I concluded I would put up a job on him." "And couldn't he tell the difference between seed for turnips and seed for grass?" interrupted the hearer. "He thought there was something about the seed that was not exactly right, but, not being a farmer, he was not certain. I told him the seed had been brought from the Philippines, and he expected to see something in the grass line different from any he had ever seen before. Soon after the seed had sprouted and the l'ittle leaves be gan to show themselves mv friend's suspicions were aroused, and he made inquiries about the neighborhood. Xone of his neighbors could tell what was growing on his parking and I per sisted in telling him what a beautiful grass plot he would have some day. The tame finally came when the tur nips could be seen, and 1 my friend en joyed the joke." "And.of course, you also enjoyed it?" the joker was asked. "Xot much," he answered, "fori am now buying some of the turnips at least twice a week when I might just as well have had them in my own yard." A Heard on tlie Subject. Harry Furnass, the artist, tells an amusing story at his own expense. Furniss had been commissioned to il lustrate a tale for a "serious" period ical. His drawing represented a lovers' meeting, and the young man of the pic ture was of the Family Herald and Something to Read type, with long, thin legs, eyes like saucers and a lit tile "duck" of a mustache. This would not. do at all for the ed itor of the serious periodical, who wrote to Mr. Furniss in tfyese terms: "Dear Sir: Will you kindly give Charles? a beard, and show an. aunt, uncle or other chaperon in the dis tance? The subject and treatment are, at present, hardly suitable to our young readers."—Fourth Estate. Mourning on Half Time. "Don't you mourn any longer for your late husband?" "Only forenoons, but it will take me two years. You see, it's this way: It would not make any difference to my deceased husband' whether I mourn for him the whole day long for one year or a half d>ay for two years— and 1 it suits me better." —FliegemU Blae Ite*. FARM FORESTRY NOTES. I'lnii l'iirNii<-<I liy n Lanilon'uor i« of u Sini|rt<- itii<l i'ructieal \nlure, Only a limited amount of practical work in thinning, trimming and cure of farm woodland has been attempt ed in the east. Many of the plans de scribed appear rather complicated to the average farmer and the forests are generally allowed to take care of themselves. The plan pursued by Na thaniel Norton, of Plymouth county, Mass., is especially interesting as a study, even in the west, because of its simple and practical nature. Ten years ago he bought 50 acres of mixed white pine and sprout oak. This tract lie lias managed by removing all the oak that interfered with or shaded the growing pines until the woodland has been transformed from a miscel laneous forest tract to valuable pine SECTION OF IDEAL WOODLAND. land. The Illustration snows a por tion of the present tract after trim ming and thinning. In many parts of this woodland the timber's bulk has doubled in seven years. The plan was to take out those oak that interfered with or shaded too much the young pine.«, leaving enough of them standing to encour age the sprouting of pine seeds which came up in all parts of the ground without planting. The sprouts from oak stumps were pounded off in win ter when the stumps were frozen. Mr. Morton does not wait for limbs to die before pruning, but begins to trim off the lower branches when the trees are five feet high, repeating the treatment when the trees increase In height. This plan keeps the branches from growing into the timber. It is found that quick healing is promoted by cutting the limb extremely close, so that the inner trunk bark on all sides is penetrated, making a scar about twice the diameter of the limb cut off. Limbs up to three inches in diam eter cut off in this way heal much fast er than those merely cut off close to the outside bark. It is not stated that this principle will apply to trees other than pine. The experience of Mr. Morton indi cates that about 33 years are re quired to bring pines from seed to a size suitable for lumber. Others al low 45 years. The soil used by Mr. Morton is very light, with a sandy subsoil. Trees 10 to 25 years old ap pear to have made an average yearly gain in growth of wood of fully 100 per cent. The illustration shows a part of Mr. Morton's tract, on which are pines about 50 years old. The for eign growth has been removed and the trees trimmed since owned by Mr. Morton. The owner estimates that the wood on the lot paid for the ex penses of removing the foreign growth. Bushes were kept mowed at a cost of about SSO for the entire period.—Orange Judd Farmer. HnialiiK Cnttle on Fnrmn. It is not true that the cattle busi ness to be profitable must be con ducted on'the broad ranges of the western plains, says Texas Farm and Ranch. That is one profitable system of cattle raising, but there is another which yields fully as great profits for the capital invested. Raising cattle on the farm has in all countries and all ages been found profitable, and more so now than ever. By raising cattle on the farm the farmer has a good market for all the feed he can raise, saves labor and expense of transportation and avoids much loss from waste and hocus-pocus of com merce. And one of the main features of stock farming is that it can be made to continually improve the fer tility and value of the farm. lilenl Hutlona fur Duckling*. In a trial at the New York station, at