THE FAT OF THE LAND

[Illustration]

THE FAT OF THE LAND

The Story of an American Farm

BY

JOHN WILLIAMS STREETER

New York

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO. , Ltd. 

1904

_All rights reserved_

copyright, 1904. 

by THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. 

Set up, electrotyped, and published February, 1904. Reprinted March, April, May, 1904. 

Norwood Press

J. S. Cushing & Co. --Berwick & Smith Co. Norwood, Mass. , U. S. A. 

To POLLY

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. MY EXCUSE 3

II. THE HUNTING OF THE LAND 11

III. THE FIRST VISIT TO THE FARM 14

IV. THE HIRED MAN 25

V. BORING FOR WATER 31

VI. WE TAKE POSSESSION 36

VII. THE HORSE-AND-BUGGY MAN 45

VIII. WE PLAT THE FARM 49

IX. HOUSE-CLEANING 54

X. FENCED IN 61

XI. THE BUILDING LINE 67

XII. CARPENTERS QUIT WORK 70

XIII. PLANNING FOR THE TREES 78

XIV. PLANTING OF THE TREES 88

XV. POLLY'S JUDGMENT HALL 94

XVI. WINTER WORK 101

XVII. WHAT SHALL WE ASK OF THE HEN? 103

XVIII. WHITE WYANDOTTES 110

XIX. FRIED PORK 116

XX. A RATION FOR PRODUCT 121

XXI. THE RAZORBACK 126

XXII. THE OLD ORCHARD 135

XXIII. THE FIRST HATCH 138

XXIV. THE HOLSTEIN MILK MACHINE 144

XXV. THE DAIRYMAID 150

XXVI. LITTLE PIGS 155

XXVII. WORK ON THE HOME FORTY 158

XXVIII. DISCOUNTING THE MARKET 164

XXIX. FROM CITY TO COUNTRY 169

XXX. AUTUMN RECKONING 174

XXXI. THE CHILDREN 178

XXXII. THE HOME-COMING 183

XXXIII. CHRISTMAS EVE 189

XXXIV. CHRISTMAS 194

XXXV. WE CLOSE THE BOOKS FOR '96 199

XXXVI. OUR FRIENDS 202

XXXVII. THE HEADMAN'S JOB 210

XXXVIII. SPRING OF '97 217

XXXIX. THE YOUNG ORCHARD 225

XL. THE TIMOTHY HARVEST 230

XLI. STRIKE AT GORDON'S MINE 236

XLII. THE RIOT 250

XLIII. THE RESULT 260

XLIV. DEEP WATERS 268

XLV. DOGS AND HORSES 274

XLVI. THE SKIM-MILK TRUST 282

XLVII. NABOTH'S VINEYARD 285

XLVIII. MAIDS AND MALLARDS 294

XLIX. THE SUNKEN GARDEN 298

L. THE HEADMAN GENERALIZES 303

LI. THE GRAND-GIRLS 308

LII. THE THIRD RECKONING 313

LIII. THE MILK MACHINE 317

LIV. BACON AND EGGS 328

LV. THE OLD TIME FARM-HAND 337

LVI. THE SYNDICATE 342

LVII. THE DEATH OF SIR TOM 346

LVIII. BACTERIA 352

LIX. MATCH-MAKING 355

LX. "I TOLD YOU SO" 362

LXI. THE BELGIAN FARMER 367

LXII. HOME-COMING 375

LXIII. AN HUNDRED FOLD 378

LXIV. COMFORT ME WITH APPLES 383

LXV. THE END OF THE THIRD YEAR 388

LXVI. LOOKING BACKWARD 394

LXVII. LOOKING FORWARD 402

THE FAT OF THE LAND

CHAPTER I

MY EXCUSE

My sixtieth birthday is a thing of yesterday, and I have, therefore, more than half descended the western slope. I have no quarrel with lifeor with time, for both have been polite to me; and I wish to give anaccount of the past seven years to prove the politeness of life, and toshow how time has made amends to me for the forced resignation of myprofessional ambitions. For twenty-five years, up to 1895, I practisedmedicine and surgery in a large city. I loved my profession beyond thelove of most men, and it loved me; at least, it gave me all that areasonable man could desire in the way of honors and emoluments. Thethought that I should ever drop out of this attractive, satisfying life, never seriously occurred to me, though I was conscious of a strong andpersistent force that urged me toward the soil. By choice and bytraining I was a physician, and I gloried in my work; but by instinct Iwas, am, and always shall be, a farmer. All my life I have had visionsof farms with flocks and herds, but I did not expect to realize myvisions until I came on earth a second time. 

I would never have given up my profession voluntarily; but when it gaveme up, I had to accept the dismissal, surrender my ambitions, and fallback upon my primary instinct for diversion and happiness. The dismissalcame without warning, like the fall of a tree when no wind shakes theforest, but it was imperative and peremptory. The doctors (and they wereamong the best in the land) said, "No more of this kind of work foryears, " and I had to accept their verdict, though I knew that "foryears" meant forever. 

My disappointment lasted longer than the acute attack; but, thanks tothe cheerful spirit of my wife, by early summer of that year I was ableto face the situation with courage that grew as strength increased. Fortunately we were well to do, and the loss of professional income wasnot a serious matter. We were not rich as wealth is counted nowadays;but we were more than comfortable for ourselves and our children, thoughI should never earn another dollar. This is not the common state of thephysician, who gives more and gets less than most other men; it wassimply a happy combination of circumstances. Polly was a small heiresswhen we married; I had some money from my maternal grandfather; ourincome was larger than our necessities, and our investments had beenfortunate. Fate had set no wolf to howl at our door. 

In June we decided to take to the woods, or rather to the country, tosee what it had in store for us. The more we thought of it, the better Iliked the plan, and Polly was no less happy over it. We talked of itmorning, noon, and night, and my half-smothered instinct grew by what itfed on. Countless schemes at length resolved themselves into a factoryfarm, which should be a source of pleasure as well as of income. It wasof all sizes, shapes, industries, and limits of expenditure, as thehours passed and enthusiasm waxed or waned. I finally compromised onfrom two hundred to three hundred acres of land, with a totalexpenditure of not more than $60, 000 for the building of my factory. Itwas to produce butter, eggs, pork, and apples, all of best quality, andthey were to be sold at best prices. I discoursed at some length onfarms and farmers to Polly, who slept through most of the harangue. Sheafterward said that she enjoyed it, but I never knew whether shereferred to my lecture or to her nap. 

If farming be the art of elimination, I want it not. If the farmer andthe farmer's family must, by the nature of the occupation, be deprivedof reasonable leisure and luxury, if the conveniences and amenities mustbe shorn close, if comfort must be denied and life be reduced to theelemental necessities of food and shelter, I want it not. But I do notbelieve that this is the case. The wealth of the world comes from theland, which produces all the direct and immediate essentials for thepreservation of life and the protection of the race. When people ceaseto look to the land for support, they lose their independence and fallunder the tyranny of circumstances beyond their control. They are nolonger producers, but consumers; and their prosperity is contingent uponthe prosperity and good will of other people who are more or less alien. Only when a considerable percentage of a nation is living close to theland can the highest type of independence and prosperity be enjoyed. This law applies to the mass and also to the individual. The farmer, whoproduces all the necessities and many of the luxuries, and whoseproducts are in constant demand and never out of vogue, should beindependent in mode of life and prosperous in his fortunes. If this isnot the condition of the average farmer (and I am sorry to say it isnot), the fault is to be found, not in the land, but in the man whotills it. 

Ninety-five per cent of those who engage in commercial and professionaloccupations fail of large success; more than fifty per cent failutterly, and are doomed to miserable, dependent lives in the service ofthe more fortunate. That farmers do not fail nearly so often is due tothe bounty of the land, the beneficence of Nature, and theever-recurring seed-time and harvest, which even the most thoughtlesscannot interrupt. 

The waking dream of my life had been to own and to work land; to own itfree of debt, and to work it with the same intelligence that has made mesuccessful in my profession. Brains always seemed to me as necessary tosuccess in farming as in law, or in medicine, or in business. I alwaysfelt that mind should control events in agriculture as in commerciallife; that listlessness, carelessness, lack of thrift and energy, andwaste, were the factors most potent in keeping the farmer poor andunreasonably harassed by the obligations of life. The men who cultivatethe soil create incalculable wealth; by rights they should be thenation's healthiest, happiest, most comfortable, and most independentcitizens. Their lives should be long, free from care and distress, andno more strenuous than is wholesome. That this condition is not generalis due to the fact that the average farmer puts muscle before mind andbrawn before brains, and follows, with unthinking persistence, the crudeand careless traditions of his forefathers. 

Conditions on the farm are gradually changing for the better. Theagricultural colleges, the experiment stations, the lecture courseswhich are given all over the country, and the general diffusion ofagricultural and horticultural knowledge, are introducing among farmingcommunities a more intelligent and more liberal treatment of land. Butthese changes are so slow, and there is so much to be done before evena small percentage of our six millions of farmers begin to realize theiropportunities, that even the weakest effort in this direction may be ofuse. This is my only excuse for going minutely into the details of myexperiment in the cultivation of land. The plain and circumstantialnarrative of how Four Oaks grew, in seven years, from a poor, ill-paying, sadly neglected farm, into a beautiful home and a profitableinvestment, must simply stand for what it is worth. It may give usefulhints, to be followed on a smaller or a larger scale, or it may arousecriticisms which will work for good, both to the critic and to theauthor. I do not claim experience, excepting the most limited; I do notclaim originality, except that most of this work was new to me; I do notclaim hardships or difficulties, for I had none; but I do claim that Imade good, that I arrived, that my experiment was physically andfinancially a success, and, as such, I am proud of it, and wish to giveit to the world. 

I was fifty-three years old when I began this experiment, and I wasobliged to do quickly whatever I intended to do. I could devote any partof $60, 000 to the experiment without inconvenience. My desire was totest the capacity of ordinary farm land, when properly treated, tosupport an average family in luxury, paying good wages to more than theusual number of people, keeping open house for many friends, and at thesame time not depleting my bank account. I wished to experiment in_intensive farming_, using ordinary farm land as other men might dounder similar or modified circumstances. I believed that if I fed theland, it would feed me. My plan was to sell nothing from the farm exceptfinished products, such as butter, fruit, eggs, chickens, and hogs. Ibelieved that best results would be attained by keeping only the beststock, and, after feeding it liberally, selling it in the most favorablemarket. To live on the fat of the land was what I proposed to do; and Iask your indulgence while I dip into the details of this seven years'experiment. 

You may say that few persons have the time, inclination, taste, or moneyto carry out such an experiment; that the average farmer must make eachyear pay, and that the exploiting of this matter is therefore ofinterest to a very limited number. Admitting much of this, I still claimthat there is a lesson to every struggling farmer in this narrative. Itshould teach the value of brain work on the farm, and the importance ofintelligent cultivation; also the advantages of good seed, good tilth, good specimens of well-bred stock, good food, and good care. Feed theland liberally, and it will return you much. Permit no waste in space, product, time, tools, or strength. Do in a small way, if need be, what Ihave done on a large scale, and you will quickly commence to get gooddividends. I have spent much more money than was really necessary onthe place, and in the ornamentation of Four Oaks. This, however, waspart of the experiment. I asked the land not only to supply immediatenecessities, but to minister to my every want, to gratify the eye, andplease the senses by a harmonious fusion of utility and beauty. I wanteda fine country home and a profitable investment within the same ringfence. 

Will you follow me through the search for the land, the purchase, andthe tremendous house-cleaning of the first year? After that we will takeup the years as they come, finding something of special interestattaching naturally to each. I shall have to deal much with figures andstatistics, in a small way, and my pages may look like a school book, but I cannot avoid this, for in these figures and statistics lies thepractical lesson. Theory alone is of no value. Practical application ofthe theory is the test. I am not imaginative. I could not write aromance if I tried. My strength lies in special detail, and I am willingto spend a lot of time in working out a problem. I do not claim to havespent this time and money without making serious mistakes; I have mademany, and I am willing to admit them, as you will see in the followingpages. I do claim, however, that, in spite of mistakes, I have solvedthe problem, and have proved that an intelligent farmer can live inluxury on the fat of the land. 

CHAPTER II

THE HUNTING OF THE LAND

The location of the farm for this experiment was of the utmostimportance. The land must be within reasonable distance of the city andnear a railroad, consequently within easy touch of the market; and ifpossible it must be near a thriving village, to insure good trainservice. As to size, I was somewhat uncertain; my minimum limit was 150acres and 400 the maximum. The land must be fertile, or capable of beingmade so. 

I advertised for a farm of from two hundred to four hundred acres, within thirty-five miles of town, and convenient to a good line oftransportation. Fifty-seven replies came, of which forty-six wereimpossible, eleven worth a second reading, and five worth investigating. My third trip carried me thirty miles southwest of the city, to avillage almost wholly made up of wealthy people who did business intown, and who had their permanent or their summer homes in this village. There were probably twenty-seven or twenty-eight hundred people in thevillage, most of whom owned estates of from one to thirty acres, varying in value from $10, 000 to $100, 000. These seemed idealsurroundings. The farm was a trifle more than two miles from thestation, and 320 acres in extent. It lay to the west of anorth-and-south road, abutting on this road for half a mile, while onthe south it was bordered for a mile by a gravelled road, and the westline was an ordinary country road. The lay of the land in general was agentle slope to the west and south from a rather high knoll, the highestpoint of which was in the north half of the southeast forty. The landstretched away to the west, gradually sloping to its lowest point, whichwas about two-thirds of the distance to the western boundary. Astraggling brook at its lowest point was more or less rampant inspringtime, though during July and August it contained but little water. 

Westward from the brook the land sloped gradually upward, terminating ina forest of forty to fifty acres. This forest was in good condition. Thetrees were mostly varieties of oak and hickory, with a scattering ofwild cherry, a few maples, both hard and soft, and some lindens. It wasmuch overgrown with underbrush, weeds, and wild flowers. The land wasgenerally good, especially the lower parts of it. The soil of the higherground was thin, but it lay on top of a friable clay which is fertilewhen properly worked and enriched. 

The farm belonged to an unsettled estate, and was much run down, aslittle had been done to improve its fertility, and much to deplete it. There were two sets of buildings, including a house of goodlyproportions, a cottage of no particular value, and some dilapidatedbarns. The property could be bought at a bargain. It had been held at$100 an acre; but as the estate was in process of settlement, and therewas an urgent desire to force a sale, I finally secured it for $71 peracre. The two renters on the farm still had six months of occupancybefore their leases expired. They were willing to resign their leases ifI would pay a reasonable sum for the standing crops and their stock andequipments. 

The crops comprised about forty acres of corn, fifty acres of oats, andfive acres of potatoes. The stock was composed of two herds of cows(seven in one and nine in the other), eleven spring calves, about fortyhogs, and the usual assortment of domestic fowls. The equipment of thefarm in machinery and tools was meagre to the last degree. I offered therenters $700 and $600, respectively, for their leasehold and otherproperty. This was more than their value, but I wanted to takepossession at once. 

CHAPTER III

THE FIRST VISIT TO THE FARM

It was the 8th of July, 1895, when I contracted for the farm; possessionwas to be given August 1st. On July 9th, Polly and I boarded an earlytrain for Exeter, intending to make a day of it in every sense. Wewished to go over the property thoroughly, and to decide on a generaloutline of treatment. Polly was as enthusiastic over the experiment asI, and she is energetic, quick to see, and prompt to perform. She was tohave the planning of the home grounds--the house and the gardens; andnot only the planning, but also the full control. 

A ride of forty-five minutes brought us to Exeter. The service of thisrailroad, by the way, is of the best; there is hardly a half-hour in theday when one cannot make the trip either way, and the fare is moderate:$8. 75 for twenty-five rides, --thirty-five cents a ride. We hired an opencarriage and started for the farm. The first half-mile was over awell-kept macadam road through that part of the village which lies westof the railway. The homes bordering this street are of fine proportions, and beautifully kept. They are the country places of well-to-do peoplewho love to get away from the noise and dirt of the city. Some of themhave ten or fifteen acres of ground, but this land is for breathingspace and beauty--not for serious cultivation. Beyond these homes wefollowed a well-gravelled road leading directly west. This road isbordered by small farms, most of them given over to dairying interests. 

Presently I called Polly's attention to the fact that the few appletrees we saw were healthy and well grown, though quite independent ofthe farmer's or the pruner's care. This thrifty condition of unkeptapple orchards delighted me. I intended to make apple-growing aprominent feature in my experiment, and I reasoned that if these treesdid fairly well without cultivation or care, others would do excellentlywell with both. 

As we approached the second section line and climbed a rather steephill, we got the first glimpse of our possession. At the bottom of thewestern slope of this hill we could see the crossing of thenorth-and-south road, which we knew to be the east boundary of our land;while, stretching straight away before us until lost in the distantwood, lay the well-kept road which for a good mile was our southernboundary. Descending the hill, we stopped at the crossing of the roadsto take in the outline of the farm from this southeast corner. Thenorth-and-south road ran level for 150 yards, gradually rose for thenext 250, and then continued nearly level for a mile or more. We sawwhat Jane Austen calls "a happy fall of land, " with a southern exposure, which included about two-thirds of the southeast forty, and high landbeyond for the balance of this forty and the forty lying north of it. There was an irregular fringe of forest trees on this southern slope, especially well defined along the eastern border. I saw that Polly waspleased with the view. 

"We must enter the home lot from this level at the foot of the hill, "said she, "wind gracefully through the timber, and come out near thosefour large trees on the very highest ground. That will be effective andeasily managed, and will give me a chance at landscape gardening, whichI am just aching to try. "

"All right, " said I, "you shall have a free hand. Let's drive around theboundaries of our land and behold its magnitude before we make otherplans. "

We drove westward, my eyes intent upon the fields, the fences, thecrops, and everything that pertained to the place. I had waited so manyyears for the sense of ownership of land that I could hardly realizethat this was not another dream from which I would soon be awakened bysomething real. I noticed that the land was fairly smooth except whereit was broken by half-rotted stumps or out-cropping boulders, that thecorn looked well and the oats fair, but the pasture lands were too wellseeded to dock, milkweed, and wild mustard to be attractive, and thefences were cheap and much broken. 

The woodland near the western limit proved to be practically a virginforest, in which oak trees predominated. The undergrowth was dense, except near the road; it was chiefly hazel, white thorn, dogwood, youngcherry, and second growth hickory and oak. We turned the corner andfollowed the woods for half a mile to where a barbed wire fenceseparated our forest from the woodland adjoining it. Coming back to thestarting-point we turned north and slowly climbed the hill to the eastof our home lot, silently developing plans. We drove the full half-mileof our eastern boundary before turning back. 

I looked with special interest at the orchard, which was on thenortheast forty. I had seen it on my first visit, but had given itlittle attention, noting merely that the trees were well grown. I nowcounted the rows, and found that there were twelve; the trees in eachrow had originally been twenty, and as these trees were aboutthirty-five feet apart, it was easy to estimate that six acres had beengiven to this orchard. The vicissitudes of seventeen years had not beenwithout effect, and there were irregular gaps in the rows, --here a sicktree, there a dead one. A careless estimate placed these casualties atfifty-five or sixty, which I later found was nearly correct. This left180 trees in fair health; and in spite of the tight sod which coveredtheir roots and a lamentable lack of pruning, they were well coveredwith young fruit. They had been headed high in the old-fashioned way, which made them look more like forest trees than a modern orchard. Theyhad done well without a husbandman; what could not others do with one?

The group of farm buildings on the north forty consisted of a one-storycottage containing six rooms--sitting room, dining room, kitchen, and abedroom opening off each--with a lean-to shed in the rear, and somewoe-begone barns, sheds, and out-buildings that gave the impression ofnot caring how they looked. The second group was better. It was south ofthe orchard on the home forty, and quite near the road. 

Why does the universal farm-house hang its gable over the public road, without tree or shrub to cover its boldness? It would look much better, and give greater comfort to its inmates, if it were more remote. A lawnleading up to a house, even though not beautiful or well kept, addsdignity and character to a place out of all proportion to its waste orexpense. I know of nothing that would add so much to the beautificationof the country-side as a building line prohibiting houses and barnswithin a hundred yards of a public road. A staring, glaring farm-house, flanked by a red barn and a pigsty, all crowding the public road ashard as the path-master will permit, is incongruous and unsightly. Withall outdoors to choose from, why ape the crowded city streets? With muchto apologize for in barn and pigsty, why place them in the seat ofhonor? Moreover, many things which take place on the farm gainenchantment from distance. It is best to leave some scope for theimagination of the passer-by. These and other things will change asfarmers' lives grow more gracious, and more attention is given tobeautifying country houses. 

The house, whose gables looked up and down the street, was two storiesin height, twenty-five feet by forty in the main, with a one-story ellrunning back. Without doubt there was a parlor, sitting room, and fourchambers in the main, with dining room and kitchen in the ell. 

"That will do for the head man's house, if we put it in the right placeand fix it up, " said Polly. 

"My young lady, I propose to be the 'head man' on this farm, and I wishit spelled with a capital H, but I do not expect to live in that house. It will do first-rate for the farmer and his men, when you have placedit where you want it, but I intend to live in the big house with you. "

"We'll not disagree about that, Mr. Headman. "

The barns were fairly good, but badly placed. They were not worth theexpense of moving, so I decided to let them stand as they were until wecould build better ones, and then tear them down. 

We drove in through a clump of trees behind the farm-house, and pushedon about three hundred yards to the crest of the knoll. Here we got outof the carriage and looked about, with keen interest, in everydirection. The views were wide toward three points of the compass. Northand northwest we could see pleasant lands for at least two miles;directly west, our eyes could not reach beyond our own forest; to thesouth and southwest, fruitful valleys stretched away to a range ofwooded hills four miles distant; but on the east our view was limited bythe fringe of woods which lay between us and the north-and-south road. 

"This is the exact spot for the house, " said Polly. "It must face to thesouth, with a broad piazza, and the chief entrance must be on the east. The kitchens and fussy things will be out of sight on the northwestcorner; two stories, a high attic with rooms, and covered all over withyellow-brown shingles. " She had it all settled in a minute. 

"What will the paper on your bedroom wall be like?" I asked. 

"I know perfectly well, but I shan't tell you. "

Seating myself on an out-cropping boulder, I began to study thegeography of the farm. In imagination I stripped it of stock, crops, buildings, and fences, and saw it as bald as the palm of my hand. Irecited the table of long measure: Sixteen and a half feet, one rod, perch, or pole; forty rods, one furlong; eight furlongs, one mile. Eighttimes 40 is 320; there are 320 rods in a mile, but how much is 16-1/2. Times 320? "Polly, how much is 16-1/2 times 320?"

"Don't bother me now; I'm busy. "

(Just as if she could have told in her moment of greatest leisure!) Iresorted to paper and pencil, and learned that there are 5280 feet ineach and every mile. My land was, therefore, 5280 feet long and 2640feet wide. I must split it in some way, by a road or a lane, to make allparts accessible. If I divided it by two lanes of twenty feet each, Icould have on either side of these lanes lots 650 feet deep, and thesewould be quite manageable. I found that if these lots were 660 feetlong, they would contain ten acres minus the ten feet used for the lane. This seemed a real discovery, as it simplified my calculations andrelieved me of much mental effort. 

"Polly, I am going to make a map of the place, --lay it out just as Iwant it. "

"You may leave the home forty out of your map; I will look after that, "said the lady. 

In my pocket I found three envelopes somewhat the worse for wear. Thisis how one of them looked when my map was finished. 

[Illustration:]

I am not especially haughty about this map, but it settled a matterwhich had been chaotic in my mind. My plan was to make the farm asoiling one; to confine the stock within as limited a space as wasconsistent with good health, and to feed cultivated forage and crops. Indrawing my map, the forty which Polly had segregated left the northeastforty standing alone, and I had to cast about for some good way oftreating it. "Make it your feeding ground, " said my good genius, andthus the wrath of Polly was made to glorify my plans. 

This feeding lot of forty acres is all high land, naturally drained. Itwas near the obvious building line, and it seemed suitable in every way. I drew a line from north to south, cutting it in the middle. The easttwenty I devoted to cows and their belongings; the west twenty wasdivided by right lines into lots of five acres each, the southwest onefor the hens and the other three for hogs. 

Looking around for Polly to show her my work, I found she haddisappeared; but soon I saw her white gown among the trees. Joining her, I said, --

"I have mapped seven forties; have you finished one?"

"I have not, " she said. "Mine is of more importance than all of yours; Iwill give you a sketch this evening. This bit of woods is better than Ithought. How much of it do you suppose there is?"

"About seven acres, I reckon, by hook and by crook; enough to amuse youand furnish a lot of wild-flower seed to be floated over the rest of thefarm. "

"You may plant what seeds you like on the rest of the farm, but I musthave wild flowers. Do you know how long it is since I have had them? Notsince I was a girl!"

"That is not very long, Polly. You don't look much more than a girlto-day. You shall have asters and goldenrod and black-eyed Susans toyour heart's content if you will always be as young. "

"I believe Time will turn backward for both of us out here, Mr. Headman. But I'm as hungry as a wolf. Do you think we can get a glass of milk ofthe 'farm lady'?"

We tried, succeeded, and then started for home. Neither of us had muchto say on the return trip, for our minds were full of unsolved problems. That evening Polly showed me this plat of the home forty. 

[Illustration:]

CHAPTER IV

THE HIRED MAN

Modern farming is greatly handicapped by the difficulty of getting goodhelp. I need not go into the causes which have operated to bring aboutthis condition; it exists, and it has to be met. I cannot hope to solvethe problem for others, but I can tell how I solved it for myself. Idetermined that the men who worked for me should find in me aconsiderate friend who would look after their interests in a reasonableand neighborly fashion. They should be well housed and well fed, andshould have clean beds, clean table linen and an attractively set table, papers, magazines, and books, and a comfortable room in which to readthem. There should be reasonable work hours and hours for recreation, and abundant bathing facilities; and everything at Four Oaks shouldproclaim the dignity of labor. 

From the men I expected cleanliness, sobriety, uniform kindness to allanimals, cheerful obedience, industry, and a disposition to save theirwages. These demands seemed to me reasonable, and I made up my mind toadhere to them if I had to try a hundred men. 

The best way to get good farm hands who would be happy and contented, Ithought, was to go to the city and find men who had shot their bolts andfailed of the mark; men who had come up from the farm hoping for easieror more ambitious lives, but who had failed to find what they sought andhad experienced the unrest of a hand-to-mouth struggle for a living in alarge city; men who were pining for the country, perhaps without knowingit, and who saw no way to get back to it. I advertised my wants in amorning paper, and asked my son, who was on vacation, to interview theapplicants. From noon until six o'clock my ante-room was invaded by amotley procession--delicate boys of fifteen who wanted to go to thecountry, old men who thought they could do farm work, clerks andjanitors out of employment, typical tramps and hoboes who diffused verynaughty smells, and a few--a very few--who seemed to know what theycould do and what they really wanted. 

Jack took the names of five promising men, and asked them to come againthe next day. In the morning I interviewed them, dismissed three, andaccepted two on the condition that their references proved satisfactory. As these men are still at Four Oaks, after seven years of steadyemployment, and as I hope they will stay twenty years longer, I feelthat the reader should know them. Much of the smooth sailing at thefarm is due to their personal interest, steadiness of purpose, andcheerful optimism. 

William Thompson, forty-six years of age, tall, lean, wiry, had been afarmer all his life. His wife had died three years before, and a yearlater, he had lost his farm through an imperfect title. Understandingmachinery and being a fair carpenter, he then came to the city, with$200 in his pocket, joined the Carpenter's Union, and tried to make aliving at that trade. Between dull business, lock-outs, tie-ups, andstrikes, he was reduced to fifty cents, and owed three dollars for roomrent. He was in dead earnest when he threw his union card on my tableand said:--

"I would rather work for fifty cents a day on a farm than take mychances for six times as much in the union. "

This was the sort of man I wanted: one who had tried other things andwas glad of a chance to return to the land. Thompson said that after hehad spent one lonesome year in the city, he had married a sensible womanof forty, who was now out at service on account of his hard luck. Healso told of a husky son of two-and-twenty who was at work on a farmwithin fifty miles of the city. I liked the man from the first, for heseemed direct and earnest. I told him to eat up the fifty cents he hadin his pocket and to see me at noon of the following day. Meantime Ilooked up one of his references; and when he came, I engaged him, withthe understanding that his time should begin at once. 

The wage agreed upon was $20 a month for the first half-year. If heproved satisfactory, he was to receive $21 a month for the next sixmonths, and there was to be a raise of $1 a month for each half-yearthat he remained with me until his monthly wage should amount to$40, --each to give or take a month's notice to quit. This seemed fair toboth. I would not pay more than $20 a month to an untried man, but agood man is worth more. As I wanted permanent, steady help, I proposedto offer a fair bonus to secure it. Other things being equal, the manwho has "gotten the hang" of a farm can do better work and get betterresults than a stranger. 

The transient farm-hand is a delusion and a snare. He has no interestexcept his wages, and he is a breeder of discontent. If the hundreds ofthousands of able-bodied men who are working for scant wages in cities, or inanely tramping the country, could see the dignity of the laborwhich is directly productive, what a change would come over the face ofthe country! There are nearly six million farms in this nation, and fourmillions of them would be greatly benefited by the addition of anotherman to the working force. There is a comfortable living and a minimum of$180 a year for each of four million men, if they will only seek it andhonestly earn it. Seven hundred millions in wages, and double or treblethat in product and added values, is a consideration not unworthy theattention of social scientists. To favor an exodus to the land is, Ibelieve, the highest type of benevolence, and the surest and safestsolution of the labor problem. 

Besides engaging Thompson, I tentatively bespoke the services of hiswife and son. Mrs. Thompson was to come for $15 a month and ahalf-dollar raise for each six months, the son on the same terms as thefather. 

The other man whom I engaged that day was William Johnson, a tall, blondSwede about twenty-six years old. Johnson had learned gardening in theold country, and had followed it two years in the new. He was thenemployed in a market gardener's greenhouse; but he wanted to change fromunder glass to out of doors, and to have charge of a lawn, shrubs, flowers, and a kitchen garden. He spoke brokenly, but intelligently, hadan honest eye, and looked to me like a real "find. " Polly, who was to behis immediate boss, was pleased with him, and we took him with theunderstanding that he was to make himself generally useful until thetime came for his special line of work. We now had two men engaged (witha possible third) and one woman, and my _venire_ was exhausted. 

Two days later I again advertised, and out of a number of applicantssecured one man. Sam Jones was a sturdy-looking fellow of middle age, with a suspiciously red nose. He had been bred on a farm, had learnedthe carpenter's trade, and was especially good at taking care ofchickens. His ambition was to own and run a chicken plant. I hired himon the same terms as the others, but with misgivings on account of theflorid nose. This was on the 19th or 20th of July, and there were stillten days before I could enter into possession. The men were told toreport for duty the last day of the month. 

CHAPTER V

BORING FOR WATER

The water supply was the next problem. I determined to have an abundantand convenient supply of running water in the house, the barns, and thefeeding grounds, and also on the lawn and gardens. I would have nocarrying or hauling of water, and no lack of it. There were four wellson the place, two of them near the houses and two stock wells in thelower grounds. Near the well at the large house was a windmill thatpumped water into a small tank, from which it was piped to the barn-yardand the lower story of the house. The supply was inadequate and not atall to my liking. 

My plan involved not only finding, raising, and distributing water, butalso the care of waste water and sewage. Inquiring among those who haddeep wells in the village, I found that good water was usually reachedat from 180 to 210 feet. As my well-site was high, I expected to have tobore deep. I contracted with a well man of good repute for a six-inchwell of 250 feet (or less), piped and finished to the surface, for $2 afoot; any greater depth to be subject to further agreement. 

It took nearly three months to finish the water system, but it hasproved wonderfully convenient and satisfactory. During seven years Ihave not spent more than $50 for changes and repairs. We struck bed-rockat 197 feet, drilled 27 feet into this rock, and found water which roseto within 50 feet of the surface and which could not be materiallylowered by the constant use of a three-inch power-pump. The water wasmilky white for three days, in spite of much pumping; and then, and everafter, it ran clear and sweet, with a temperature of 54° F. Well andwater being satisfactory, I cheerfully paid the well man $448 for thejob. 

Meantime I contracted for a tank twelve by twelve feet, to be raisedthirty feet above the well on eight timbers, each ten inches square, well bolted and braced, for $430, --I to put in the foundation. Thisconsisted of eight concrete piers, each five feet deep in the clay, three feet square, and capped at the level of the ground with alimestone two feet square and eight inches thick. These piers were setin octagon form around the well, with their centres seven feet from themiddle of the bore, making the spread of the framework fourteen feet atthe ground and ten at the platform. The foundation cost $32. A Ridereight-inch, hot-air, wood-burning, pumping engine (with a two-inch pipeleading to the tank, and a four-inch pipe from it), filled the tankquickly; and it was surprising to see how little fuel it consumed. Itcost $215. 

I have now to confess to a small extravagance. I contracted with acarpenter to build an ornamental tower, fifty-five feet high, twentyfeet across at the base, and fifteen feet at the top, sheeted andshingled, with a series of small windows in spiral and a narrow stairwayleading to a balcony that surrounded the tower on a level with the topof the tank. This tower cost $425; but it was not all extravagance, because a third of the expense would have been incurred in protectingthe engine and making the tank frost-proof. 

To distribute the water, I had three lines of four-inch pipe leadingfrom the tank's out-flow pipe. One of these went 250 feet to the house, with one-inch branches for the gardens and lawn; another led east 375feet, past the proposed sites of the cottage, the farm-house, the dairy, and other buildings in that direction; while the third, about 400 feetlong, led to the horse barn and the other projected buildings. From nearthe end of this west pipe a 1-1/2-inch pipe was carried due norththrough the centre of the five-acre lot set apart for the hennery, andinto the fields beyond. This pipe was about 700 feet long. Altogether Iused 1100 feet of four-inch, and about 2200 feet of smaller pipe, at atotal cost of $803. All water pipes were placed 4-1/2 feet in the groundto be out of the reach of frost, and to this day they have received nofurther attention. 

The trenches for the pipes were opened by a party of five Italians whoma railroad friend found for me. These men boarded themselves, slept inthe barn, and did the work for seventy-five cents a rod, the job costingme $169. 

Opening the sewer trenches cost a little more, for they were as deep asthose for the water, and a little wider. Eight hundred feet of mainsewer, a three-hundred-foot branch to the house, and short branches frombarns, pens, and farm-houses, made in all about fourteen hundred feet, which cost $83 to open. The sewer ended in the stable yard back of thehorse barn, in a ten-foot catch-basin near the manure pit. A few feetfrom this catch-basin was a second, and beyond this a third, all of thesame size, with drain-pipes connecting them about two feet below theground. These basins were closely covered at all times, and in winterthey were protected from frost by a thick layer of coarse manure. Theywere placed near the site of the manure pit for convenience in cleaning, which had to be done every three months for the first one, once in sixmonths for the second and rarely for the third; indeed, the waterflowing from the third was always clear. This waste water was runthrough a drain-pipe diagonally across the northwest corner of the bigorchard to an open ditch in the north lane. Opening this drain of fortyrods cost $30. Later I carried this closed drain to the creek, at anadditional expense of $67. The connecting of the water pipes and thelaying of the sewer was done by a local plumber for $50; the drain-pipeand sewer-pipe cost $112; and the three catch-basins, bricked up andcovered with two-inch plank, cost $63. The filling in of all thesetrenches was done by my own men with teams and scrapers, and should notbe figured into this expense account. It must be borne in mind thatwhile this elaborate water system was being installed, no buildings werecompleted and but few were even begun; the big house was not finishedfor more than a year. The sites of all the buildings had been decidedon, and the farm-house and the cottage had been moved and remodelled, bythe middle of October, at which date the water plant was completed. Anabundant supply of good water is essential to the comfort of man andbeast, and the money invested in securing it will pay a good interest inthe long run. My water plant cost me a lot of money, $2758; but ithasn't cost me $10 a year since it was finished. 

CHAPTER VI

WE TAKE POSSESSION

My barn was full of horses, but none of them was fit for farm work; so Iengaged a veterinary surgeon to find three suitable teams. By the 25thof the month he had succeeded, and I inspected the animals and foundthem satisfactory, though not so smooth and smart-looking as I hadpictured them. When I compared them, somewhat unfavorably, with theteams used for city trucks and delivery wagons, he retorted by saying:"I did not know that you wanted to pay $1200 a pair for your horses. These six horses will cost you $750, and they are worth it. " They were asturdy lot, young, well matched, not so large as to be unwieldy, butheavy enough for almost any work. The lightest was said to weigh 1375pounds, and the heaviest not more than a hundred pounds more. Two of theteams were bay with a sprinkling of white feet, while the other pair wasred roan, and, to my mind, the best looking. 

Four of these horses are still doing service on the farm, after morethan seven years. One of the bays died in the summer of '98, and one ofthe roans broke his stifle during the following winter and had to beshot. The bereaved relicts of these two pairs have taken kindly to eachother, and now walk soberly side by side in double harness. I sometimesthink, however, that I see a difference. The personal relation is notjust as it was in the old union, --no bickerings or disagreements, butalso no jokes and no caresses. The soft nose doesn't seek its neighbor'sneck, there is no resting of chin on friendly withers while half-closedeyes see visions of cool shades, running brooks, and knee-deep clover;and the urgent whinney which called one to the other and told ofloneliness when separated is no longer heard. It is pathetic to thinkthat these good creatures have been robbed of the one thing which gavecolor to their lives and lifted them above the dreary treadmill of dutyfor duty's sake. The kindly friendship of each for his yoke-fellow isnot the old sympathetic companionship, which will come again only whenthe cooling breezes, running brooks, and knee-deep pastures of the goodhorse's heaven are reached. 

A horse is wonderfully sensitive for an animal of his size and strength. He is timid by nature and his courage comes only from his confidence inman. His speed, strength, and endurance he will willingly give, and giveit to the utmost, if the hand that guides is strong and gentle, and thevoice that controls is firm, confident, and friendly. Lack of courage inthe master takes from the horse his only chance of being brave; lack ofsteadiness makes him indirect and futile; lack of kindness frightens himinto actions which are the result of terror at first, and which becomevices only by mismanagement. By nature the horse is good. If he learnsbad manners by associating with bad men, we ought to lay the blame whereit belongs. A kind master will make a kind horse; and I have no respectfor a man who has had the privilege of training a horse from colt-hoodand has failed to turn out a good one. Lack of good sense, or cruelty, is at the root of these failures. One can forgive lack of sense, for menare as God made them; but there is no forgiveness for the cruel: coolingshades and running brooks will not be prominent features in theirultimate landscapes. 

For harness and farm equipments, tools and machinery, I went to areliable firm which made most and handled the rest of the things thatmake a well-equipped farm. It is best to do much of one's businessthrough one house, provided, of course, that the house is dependable. You become a valued customer whom it is important to please, you receivediscounts, rebates, and concessions that are worth something, and acommunity of interest grows up that is worth much. 

My first order to this house was for three heavy wagons with four-inchtires, three sets of heavy harness, two ploughs and a subsoiler, threeharrows (disk, spring tooth, and flat), a steel land-roller, twowheelbarrows, an iron scraper, fly nets and other stable equipment, shovels, spades, hay forks, posthole tools, a hand seeder, a chest oftools, stock-pails, milk-pails and pans, axes, hatchets, saws of variouskinds, a maul and wedges, six kegs of nails, and three lanterns. Thetotal amount was $488; but as I received five per cent discount, I paidonly $464. The goods, except the wagons and harnesses, were to go byfreight to Exeter. Polly was to buy the necessary furnishings for themen's house, the only stipulation I made being that the beds should begood enough for me to sleep in. On the 25th of July she showed me a listof the things which she had purchased. It seemed interminable; but sheassured me that she had bought nothing unnecessary, and that she hadbeen very careful in all her purchases. As I knew that Polly was in thehabit of getting the worth of her money, I paid the bills without moreado. The list footed up to $495. 

Most of the housekeeping things were to be delivered at the station inExeter; the rest were to go on the wagons. On the afternoon of the 30ththe wagons and harnesses were sent to the stable where the horses hadbeen kept, and the articles to go in these wagons were loaded for anearly start the following morning. The distance from the station in thecity to the station at Exeter is thirty miles, but the stable is threemiles from the city station, the farm two and a half miles from Exeterstation, and the wagon road not so direct as the railroad. The trip tothe farm, therefore, could not be much less than forty miles, and wouldrequire the best part of two days. The three men whom I had engagedreported for duty, as also did Thompson's son, whom we are to knowhereafter as Zeb. 

Early on the last day of the month the men and teams were off, withcooked provisions for three days. They were to break the journeytwenty-five miles out, and expected to reach the farm the nextafternoon. Polly and I wished to see them arrive, so we took the trainat 1 P. M. August 1st, and reached Four Oaks at 2. 30, taking with us Mrs. Thompson, who was to cook for the men. 

Before starting I had telephoned a local carpenter to meet me, and tobring a mason if possible. I found both men on the ground, and explainedto them that there would be abundant work in their lines on the placefor the next year or two, that I was perfectly willing to pay areasonable profit on each job, but that I did not propose to make themrich out of any single contract. 

The first thing to do, I told them, was to move the large farm-house tothe site already chosen, about two hundred yards distant, enlarge it, and put a first-class cellar under the whole. The principal changeneeded in the house was an additional story on the ell, which would givea chamber eighteen by twenty-six, with closets five feet deep, to beused as a sleeping room for the men. I intended to change the sittingroom, which ran across the main house, into a dining and reading roomtwenty feet by twenty-five, and to improve the shape and convenience ofthe kitchen by pantry and lavatory. There must also be a well-appointedbathroom on the upper floor, and set tubs in the kitchen. My men woulddig the cellar, and the mason was to put in the foundation walls (twelveinches thick and two feet above ground), the cross or division walls, and the chimneys. He was also to put down a first-class cement floorover the whole cellar and approach. The house was to be heated by ahot-water system; and I afterward let this job to a city man, who put ina satisfactory plant for $500. 

We had hardly finished with the carpenter and the mason when we saw ourwagons turning into the grounds. We left the contractors to theirmeasurements, plans, and figures, while we hastened to turn the teamsback, as they must go to the cottage on the north forty. The horseslooked a little done up by the heat and the unaccustomed journey, butThompson said: "They're all right, --stood it first-rate. "

The cottage and out-buildings furnished scanty accommodations for menand beasts, but they were all that we could provide. I told the men tomake themselves and the horses as comfortable as they could, then tomilk the cows and feed the hogs, and call it a day. 

While the others were unloading and getting things into shape, I calledThompson off for a talk. "Thompson, " I said, "you are to have theoversight of the work here for the present, and I want you to have someidea of my general plan. This experiment at farming is to last years. Wewon't look for results until we are ready to force them, but we are toget ready as soon as possible. In the meantime, we will have to dothings in an awkward fashion, and not always for immediate effect. Wemust build the factory before we can turn out the finished product. Thecows, for instance, must be cared for until we can dispose of them toadvantage. Half of them, I fancy, are 'robber cows, ' not worth theirkeep (if it costs anything to feed them), and we will certainly notwinter them. Keep your eye on the herd, and be able to tell me if any ofthem will pay. Milk them carefully, and use what milk, cream, and butteryou can, but don't waste useful time carting milk to market--feed it tothe hogs rather. If a farmer or a milkman will call for it, sell whatyou have to spare for what he will give, and have done with it quickly. You are to manage the hogs on the same principle. Fatten those which areready for it, with anything you find on the place. We will get rid ofthe whole bunch as soon as possible. You see, I must first clear theground before I can build my factory. Let the hens alone for thepresent; you can eat them during the winter. 

"Now, about the crops. The hay in barns and stacks is all right; thewheat is ready for threshing, but it can wait until the oats are alsoready; the corn is weedy, but it is too late to help it, and thepotatoes are probably covered with bugs. I will send out to-morrow someParis green and a couple of blow-guns. There is not much real farm workto do just now, and you will have time for other things. The first andmost important thing is to dig a cellar to put your house over; yourcomfort depends on that. Get the men and horses with plough and scraperout as early as you can to-morrow morning, and hustle. You have nothingto do but dig a big hole seven feet deep inside these lines. I count onyou to keep things moving, and I will be out the day after to-morrow. "

The mason had finished his estimate, which was $560. After someexplanations, I concluded that it was a fair price, and agreed to it, provided the work could be done promptly. The carpenter was not ready togive me figures; he said, however, that he could get a man to move thehouse for $120, and that he would send me by mail that night an itemizedestimate of costs, and also one from a plumber. This seemed like doing alot of things in one afternoon, so Polly and I started for town content. 

"Those people can't be very luxurious out there, " said Polly, "but theycan have good food and clean beds. They have all out-doors to breathein, and I do not see what more one can ask on a fine August evening, doyou, Mr. Headman?"

I could think of a few things, but I did not mention them, for her firstwords recalled some scenes of my early life on a backwoods farm: the logcabin, with hardly ten nails in it, the latch-string, the wide-mouthedstone-and-stick chimney, the spring-house with its deep crocks, thesmoke-house made of a hollow gum-tree log, the ladder to the loft whereI slept, and where the snows would drift on the floor through the riftsin the split clapboards that roofed me over. I wondered if to-day was somuch better than yesterday as conditions would warrant us in expecting. 

CHAPTER VII

THE HORSE-AND-BUGGY MAN

August 3 found me at Four Oaks in the early afternoon. A great hollowhad been dug for the cellar, and Thompson said that it would take butone more full day to finish it. Piles of material gave evidence that themason was alert, and the house-mover had already dropped his longtimbers, winch, and chains by the side of the farm-house. 

While I was discussing matters with Thompson, a smart trap turned intothe lot, and a well-set-up young man sprang out of the stylish runaboutand said, --

"Dr. Williams, I hear you want more help on your farm. "

"I can use another man or two to advantage, if they are good ones. "

"Well, I don't want to brag, but I guess I am a good one, all right. Iain't afraid of work, and there isn't much that I can't do on a farm. What wages do you pay?"

I told him my plan of an increasing wage scale, and he did not object. "That includes horse keep, I suppose?" said he. 

"I do not know what you mean by 'horse keep. '"

"Why, most of the men on farms around here own a horse and buggy, to usenights, Sundays, and holidays, and we expect the boss to keep the horse. This is my rig. It is about the best in the township; cost me $280 forthe outfit. "

"See here, young man, this is another specimen of farm economics, and itis one of the worst in the lot. Let me do a small example in mentalarithmetic for you. The interest on $280 is $14; the yearly depreciationof your property, without accidents, is at least $40; horse-shoeing andrepairs, $20; loss of wages (for no man will keep your horse for lessthan $4 a month), $48. In addition to this, you will be tempted to spendat least $5 a month more with a horse than without one; that is $60more. You are throwing away $182 every year without adding $1 to yourvalue as an employee, one ounce of dignity to your employment, or onefoot of gain in your social position, no matter from what point you viewit. 

"Taking it for granted that you receive $25 a month for every month ofthe year (and this is admitting too much), you waste more than half onthat blessed rig, and you can make no provision for the future, forsickness, or for old age. No, I will not keep your horse, nor will Iemploy any man whose scheme of life doesn't run further than theownership of a horse and buggy. "

"But a fellow must keep up with the procession; he must have somerecreation, and all the men around here have rigs. "

"Not around Four Oaks. Recreation is all right, but find it in ways lessexpensive. Read, study, cultivate the best of your kind, plan for thefuture and save for it, and you will not lack for recreation. Sell yourhorse and buggy for $200, if you cannot get more, put the money atinterest, save $200 out of your wages, and by the end of the year youwill be worth over $400 in hard cash and much more in self-respect. Youcan easily add 1200 a year to your savings, without missing anythingworth while; and it will not be long before you can buy a farm, marry awife, and make an independent position. I will have no horse-and-buggymen on my farm. It's up to you. "

"By Jove! I believe you may be right. It looks like a square deal, andI'll play it, if you'll give me time to sell the outfit. "

"All right, come when you can. I'll find the work. "

That day being Saturday, I told Thompson that I would come out earlyMonday morning, bringing with me a rough map of the place as I hadplanned it, and we would go over it with a chain and drive someoutlining stakes. I then returned to Exeter, found the carpenter and theplumber, and accepted their estimates, --$630 and $325, respectively. Thefarm-house moved, finished, furnished, and heated, but not painted orpapered, would cost $2630. Painting, papering, window-shades, and oddsand ends cost $275, making a total of $2905. It proved a goodinvestment, for it was a comfortable and convenient home for the men andwomen who afterward occupied it. It has certainly been appreciated byits occupants, and few have left it without regret. We have always triedto make it an object lesson of cleanliness and cheerfulness, and I don'tthink a man has lived in it for six months without being bettered. Itseemed a good deal of money to put on an old farm-house for farm-hands, but it proved one of the best investments at Four Oaks, for it kept themen contented and cheerful workers. 

CHAPTER VIII

WE PLAT THE FARM

On Monday I was out by ten o'clock, armed with a surveyor's chain. Thompson had provided a lot of stakes, and we ran the lines, more orless straight, in general accord with my sketch plan. We walked, measured, estimated, and drove stakes until noon. At one o'clock we wereat it again, and by four I was fit to drop from fatigue. Farm work wasnew to me, and I was soft as soft. I had, however, got the general layof the land, and could, by the help of the plan, talk of its futuresubdivisions by numerals, --an arrangement that afterward proved definiteand convenient. We adjourned to the shade of the big black oak on theknoll, and discussed the work in hand. 

"You cannot finish the cellar before to-morrow night, " I said, "becauseit grows slower as it grows deeper; but that will be doing well enough. I want you to start two teams ploughing Wednesday morning, and keep themgoing every day until the frost stops them. Let Sam take the plough, andhave young Thompson follow with the subsoiler. Have them stick to thisas a regular diet until I call them off. They are to commence in thewheat stubble where lots six and seven will be. I am going to tryalfalfa in that ground, though I am not at all sure that it will dowell, and the soil must be fitted as well as possible. After it has haddeep ploughing it is to be crossed with the disk harrow; then have itrolled, disk it again, and then use the flat harrow until it feels asnear like an ash heap as time will permit. We must get the seed inbefore September. "

"We will need another team if you keep two ploughing and one on theharrow, " said Thompson. 

"You are right, and that means another $400, but you shall have it. Wemust not stop the ploughs for anything. Numbers 10, 11, 14, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and much of the home lot, ought to be ploughed before snow flies. That means about 160 acres, --80 odd days of steady work for theploughmen and horses. You will probably find it best to change teamsfrom time to time. A little variety will make it easier for them. Assoon as 6 and 7 are finished, turn the ploughs into the 40 acres whichmake lots 1 to 5. All that must be seeded to pasture grass, for it willbe our feeding-ground, and we'll be late with it if we don't look sharp. 

"We must have more help, by the way. That horse-and-buggy man, Judson, is almost sure to come, and I will find another. Some of you will haveto bunk in the hay for the present, for I am going to send out a womanto help your wife. Six men can do a lot of work, but there is atremendous lot of work to do. We must fit the ground and plant at leastthree thousand apple trees before the end of November, and we ought tofence this whole plantation. Speaking of fences reminds me that I mustorder the cedar posts. Have you any idea how many posts it will take tofence this farm as we have platted it? I suppose not. Well, I can tellyou. Twenty-two hundred and fifty at one rod apart, or 1850 at twentyfeet apart. These posts must be six feet above and three feet belowground. They will cost eighteen cents each. That item will be $333, forthere are seven miles of fence, including the line fence between me andmy north neighbor. I am going to build that fence myself, and then Ishall know whose fault it is if his stock breaks through. Of course someof the old posts are good, but I don't believe one in twenty is longenough for my purpose. "

"What do you buy cedar posts for, when you have enough better ones onthe place?" asked Thompson. 

"I don't know what you mean. "

"Well, down in the wood yonder there's enough dead white oak, standingor on the ground, to make three thousand, nine-foot posts, and oneseasoned white oak will outlast two cedars, and it is twice as strong. "

"Well, that's good! How much will it cost to get them out?"

"About five cents apiece. A couple of smart fellows can make good wagesat that price. "

"Good. We will save thirteen cents each. They will cost $93 instead of$333. I don't know everything yet, do I, Thompson?"

"You learn easy, I reckon. "

"Keep your eyes and ears open, and if you find any one who can do thisjob, let him have it, for we are going to be too busy with other thingsat present. It's time for me to be off. I cannot be out again tillThursday, for I must find a man, a woman, and a team of horses and allthat goes with them. I'll see you on the 8th at any rate. "

I was dead tired when I reached home; but there wasn't a grain ofdepression in my fatigue, --rather a sense of elation. I felt that forthe first time in thirty years real things were doing and I was having ahand in them. The fatigue was the same old tire that used to come aftera hard day on my father's farm, and the sense was so suggestive of youththat I could not help feeling younger. I have never gotten away from thefaith that the real seed of life lies hidden in the soil; that the manwho gives it a chance to germinate is a benefactor, and that things donein connection with land are about the only real things. I have grownyounger, stronger, happier, with each year of personal contact with thesoil. I am thankful for seven years of it, and look forward to twiceseven more. I have lost the softness which nearly wilted me that 5th dayof August, and with the softness has gone twenty or thirty pounds ofuseless flesh. I am hard, active, and strong for a man of sixty, and Ican do a fair day's work. To tell the truth, I prefer the moderate workthat falls to the lot of the Headman, rather than the more strenuouslife of the husbandman; but I find an infinite deal to thank the farmfor in health and physical comfort. 

CHAPTER IX

HOUSE-CLEANING

After dinner I telephoned the veterinary surgeon that I wanted anotherteam. He replied that he thought he knew of one that would suit, andthat he would let me know the next day. I also telephoned two "wantads. " to a morning paper, one for an experienced farm-hand, the otherfor a woman to do general housework in the country. Polly was tointerview the women who applied, and I was to look after the men. Thatnight I slept like a hired man. 

Out of the dozen who applied the next day I accepted a Swede by the nameof Anderson. He was about thirty, tall, thin, and nervous. He did notfit my idea of a stockman, but he looked like a worker, and as I couldfurnish the work we soon came to terms. 

A few words more about Anderson. He proved a worker indeed. He had aninsatiable appetite for work, and never knew when to quit. He was notpopular at the farm, for he was too eager in the morning to start andtoo loath in the evening to stop. His unbridled passion for work was athing to be deplored, as it kept him thin and nervous. I tried tomoderate this propensity, but with no result. Anderson could not betrusted with horses, or, indeed, with animals of any kind, for he madethem as nervous as himself; but in all other kinds of work he was thebest man ever at Four Oaks. He worked for me nearly three years, andthen suddenly gave out from a pain in his left chest and shortness ofbreath. I called a physician for poor Anderson, and the diagnosis wasdilatation of the heart from over-exercise. 

"A rare disease among farm-hands, Dr. Williams, " said Dr. High, but myconscience did not fully forgive me. I asked Anderson to stay at thefarm and see what could be done by rest and care. He declined this, aswell as my offer to send him to a hospital. He expressed the liveliestgratitude for kindnesses received and others offered, but he said hemust be independent and free. He had nearly $1200 in a savings bank inthe city, and he proposed to use it, or such portion of it as wasnecessary. I saw him two months later. He was better, but not able towork. Hearing nothing from him for three years, a year ago I called atthe bank where I knew he had kept his savings. They had sent sums ofmoney to him, once to Rio Janeiro and once to Cape Town. For two yearshe had not been heard from. Whether he is living or dead I do not know. I only know that a valuable man and a unique farm-hand has disappeared. I never think of Anderson without wishing I had been more severe withhim, --more persistent in my efforts to wean him from his real passion. Peace to his ashes, if he be ashes. 

That same day I telephoned the Agricultural Implement Company to send meanother wagon, with harness and equipment for the team. The veterinarysurgeon reported that he had a span of mares for me to look at, but Iwas too much engaged that day to inspect the team, and promised to do soon the next. 

When I reached home, Polly said she had found nothing in the way of ageneral housework girl for the country. She had seen nine women whowished to do all other kinds of work, but none to fit her wants. 

"What do they come for if they don't want the place we described? Dothey expect we are to change our plans of life to suit their personalnotions?" she asked. 

"It's hard to say what they came for or what they want. Their ways arepast finding out. We will put in another 'ad. ' and perhaps have betterluck. "

Wednesday, the 7th, I went to see the new team. I found a pair offlea-bitten gray Flemish mares, weighing about twenty-eight hundredpounds. They were four years old, short of leg and long of body, andlooked fit. The surgeon passed them sound, and said he considered themwell worth the price asked, --$300. I was pleased with the team, andremembered a remark I had heard as a boy from an itinerant Methodistminister at a time when the itinerant minister was supposed to know allthere was to know about horse-flesh. This was his remark: "There wasnever a flea-bitten mare that was a poor horse. " In spite of itsambiguity, the saying made an impression from which I never recovered. Ialways expected great things from flea-bitten grays. 

The team, wagon, harness, etc. , added $395 to the debit account againstthe farm. Polly secured her girl, --a green German who had not been longenough in America to despise the country. 

"She doesn't know a thing about our ways, " said Polly, "but Mrs. Thompson can train her as she likes. If you can spend time enough withgreen girls, they are apt to grow to your liking. "

On Thursday I saw Anderson and the new team safely started for the farm. Then Polly, the new girl, and I took train for the most interesting spoton earth. 

Soon after we arrived I lost sight of Polly, who seemed to have businessof her own. I found the mason and his men at work on the cellar wall, which was almost to the top of the ground. The house was on wheels, andhad made most of its journey. The house mover was in a rage because hehad to put the house on a hole instead of on solid ground, as he hadexpected. "I have sent for every stick of timber and every cobblingblock I own, to get this house over that hole; there's no money in thisjob for me; you ought to have dug the cellar after the house wasplaced, " said he. 

I made friends with him by agreeing to pay $30 more for the job. Thehouse was safely placed, and by Saturday night the foundation walls werefinished. 

Sam and Zeb had made a good beginning on the ploughing, the teams weredoing well for green ones, and the men seemed to understand what goodploughing meant. Thompson and Johnson had spent parts of two days in thepotato patches in deadly conflict with the bugs. 

"We've done for most of them this time, " said Thompson, "but we'll haveto go over the ground again by Monday. "

The next piece of work was to clear the north forty (lots 1 to 5) of allfences, stumps, stones, and rubbish, and all buildings except thecottage. The barn was to be torn down, and the horses were to betemporarily stabled in the old barn on the home lot. Useful timbers andlumber were to be snugly piled, the manure around the barns was to bespread under the old apple trees, which were in lot No. 1, andeverything not useful was to be burned. "Make a clean sweep, and leaveit as bare as your hand, " I told Thompson. "It must be ready for theplough as soon as possible. "

Judson, the man with the buggy, reported at noon. He came with bag andbaggage, but not with buggy, and said that he came to stay. 

"Thompson, " said I, "you are to put Judson in charge of the roan team tofollow the boys when they are far enough ahead of him. In the meantimehe and the team will be with you and Johnson in this house-cleaning. Byto-morrow night Anderson and the new team will get in, and they, too, will help on this job. I want you to take personal charge of the grayteam, --neither Johnson nor Anderson is the right sort to handle horses. The new team will do the trucking about and the regular farm work, whilethe other three are kept steadily at the ploughs and harrows. "

The cleaning of the north forty proved a long job. Four men and twoteams worked hard for ten days, and then it was not finished. By thattime the ploughmen had finished 6 and 7, and were ready to begin on No. 1. Judson, with the roans and harrows, was sent to the twenty acres ofploughed ground, and Zeb and his team were put at the cleaning for threedays, while Sam ploughed the six acres of old orchard with a_shallow-set_ plough. The feeding roots of these trees would have beenseriously injured if we had followed the deep ploughing practised in theopen. By August 24 about two hundred loads of manure from thebarn-yards, the accumulation of years, had been spread under the appletrees, and I felt sure it was well bestowed. Manuring, turning the sod, pruning, and spraying, ought to give a good crop of fruit next year. 

We had several days of rain during this time, which interfered somewhatwith the work, but the rains were gratefully received. I spent much ofmy time at Four Oaks, often going every day, and never let more than twodays pass without spending some hours on the farm. To many of my friendsthis seemed a waste of time. They said, "Williams is carrying this fadtoo far, --spending too much time on it. "

Polly did not agree with them, neither did I. Time is precious only aswe make it so. To do the wholesome, satisfying thing, without direct orindirect injury to others, is the privilege of every man. To the chargeof neglecting my profession I pleaded not guilty, for my profession haddismissed me without so much as saying "By your leave. " I was obliged tochange my mode of life, and I chose to be a producer rather than aconsumer of things produced by others. I was conserving my health, pleasing my wife, and at the same time gratifying a desire which hadlong possessed me. I have neither apology to make nor regret to record;for as individuals and as a family we have lived healthier, happier, more wholesome, and more natural lives on the farm than we ever did inthe city, and that is saying much. 

CHAPTER X

FENCED IN

On the 26th, when I reached the station at Exeter, I found Thompson andthe gray team just starting for the farm with the second load of wirefencing. I had ordered fifty-six rolls of Page's woven wire fence, fortyrods in each roll. This fence cost me seventy cents a rod, $224 a mile, or $1568 for the seven miles. Add to this $37 for freight, and the totalamounted to $1605 for the wire to fence my land. I got this facer as Iclimbed to the seat beside Thompson. I did not blink, however, for I hadresolved in the beginning to take no account of details until the 31stday of December, and to spend as much on the farm in that time as Icould without being wasteful. I did not care much what others thought. Ifelt that at my age time was precious, and that things must be rushed asrapidly as possible. 

I was glad of this slow ride with Thompson, for it gave me anopportunity to study him. I wondered then and afterward why a man of hisgeneral intelligence, industry, and special knowledge of the details offarming, should fail of success when working for himself. He knew tentimes as much about the business as I did, and yet he had not succeededin an independent position. Some quality, like broadness of mind ordirectness of purpose, was lacking, which made him incapable of carryingout a plan, no matter how well conceived. He was like Hooker atChancellorsville, whose plan of campaign was perfect, whose orders werecarried out with exactness, whose army fell into line as he wished, andwhose enemy did the obvious thing, yet who failed terribly because theresponsibility of the ultimate was greater than he could bear. As secondin command, or as corps leader, he was superb; in independent command hewas a disastrous failure. 

Thompson, then, was a Joe Hooker on a reduced plane, --good only toexecute another man's plans. Thompson might have rebutted this by sayingthat I too might prove a disastrous failure; that as yet I had shownonly ability to spend, --perhaps not always wisely. Such rebuttal wouldhave had weight seven years ago, but it would not be accepted to-day, for I have made my campaign and won my battle. The record of the pastseven years shows that I can plan and also execute. 

Thompson told me that he had found two woodsmen (by scouting around onSunday) who were glad to take the job of cutting the white-oak posts atfive cents each, and that they were even then at work; and that Nos. 6and 7 would be fitted for alfalfa by the end of the week. He added thatthe seed ought to be sown as soon thereafter as possible and that aliberal dressing of commercial fertilizer should be sown before the seedwas harrowed in. 

"I have ordered five tons of fertilizer, " I said, "and it ought to behere this week. Sow four bags to the acre. "

"Four bags, --eight hundred pounds; that's pretty expensive. Costs, Isuppose, $35 to $40 a ton. "

"No; $24. "

"How's that?"

"Friend at court; factory price; $120 for five tons; $5 freight, makingin all $125. We must use at least eight hundred pounds this fall andfive hundred in the spring. Alfalfa is an experiment, and we must giveit a show. "

"Never saw anything done with alfalfa in this region, but they nevertook no pains with it, " said Thompson. 

"I hope it will grow for us, for it is great forage if properly managed. The seed will be out this week, and you had best sow it on Monday, the2d. "

"How are you going to seed the north forty?"

"Timothy, red top, and blue grass; heavy seeding, to get rid of theweeds. These lots will all be used as stock lots. Small ones, you think, but we will depend almost entirely upon soiling. I hope to keep a fairsod on these lots, and they will be large enough to give the animalsexercise and keep them healthy. I hope the carpenter is pushing thingson the house. I want to get you into better quarters as soon aspossible, and I want the cottage moved out of the way before we seed thelot. "

"They're pushing things all right, I guess; that man Nelson is ahustler. "

When I reached the farm I found Johnson and Anderson tearing down theold fence that was our eastern boundary. None of the posts were longenough for my purpose, so all were consigned to the woodpile. 

My neighbor on the north owned just as much land as I did. He inheritedit and a moderate bank account from his father, who in turn had it fromhis. The farm was well kept and productive. The house and barns weresubstantial and in good repair. The owner did general farming, raisedwheat, corn, and oats to sell, milked twenty cows and sent the milk tothe creamery, sold one or two cows and a dozen calves each year, andfattened twenty or thirty pigs. He was pretty certain to add a fewhundred dollars to his bank account at the end of each season. He keptone man all the time and two in summer. He was a bachelor oftwenty-eight, well liked and good to look upon: five feet ten inches inheight, broad of shoulder, deep of chest, and a very Hercules instrength. His face was handsome, square-jawed and strong. He wasgood-natured, but easily roused, and when angry was as fierce as fire. He had the reputation of being the hardest fighter in the country. Hisname was William Jackson, so he was called Bill. I had met Jacksonoften, and we had taken kindly to each other. I admired his frank mannerand sturdy physique, and he looked upon me as a good-natured tenderfoot, who might be companionable, and who would certainly stir up things inthe neighborhood. I went in search of him that afternoon to discuss theline fence, a full mile of which divided our lands. 

"I want to put a fence along our line which nothing can get over orunder, " I said. "I am willing to bear the expense of the new fence ifyou will take away the old one and plough eight furrows, --four on yourland and four on mine, --to be seeded to grass before the wires arestretched. We ought to get rid of the weeds and brush. "

"That is a liberal proposition, Dr. Williams, and of course I accept, "said Jackson; "but I ought to do more. I'll tell you what I'll do. Youare planning to put a ring fence around your land, --three miles in all. I'll plough the whole business and fit it for the seed. I'll take one ofmy men, four horses, and a grub plough, and do it whenever you areready. "

This settled the fence matter between Jackson and me. The men who cutthe posts took the job of setting them, stretching the wire, and hangingthe gates, for $400. This included the staples and also the stretchingof three strands of barbed wire above the woven wire; two at six-inchintervals on the outside, and one inside, level with the top of thepost. Thus my ring fence was six feet high and hard to climb. I have aserious dislike for trespass, from either man or beast, and my boundaryfence was made to discourage trespassers. I like to have those who entermy property do so by the ways provided, for "whoso climbeth up any otherway, the same is a thief and a robber. "

The ring fence was finished by the middle of October. The interiorfences were built by my own men during soft weather in winter andspring; and, as I had already paid for the wire and posts, nothing moreshould be charged to the fence account. In round numbers these sevenmiles of excellent fence cost me $2100. A lot of money! But the fence isthere to-day as serviceable as when it was set, and it will stand fortwice seven years more. One hundred dollars a year is not a great priceto pay for the security and seclusion which a good fence furnishes. There was no need of putting up so much interior fence. I would save amile or two if I had it to do again; however, I do not dislike mystraight lanes and tightly fenced fields. 

CHAPTER XI

THE BUILDING LINE

Before leaving Four Oaks that day I had a long conversation with Nelson, the carpenter. I had taken his measure, by inquiry and observation, andwas willing to put work into his hands as fast as he could attend to it. The first thing was to put him in possession of my plan of a buildingline. 

Two hundred feet south of the north line of the home lot a street orlane was to run due west from the gate on the main road. This was to bethe teaming or business entrance to the farm. Commencing three hundredfeet from the east end of this drive, the structures were to be asfollows: On the south side, first a cold-storage house, then thefarm-house, the cottage, the well, and finally the carriage barn for thebig house. On the north side of the line, opposite the ice-house, thedairy-house; then a square with a small power-house for its centre, awoodhouse, a horse barn for the farm horses, a granary and a forage barnfor its four corners. Beyond this square to the west was the fruit-houseand the tool-house--the latter large enough to house all the farmmachinery we should ever need. I have a horror of the economy thatleaves good tools to sky and clouds without protection. This sketchwould not be worked out for a long time, as few of the buildings wereneeded at once. It was made for the sake of having a general design tobe carried out when required; and the water and sewer system had beenbuilt with reference to it. 

I told Nelson that a barn to shelter the horses was the first thing tobuild, after the house for the men, and that I saw no reason why two oreven three buildings should not be in process of construction at thesame time. He said there would be no difficulty in managing that if hecould get the men and I could get the money. I promised to do my part, and we went into details. 

I wanted a horse barn for ten horses, with shed room for eight wagons infront and a small stable yard in the rear; also a sunken manure vat, tenfeet by twenty, with cement walls and floor, the vat to be four feetdeep, two feet in the ground and two feet above it. A vat like this hasbeen built near each stable where stock is kept, and I find themperfectly satisfactory. They save the liquid manure, and thus add fiftyper cent to the value of the whole. Open sheds protect from sun andrain, and they are emptied as often as is necessary, regardless ofseason, for I believe that the fields can care for manure better than acompost heap. 

I also told Nelson to make plans and estimates for a large forage barn, 75 by 150 feet, 25 feet from floor to rafter plate, with a driving floorthrough the length of it and mows on either side. A granary, with acapacity of twenty thousand bushels, a large woodhouse, and a smallhouse in the centre of this group where the fifteen horse-power enginecould be installed, completed my commissions for that day. 

Plans for these structures were submitted in due time, and the work waspushed forward as rapidly as possible. The horse barn made a comfortablehome for ten horses, if we should need so many, with food and waterclose at hand and every convenience for the care of the animals andtheir harness. The forage barn was not expensive, --it was simply toshelter a large quantity of forage to be drawn upon when needed. Thewoodhouse was also inexpensive, though large. Wood was to be theprincipal fuel at Four Oaks, since it would cost nothing, and there mustbe ample shelter for a large amount. The granary would have to be builtwell and substantially, but it was not large. The power-house also was asmall affair. The whole cost of these five buildings was $8550. Theitemized amount is, horse barn, $2000, forage barn, $3400, granary, $2200, woodhouse, $400, power-house, $550. 

CHAPTER XII

CARPENTERS QUIT WORK

On Friday, August 30, I was obliged to go to a western city on businessthat would keep me from four to ten days. I turned my face away from thefarm with regret. I could hardly realize that I had spent but one monthin my new life, the old interests had slipped so far behind. I wasreluctant to lose sight, even for a week, of the intensely interestingthings that were doing at Four Oaks. Polly said she would go to FourOaks every day, and keep so watchful an eye on the farm that it couldnot possibly get away. 

"You're getting a little bit maudlin about that farm, Mr. Headman, andit will do you good to get away for a few days. There are _some other_things in life, though I admit they are few, and we are not to forgetthem. I am up to my ears in plans for the house and the home lot; but Ican't quite see what you find so interesting in tearing down old barnsand fences and turning over old sods. "

"Every heart knoweth its own sorrow, Polly, and I have my troubles. "

Friday evening, September 6, I returned from the west. My firstgreeting was, --

"How's the farm, Polly?"

"It's there, or was yesterday; I think you'll find things runningsmoothly. "

"Have they sowed the alfalfa and cut the oats?"

"Yes. "

"Finished the farm-house?"

"No, not quite, but the painters are there, and Nelson has commencedwork on two other buildings. "

"What time can I breakfast? I must catch the 8. 10 train, and spend along day where things are doing. "

Things were humming at Four Oaks when I arrived. Ten carpenters besidesNelson and his son were pounding, sawing, and making confusion in allsorts of ways peculiar to their kind. The ploughmen were busy. Thompsonand the other two men were shocking oats. I spent the day roaming aroundthe place, watching the work and building castles. I went to the alfalfafield to see if the seed had sprouted. Disappointed in this, I wandereddown to the brook and planned some abridgment of its meanderings. Itcould be straightened and kept within bounds without great expense ifthe work were done in a dry season. Polly had asked for a winding brookwith a fringe of willows and dogwood, but I would not make thisconcession to her esthetic taste. This farm land must be useful to thesacrifice of everything else. A winding brook would be all right on thehome lot, if it could be found, but not on the farm. A straight ditchfor drainage was all that I would permit, and I begrudged even that. Nowaste land in the cultivated fields, was my motto. I had threshed thisout with Polly and she had yielded, after stipulating that I must keepmy hands off the home forty. 

Over in the woods I found two men at work splitting fence posts. Theyseemed expert, and I asked them how many they could make in a day. 

"From 90 to 125, according to the timber. But we must work hard to makegood wages. "

"That applies to other things besides post-splitting, doesn't it?"

Closer inspection of the wood lot gratified me exceedingly. Little hadbeen done for it except by Nature, but she had worked with so prodigal ahand that it showed all kinds of possibilities, both for beauty and forutility. Before leaving the place, I had a little talk with Nelson. 

"Everything is going on nicely, " he said. "I have ten carpenters, andthey are a busy lot. If I can only hold them on to the job, things willgo well. "

"What's the matter? Can't you hold them?"

"I hope so, but there is a hoisters' strike on in the city, and thecarpenters threaten to go out in sympathy. I hope it won't reach us, but I'm afraid it will. "

"What will you do if the men go out?"

"Do the best I can. I can get two non-union men that I know of. Theywould like to be on this job now, but these men won't permit it. My sonis a full hand, so there will be four of us; but it will be slow work. "

"See here, Nelson, I can't have this work slack up. We haven't time. Cold weather will be on before we know it. I'm going to take this bullby the horns. I'll advertise for carpenters in the Sunday papers. Someof those who apply will be non-union men, and I'll hold them over for afew days until we see how the cat jumps. If it comes to the worst, wecan get some men to take the place of Thompson and Sam, who arecarpenters, and set them at the tools. I will not let this work stop, strike or no strike. "

"If you put non-union men on you will have to feed and sleep them on theplace. The union will make it hot for them. "

"I will take all kinds of care of every man who gives me honest work, you may be sure. "

When I returned to town I sent this "ad. " to two papers: "Wanted: Tengood carpenters to go to the country. " The Sunday papers gave a luridaccount of the sentiment of the Carpenters' Union and its sympatheticattitude toward the striking hoisters. The forecast was that there wouldnot be a nail driven if the strike were not settled by Tuesday night. It seemed that I had not moved a day too soon. On Monday thirty-sevencarpenters applied at my office. Most of them had union tickets and werenot considered. Thirteen, however, were not of the union, and they wereinvestigated. I hired seven on these conditions: wages to begin the nextday, Tuesday, and to continue through the week, work or no work. If thestrike was ordered, I would take the men to the country and give themsteady work until my jobs were finished. They agreed to theseconditions, and were requested to report at my office on Wednesdaymorning to receive two days' pay, and perhaps to be set to work. 

I did not go to the farm until Tuesday afternoon. There was no change inthe strike, and no reason to expect one. The noon papers said that theCarpenters' Union would declare a sympathetic strike to be on fromWednesday noon. 

On reaching Four Oaks I called Nelson aside and told him how the landlay and what I had done. 

"I want you to call the men together, " said I, "and let me talk to them. I must know just how we stand and how they feel. "

Nelson called the men, and I read the reports from two papers on theimpending strike order. 

"Now, men, " said I, "we must look this matter in the face in abusinesslike fashion. You have done good work here; your boss issatisfied, and so am I. It would suit us down to the ground if youwould continue on until all these jobs are finished. We can give you alot of work for the best part of the year. You are sure of work and sureof pay if you stay with us. That is all I have to say until you havedecided for yourselves what you will do if the strike is ordered. "

I left the men for a short time, while they talked things over. It didnot take them long to decide. 

"We must stand by the union, " said the spokesman, "but we'll be damnedsorry to quit this job. You see, sir, we can't do any other way. We haveto be in the union to get work, and we have to do as the union says orwe will be kicked out. It is hard, sir, not to do a hit of a hammer forweeks or months with a family on one's hands and winter coming; but whatcan a man do? We don't see our way clear in this matter, but we must doas the union says. "

"I see how you are fixed, " said I, "and I am mighty sorry for you. I amnot going to rail against unions, for they may have done some good; butthey work a serious wrong to the man with a family, for he cannot followthem without bringing hardships upon his dependent ones. It is not fairto yoke him up with a single man who has no natural claims to satisfy, no mouth to feed except his own; but I will talk business. 

"You will be ordered out to-morrow or next day, and you say you willobey the order. You have an undoubted right to do so. A man is not aslave, to be made to work against his will; but, on the other hand, ishe not a slave if he is forced to quit against his will? Freedom ofaction in personal matters is a right which wise men have fought for andfor which wise men will always fight. Do you find it in the union? Whatshall I do when you quit work? How long are you going to stay out? Whatwill become of my interests while you are following the lead of yourbell-wethers? Shall my work stop because you have been called out for aholiday? Shall the weeds grow over these walls and my lumber rot whileyou sit idly by? Not by a long sight! You have a perfect right to quitwork, and I have a perfect right to continue. 

"The rights which we claim for ourselves we must grant to others. Oneman certainly has as defensible a right to work as another man has to beidle. In the legitimate exercise of personal freedom there is no effortat coercion, and in this case there shall be none. If you choose toquit, you will do so without let or hindrance from me; but if you quit, others will take your places without let or hindrance from you. You willbe paid in full to-night. When you leave, you must take your tools withyou, that there may be no excuse for coming back. When you leave theplace, the incident will be closed so far as you and I are concerned, and it will not be opened unless I find some of you trying to interferewith the men I shall engage to take your places. I think you make aserious mistake in following blind leaders who are doing you materialinjury, for sentimental reasons; but you must decide this foryourselves. If, after sober thought, any of you feel disposed to return, you can get a job if there is a vacancy; but no man who works for meduring this strike will be displaced by a striker. You may put that inyour pipes and smoke it. Nelson will pay you off to-night. "

The strike was ordered for Wednesday. On the morning of that day theseven carpenters whom I had engaged arrived at my office ready for work. I took them to the station and started for Four Oaks. At a station fivemiles from Exeter we quitted the train, hired two carriages, and weredriven to the farm without passing through the village. 

We arrived without incident, the men had their dinners, and at oneo'clock the hammers and saws were busy again. We had lost but one halfday. The two non-union men whom Nelson had spoken of were also at work, and three days later the spokesman of the strikers threw up his card andjoined our force. We had no serious trouble. It was thought wise to keepthe new men on the place until the excitement had passed, and we had towarn some of the old ones off two or three times, but nothingdisagreeable happened, and from that day to this Four Oaks has remainednon-unionized. 

CHAPTER XIII

PLANNING FOR THE TREES

The morning of September 17th a small frost fell, --just enough to curlthe leaves of the corn and show that it was time for it to be laid by. Thompson, Johnson, Anderson, and the two men from the woods, who werediverted from their post-splitting for the time being, went gayly to thecorn fields and attacked the standing grain in the old-fashioned way. This was not economical; but I had no corn reaper, and there was none tohire, for the frost had struck us all at the same time. The five menwere kept busy until the two patches--about forty-three acres--were inshock. This brought us to the 24th. In the meantime the men and womenmoved from the cottage to the more commodious farm-house. Polly hadfound excuses for spending $100 more on the furnishings of thishouse, --two beds and a lot of other things. Sunday gave the people achance to arrange their affairs; and they certainly appreciated theirimproved surroundings. 

The cottage was moved to its place on the line, and the last of theseeding on the north forty was done. Ten tons of fertilizer were sown onthis forty-acre tract (at a cost of $250), and it was then left toitself, not to be trampled over by man or beast, except for thestretching of fences or for work around some necessary buildings, untilthe middle of the following May. 

We did not sow any wheat that year, --there was too much else to be doneof more importance. There is not much money in wheat-farming unless itbe done on a large scale, and I had no wish to raise more than I couldfeed to advantage. Wheat was to be a change food for my fowls; but justthen I had no fowls to feed, and there were more than two hundredbushels in stacks ready for the threshers, which I could hold for futurehens. 

The ploughmen were now directed to commence deep ploughing on No. 14, --the forty acres set apart for the commercial orchard. This tract ofland lay well for the purpose. Its surface was nearly smooth, with adescent to the west and southwest that gave natural drainage. I havebeen informed that an orchard would do better if the slope were to thenortheast. That may be true, but mine has done well enough thus far, and, what is more to the point, I had no land with a northeast slope. The surface soil was thin and somewhat impoverished, but the subsoil wasa friable clay in which almost anything would grow if it was properlyworked and fed. It was my desire to make this square block of fortyacres into a first-class apple orchard for profit. Seven years fromplanting is almost too soon to decide how well I have succeeded, but theresults attained and the promises for the future lead me to believe thatthere will be no failure in my plan. 

The three essentials for beginning such an orchard are: prepare the landproperly, get good stock (healthy and true to name), and plant it well. I could do no more this year than to plough deep, smooth the surface, and plant as well as I knew how. Increased fertility must come fromfuture cultivation and top dressing. The thing most prominent in my planwas to get good trees well placed in the ground before cold weather setin. At my time of life I could not afford to wait for another autumn, oreven until spring. I had, and still have, the opinion that afall-planted tree is nearly six months in advance of one planted thefollowing spring. Of course there can be no above-ground growth duringthat time, but important things are being done below the surface. Theroots find time to heal their wounds and to send out small searchersafter food, which will be ready for energetic work as soon as the sunbegins to warm the soil. The earth settles comfortably about these rootsand is moulded to fit them by the autumn rains. If the stem is wellbraced by a mound of earth, and if a thick mulch is placed around it, much will be done below ground before deep frosts interrupt the work;and if, in the early spring, the mulch and mound are drawn back, thesun's influence will set the roots at work earlier by far than a springtree could be planted. 

Other reasons for fall planting are that the weather is more settled, the ground is more manageable, help is more easily secured, and thenurserymen have more time for filling your order. Any time from October15 until December 10 will answer in our climate, but early November isthe best. I had decided to plant the trees in this orchard twenty-fivefeet apart each way. In the forty acres there would be fifty-two rows, with fifty-two trees in each row, --or twenty-seven hundred in all. Ialso decided to have but four varieties of apples in this orchard, andit was important that they should possess a number of virtues. They mustcome into early bearing, for I was too old to wait patiently forslow-growing trees; they must be of kinds most dependable for yearlycrops, for I had no respect for off years; and they must be good enoughin color, shape, and quality to tempt the most fastidious market. Istudied catalogues and talked with pomologists until my mind was nearlyunsettled, and finally decided upon Jonathan, Wealthy, Rome Beauty, andNorthwestern Greening, --all winter apples, and all red but the last. Iwas helped in my decision, so far as the Jonathans and Rome Beautieswere concerned, by the discovery that more than half of the old orchardwas composed of these varieties. 

There is little question as to the wisdom of planting trees of kindsknown to have done well in your neighborhood. They are just as likely todo well by you as by your neighbor. If the fruit be to your liking, youcan safely plant, for it is no longer an experiment; some one else hasbroken that ground for you. 

In casting about for a reliable nurseryman to whom to trust the veryimportant business of supplying me with young trees, I could not longkeep my attention diverted from Rochester, New York. Perhaps the reasonwas that as a child I had frequently ridden over the plank road fromHenrietta to Rochester, and my memory recalled distinctly but threeobjects on that road, --the house of Frederick Douglass, Mount HopeCemetery, and a nursery of young trees. Everything else was obscure. Ifancy that in fifty years the Douglass house has disappeared, but MountHope Cemetery and the tree nursery seem to mock at time. The soil andclimate near Rochester are especially favorable to the growing of youngtrees, and my order went to one of the many reliable firms engaged inthis business. The order was for thirty-four hundredtrees, --twenty-seven hundred for the forty-acre orchard and sevenhundred for the ten acres farthest to the south on the home lot. Pollyhad consented to this invasion of her domain, for reasons. She said:--

"It is a long way off, rather flat and uninteresting, and I do not seeexactly how to treat it. Apple trees are pretty at most times, andpicturesque when old. You can put them there, if you will seed theground and treat it as part of the lawn. I hate your old straight rows, but I suppose you must have them. "

"Yes, I guess I shall have to have straight rows, but I will agree tothe lawn plan after the third year. You must give me a chance tocultivate the land for three years. "

Your tree-man must be absolutely reliable. You have to trust him muchand long. Not only do you depend upon him to send you good and healthystock, but you must trust, for five years at least, that this stock willprove true to name. The most discouraging thing which can befall ahorticulturist is to find his new fruit false to purchase labels. Afterwait, worry, and work he finds that he has not what he expected, andthat he must begin over again. It is cold comfort for the tree-man tomake good his guarantee to replace all stock found untrue, for fiveyears of irreplaceable time has passed. When you have spent time, hope, and expectation as well as money, looking for results which do not come, your disappointment is out of all proportion to your financial loss, bethat never so great. In the best-managed nurseries there will bemistakes, but the better the management the fewer the mistakes. Pay goodprices for young trees, and demand the best. There is no economy incheap stock, and the sooner the farmer or fruit-grower comprehends thisfact, the better it will be for him. I ordered trees of three years'growth from the bud, --this would mean four-year-old roots. Perhaps itwould have been as well to buy smaller ones (many wise people have toldme so), but I was in such a hurry! I wanted to pick apples from thesetrees at the first possible moment. I argued that a sturdythree-year-old would have an advantage over its neighbor that was onlytwo. However small this advantage, I wanted it in my business--mybusiness being to make a profitable farm in quick time. The ten acres ofthe home lot were to be planted with three hundred Yellow Transparent, three hundred Duchess of Oldenburg, and one hundred mixed varieties forhome use. I selected the Transparent and the Duchess on account of theirdisposition to bear early, and because they are good sellers in a nearmarket, and because a fruit-wise friend was making money from aneight-year-old orchard of three thousand of these trees, and advised menot to neglect them. 

My order called for thirty-four hundred three-year-old apple trees ofthe highest grade, to be delivered in good condition on the platform atExeter for the lump sum of $550. The agreement had been made in August, and the trees were to be delivered as near the 20th of October aspracticable. Apple trees comprised my entire planting for the autumn of1895. I wanted to do much other work in that line, but it had to be leftfor a more convenient season. Hundreds of fruit trees, shade trees, andshrubs have since been planted at Four Oaks, but this first setting ofthirty-four hundred apple trees was the most important as well as themost urgent. 

The orchard was to be a prominent feature in the factory I was building, and as it would be slower in coming to perfection than any other part, it was wise to start it betimes. I have kicked myself black and blue forneglecting to plant an orchard ten years earlier. If I had done this, and had spent two hours a month in the management of it, it would now bea thing of beauty and an income-producing joy forever, --or, at least, aslong as my great-grandchildren will need it. 

There is no danger of overdoing orcharding. The demand for fruitincreases faster than the supply, and it is only poor quality or badhandling that causes a slack market. If the general farmer will becomean expert orchardist, he will find that year by year his ten acres offruit will give him a larger profit than any forty acres of grain land;but to get this result he must be faithful to his trees. Much of thetime they are caring for themselves, and for the owner, too; but thereare times when they require sharp attention, and if they do not get itpromptly and in the right way, they and the owner will suffer. Fruitgrowing as a sole occupation requires favorable soil, climate, andmarket, and also a considerable degree of aptitude on the part of themanager, to make it highly profitable. A fruit-grower in our climatemust have other interests if he would make the most of his time. Whilewaiting for his fruit he can raise food for hens and hogs; and if hefeeds hens and hogs, he should keep as many cows as he can. He will thenuse in his own factory all the raw material he can raise. This willagain be returned to the land as a by-product, which will not onlymaintain the fertility of the farm, but even increase it. If his cowsare of the best, they will yield butter enough to pay for their food andto give a profit; the skim milk, fed to the hogs and hens, will giveeggs and pork out of all proportion to its cost; and everything thatgrows upon his land can thus be turned off as a finished product for aliberal price, and yet the land will not be depleted. The orchard isbetter for the hens and hogs and cows, and they are better for theorchard. These industries fit into each other like the folding of hands;they seem mutually dependent, and yet they are often divorced, or, atbest, only loosely related. This view may seem to be the result of _posthoc_ reasoning, but I think it is not. I believe I imbibed these notionswith my mother's milk, for I can remember no time when they were notmine. The psalmist said, "Comfort me with apples"; and the psalmist wasreputed a wise man. With only sufficient wisdom to plant an orchard, Ilive in high expectation of finding the same comfort in my old age. 

CHAPTER XIV

PLANTING OF THE TREES

September proved as dry as August was wet, --only half an inch of waterfell; and the seedings would have been slow to start had they dependedfor their moisture upon the clouds. By October 1, however, green hadtaken the place of brown on nearly all the sixty acres we had tilled. The threshers came and threshed the wheat and oats. Of wheat there were311 bushels, of oats, 1272. We stored this grain in the cottage untilthe granary should be ready, and stacked the straw until the forage barncould receive it. My plan from the first has been to shelter all forage, even the meanest, and bright oat straw is not low in the scale. 

On the 10th the horse stable was far enough advanced to permit thehorses to be moved, and the old barn was deserted. A neighbor who hadbought this barn at once pulled it down and carted it away. In thistransaction I held out several days for $50, but as my neighbor wasobdurate I finally accepted his offer. The first entry on the creditside of my farm ledger is, By one old barn, $45. The receipts forOctober, November, and December, were:--

By one old barn $45. 00

By apples on trees (153 trees at $1. 85 each) 283. 00

By 480 bushels of potatoes at 30 cents per bushel 144. 00

By five old sows, not fat 35. 00

One cow 15. 00

Three cows 70. 00

Two cows 35. 00

Three cows, two heifers, nine calves 187. 00

Forty-three shoats and gilts, average 162 lb. , at 2 centsper lb 139. 00

Total $953. 00

The young hogs had eaten most of my small potatoes and some of my cornbefore we parted with them in late November. These sales were made atthe farm, and at low prices, for I was afraid to send such stuff tomarket lest some one should find out whence it came. The Four Oaks brandwas to stand for perfection in the future, and I was not willing tohandicap it in the least. Top prices for gilt-edged produce is whatintensive farming means; and if there is money in land, it will be foundclose to this line. 

The potatoes had been dug and sold, or stored in the cellar of thefarm-house; the apples from the trees reserved for home use had beengathered, and we were ready for the fall planting. While waiting for thestock to arrive, we had time to get in all the hay and most of the strawinto the forage barn, which was now under roof. 

On Saturday, the 26th, word came that sixteen immense boxes had arrivedat Exeter for us. Three teams were sent at once, and each team broughthome two boxes. Three trips were made, and the entire prospectiveorchard was safely landed. Monday saw our whole force at work plantingtrees. Small stakes had been driven to give the exact centre for eachhole, so that the trees, viewed from any direction, would be in straightlines. Sam, Zeb, and Judson were to dig the holes, putting the surfacedirt to the right, and the poor earth to the left; I was to prune theroots and keep tab on the labels; Johnson and Anderson were to set thetrees, --Anderson using a shovel and Johnson his hands, feet, and eyes;while Thompson was to puddle and distribute the trees. The puddling waseasily done. We sawed an oil barrel in halves, placed these halves on astone boat, filled them two-thirds full of water, and added a lot offine clay. Into this thin mud the roots of each tree were dipped beforeplanting. 

My duty was to shorten the roots that were too long, and to cut away thebruised and broken ones. The top pruning was to be done after the treeswere all set and banked. The stock was fine in every respect, --fully upto promise. Watching Johnson set his first tree convinced me that heknew more about planting than I did. He lined and levelled it; he pawedsurface dirt into the hole, and churned the roots up and down; moredirt, and he tamped it; still more dirt, and he tramped it; yet moredirt, and he stamped it until the tree stood like a post; then loosedirt, and he left it. I was sure Johnson knew his business too well toneed advice from a tenderfoot, so I went back to my root pruning. 

We were ten days planting these thirty-four hundred trees, but we did itwell, and the days were short. We finished on the 7th of November. Thetrees were now to be top pruned. I told Johnson to cut every tree in thebig orchard back to a three-foot stub, unless there was very good reasonfor leaving a few inches (never more than six), and I turned my back onhim and walked away as I said these cruel words. It seemed a shame tocut these bushy, long-legged, handsome fellows back to dwarfishinsignificance and brutish ugliness, but it had to be done. I wantedstocky, thrifty, low-headed business trees, and there was no other wayto get them. The trees in the lower, or ten-acre, orchard, were nottreated so severely. Their long legs were left, and their bushy topswere only moderately curtailed. We would try both high and low heading. 

On the night of November 11 the shredders came and set up their greatmachine on the floor of the forage barn, ready to commence work the nextmorning. There were ten men in the shredding gang. I furnished six more, and Bill Jackson came with two others to change work with me; that is, my men were to help him when the machine reached his farm. We workednineteen men and four teams three and a half days on the forty-threeacres of corn, and as a result, had a tremendous mow of shredded cornfodder and an immense pile of half-husked ears. For the use of themachine and the wages of the ten men I paid $105. Poor economy! Beforenext corn-shredding time I owned a machine, --smaller indeed, but it didthe work as well (though not as quickly), and it cost me only $215, andwas good for ten years. 

The weather had favored me thus far. The wet August had put the groundinto good condition for seeding, and the dry September and October hadpermitted our buildings to be pushed forward, but now everything was tochange. A light rain began on the morning of the 15th (I did not permitit to interrupt the shredding, which was finished by noon), and by nightit had developed into a steady downpour that continued, withinterruptions, for six weeks. November and December of 1895 gave us rainand snow fall equal to twelve and a half inches of water. Plans at FourOaks had to be modified. There was no more use for the ploughs. Nos. 10and 11, and much of the home lot were left until spring. I had plannedto mulch heavily all the newly set trees, and for this purpose hadbought six carloads of manure (at a cost of $72); but this manure couldnot be hauled across the sodden fields, and must needs be piled in agreat heap for use in the spring. The carpenters worked at disadvantage, and the farm men could do little more than keep themselves and theanimals comfortable. They did, however, finish one good job betweenshowers. They tile-drained the routes for the two roads on the homelot, --the straight one east and west through the building line, about1000 feet, and the winding carriage drive to the site of the main house, about 1850 feet. The tile pipe cost $123. They also set a lot of fenceposts in the soft ground. 

Building progressed slowly during the bad weather, but before the end ofDecember the horse barn, the woodshed, the granary, the forage barn, andthe power-house were completed, and most of the machinery was in place. The machinery consisted of a fifteen horse-power engine, with shaftingrunning to the forage barn, the granary, and the woodshed. A power-sawwas set in the end of the shed, a grinding mill in the granary, and afodder-cutter in the forage barn. The cost of these items was:--

Engine and shafting $187. 00

Saw 24. 00

Mill 32. 00

Feed-cutter and carrier 76. 00

Total $319. 00

I gave the services of my two carpenters, Thompson and Sam, during mostof this time to Nelson, for I had but little work for them, and he wasnot making much out of his job. 

The last few days of 1895 turned clear and cold, and the barometer set"fair. " The change chirked us up, and we ended the year in good spirits. 

CHAPTER XV

POLLY'S JUDGMENT HALL

Before closing the books, we should take account of stock, to see whatwe had purchased with our money. Imprimis: 320 acres of good land, satisfactory to the eye, well fenced and well groomed; 3400 apple trees, so well planted as to warrant a profitable future; a water and sewersystem as good as a city could supply; farm buildings well planned andsufficient for the day; an abundance of food for all stock, and tospare; an intelligent and willing working force; machinery for more thanpresent necessity; eight excellent horses and their belongings; sixcows, moderately good; two pigs and two score fowls, to be eaten beforespring, and _a lot of fun_. What price I shall have to put against thislast item to make the account balance, I can tell better when I foot theother side of the ledger. 

But first I must add a few items to the debit account. Moving thecottage cost $30. I paid $134 for grass seed and seed rye. The wageaccount for six men and two women for five months was $735. Their foodaccount was $277. Of course the farm furnished milk, cream, butter, vegetables, some fruit, fresh pork, poultry, and eggs. There were alsosome small freight bills, which had not been accounted for, amounting to$31, and $8 had been spent in transportation for the men. Then the farmmust be charged with interest on all money advanced, when I hadcompleted my additions. The rate was to be five per cent, and the timethree months. 

On the last day of the year I went to the farm to pay up to date allaccounts. I wished to end the year with a clean score. I did not knowwhat the five months had cost me (I would know that evening), but I didknow that I had had "the time of my life" in the spending, and I wouldnot whine. I felt a little nervous when I thought of going over thefigures with Polly, --she was such a judicious spender of money. But Iknew her criticism would not be severe, for she was hand-in-glove withme in the project. I tried to find fault with myself for wastefulness, but some excellent excuse would always crop up. "Your water tower isunnecessary. " "Yes, but it adds to the landscape, and it has its use. ""You have put up too much fencing. " "True, but I wanted to feel secure, and the old fences were such nests of weeds and rubbish. " "You havespent too much money on the farm-house. " "I think not, for the laboreris worthy of his hire, and also of all reasonable creature comforts. "And thus it went on. I would not acknowledge myself in the wrong; nor, arguing how I might, could I find aught but good in my labors. Idevoutly hoped to be able to put the matter in the same light when Istood at the bar in Polly's judgment hall. 

The day was clear, cool, and stimulating. A fair fall of snow lay on theground, clean and wholesome, as country snow always is. I wished thatthe house was finished (it was not begun), and that the family was withme in it. "Another Christmas time will find us here, God willing, andmany a one thereafter. "

I spent three hours at the farm, doing a little business and a lot ofmooning, and then returned to town. The children were off directly afterdinner, intent on holiday festivities, so that Polly and I had the houseto ourselves. I felt that we needed it. I invited my partner into theden, lighted a pipe for consolation, unlocked the drawer in which thefarm ledger is kept, gave a small deprecatory cough, and said:--

"My dear, I am afraid I have spent an awful lot of money in the lastfive months. You see there is such a quantity of things to do at once, and they run into no end of money. You know, I--"

"Of course I know it, and I know that you have got the worth of it, too. "

Wouldn't that console you! How was I to know that Polly would hail fromthat quarter? I would have kissed her hand, if she would have permittedsuch liberty; I kissed her lips, and was ready to defend any sum totalwhich the ledger dare show. 

"Do you know how much it is?" said Polly. 

"Not within a million!" I was reckless then, and hoped the total wouldbe great, for had not Polly said that she knew I had got the worth of mymoney? And who was to gainsay her? "It is more than I planned for, Iknow, but I do not see how I could use less without losing precioustime. We started into this thing with the theory that the more we putinto it, without waste, the more we would ultimately get out of it. Ourtheory is just as sound to-day as it was five months ago. "

"We will win out all right in the end, Mr. Headman, for we will not putthe price-mark on health, freedom, happiness, or fun, until we have seenthe debit side of the ledger. "

"How much do you want to spend for the house?" said I. 

"Do you mean the house alone?"

"No; the house and carriage barn. I'll pay for the trees, shrubs, andkickshaws in the gardens and lawns. "

"You started out with a plan for a $10, 000 house, didn't you? Well, Idon't think that's enough. You ought to give me $15, 000 for the houseand barn and let me see what I can do with it; and you ought to give itto me right away, so that you cannot spend it for pigs and foolish farmthings. "

"I'll do it within ten days, Polly; and I won't meddle in your affairsif you will agree to keep within the limit. "

"It's a bargain, " said Polly, "and the house will be much more livablethan this one. What do you think we could sell this one for?"

"About $33, 000 or $34, 000, I think. "

"And will you sell it?"

"Of course, if you don't object. "

"Sell, to be sure; it would be foolish to keep it, for we'll be countryfolk in a year. "

"I have a theory, " said I, "that when we live on the farm we ought tocredit the farm with what it costs us for food and shelterhere, --providing, of course, that the farm feeds and shelters us aswell. "

"It will do it a great deal better. We will have a better house, betterfood, more company, more leisure, more life, and more everything thatcounts, than we ever had before. "

"We'll fix the value of those things when we've had experience, " said I. "Now let's get at the figures. I tell you plainly that I don't know whatthey foot up, --less than $40, 000, I hope. "

"Don't let's worry about them, no matter what they say. "

This from prudent, provident Polly!

"Certainly not, " said I, as bold as a lion. 

"There are thirty-five items on the debit side of the ledger and a fewlittle ones on the credit side. Hold your breath while I add them. 

"I have spent $44, 331 and have received $953, which leaves a debitbalance of $43, 378. "

"That isn't so awfully bad, when you think of all the fun you've had. "

"Fun comes high at this time of the year, doesn't it, Polly?"

"Much depends on what you call high. You have waited and worked a longtime for this. I won't say a word if you spend all you have in theworld. It's yours. "

"Mine and yours and the children's; but I won't spend it all. Seventy orseventy-five thousand dollars, besides your house and barn money, shallbe my limit. There is still an item of interest to be added to thisaccount. 

"Interest! Why, John Williams, do you mean to tell me that you borrowedthis money? I thought it was your own to do as you liked with. Have yougot to pay interest on it?"

"It was mine, but I loaned it to the farm. Before I made this loan I wasgetting five per cent on the money. I must now look to the farm for myfive per cent. If it cannot pay this interest promptly, I shall add thedeferred payment to the principal, and it shall bear interest. This mustbe done each year until the net income from the farm is greater than theinterest account. Whatever is over will then be used to reduce theprincipal. "

"That's a long speech, but I don't think it's very clear. I don't seewhy a man should pay interest on his own money. The farm is yours, isn'tit? You bought it with your own money, didn't you? What difference doesit make whether you charge interest or not?"

"Not the least difference in the world to us, Polly, but a great deal tothe experiment. "

"Oh, yes, I forgot the experiment. And how much interest do you add?"

"Five hundred and forty-two dollars. Also, $75 to the lawyer and $5 forrecording the deed, making the whole debt of the farm to me $44, 000even. "

"Does it come out just even $44, 000? I believe you've manipulated thefigures. "

"Not on your life! Add them yourself. They were put down at all sorts oftimes during the past five months. My dear, I wish you a good-night anda happy New Year. You have given me a very happy ending for the oldone. "

CHAPTER XVI

WINTER WORK

The new year opened full of all sorts of interests and new projects. There were so many things to plan for and to commence at the farm thatwe often got a