Geneva, ducklings fed on an ex clusive grain ration died so fast that the ration had to be chatiged, while those fed on a ration containing ani mal meal averaged 4.2 pounds in weight at nine weeks old. The latter ration was composed as follows: Cornmeal, 14 parts by weight; ani mal meal, 11 parts; ground oats, two parts; wheat bran, two parts; pea meal, two parts; wheat middlings, one part; old process linseed meal, one part; malt sprouts, one part; brewer's grains, one part, and gluten meal, one part. One pound of salt was used with 360 pounds of the mix ture. A successful nest for the early sit ter is in a barrel laid on its side and facing the wall, with just room enough for the hen to eater. HINTS ON MANAGEMENT. Poultry Krepliiß U a JlnMineNM I hat ( UIIN for tl»e ( oiintunt KxcrciNe Of CaOOll .1 U lltf 111 I'll t . Poultry should pay a good -profit, but if neglected will run one into debt. The smaller the flock, the greater the individual yield. Fifty hens are the largest number that should be allowed to run in one flock. Too many are usually kept together, and room on the roost is frequently restricted. The roosts should be low and level, and not one above another, like the rounds of a ladder, as fowls will all seek the highest roost, and many will be crowded off and prob ably injured by falling. Hens that are accustomed 1o low roost s are less inclined to scale fences, and may be confined in pens with less trouble. The ground under the roost should be covered with loose gravel mixed with loam, unless a board floor is used, it is better to have two yards than one, as one may be cultivated while ih<* other is occupied. In this way roots and forage may be grown for the fowls on land fertilized by their droppings. An open shed is very important, as affording protection from cold in winter and heat in sum mer. Hens to be profitable should be carefully fed, and if they are \v?ll cared for they will give a profit. If hens are fed on varied food they muss lay eggs. Clover hay finely cut is ex cellent for winter feeding in place of the green stuff they usually get in summer. Close breeding will causo the eggs to be infertile. Young fowls may pay better than old ones, but something depends upon circum stances, so far as age is concerned. Brahmas should seldom be more than two years old if one is seeking the greatest profit. Never keep more than 100 chicks growing in the same yard, and not so many if of different ages. For sitting hens half barrels without heads set in the ground half their depth are excellent. Make nests of hay on the earth; in cold weather such nests exclude cold air beneath the eggs. In warm weather the neat should be in a cool place. Sitters should be kept by themselves to pre vent any annoyance from other hens. A coop placed over the nest large enough to allow of a dust bath works well. Have food convenient, so th-s sitting hen can eat and go back t."> her nest before the eggs get cold. It pays to give care to sitting liens, as they will then, as a rule, bring of? larger broods.—Farm and Fireside. POULTRY SELF-FEEDER. A Simple Contrivance Which Saves Lot* of Hard Work and Pro mote* Thrift anil Keononiy. It is simple In construction and may be of any size desired, but for 30 or 40 hens it should be about one foot wide, three feet long and IVi feet high. The ends (a a) should be cut as shown, then a board as wida SELF-FEEDER FOR POULTRY, as the ends and as long as the feed er should be nailed horizontally be tween the ends as they stand upright and four inches below the shoulders. Cut the sides (b b) and nail in posi tion; next make a V-shaped trough as long as the feeder and invert be tween the lower edges of b b to keep the food from running out too much at once. Nail on strips (c c), which should be four inches wide, and put on a cover with hinges.—l'. L. Mc- Vey, in Orange Judd Farmer. Whnt ItcNult to the Soil t I would not seem to undervalue sta ble manure, but it is a mistake to suppose that land must grow poor when we cease to feed everything upon the farm. It is not necessary to sacrifice all income for the sake of keeping up the soil. Now that we know more about the composition of the soil, we know that productiveness depends in great degree upon the presence of organic matter in it, and notsolely upon stable manure or com mercial fertilizers. The ideal condi tion would be one in which a goodly number of live stock could be kept with profit on nearly every farm, but the cattle feeders of most fertile eastern valleys must give up a farm scheme that makes fat cattle and wheat the only cash products. The list of cash crops will be made longer and clover, peas and sods must be freely used to supplement the ma nure.—Farm and Fireside. Selection I'IKKI for Hatching- Select the hens that are to produce the early pullets now. Get the breed ing birds together early in the sea son. Feed them well, both in the morning and evening, and give them, a little meat each day. Give a good feed of the best grain before the roosting time. This system of diet in the winter will keep the birds healthy and robust. The eggs will be prefect and the chickens will be healthy. The eggs must be gathered daily and placed in a fairly warm place until a sufficiency is procured for a eorr plete sitting. After the spring is advanced, if you have then had success and your yari' avoid setting more eggs advisable, where eggs nearly all the year r early pullets by h early as it cau > F ! ide.
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers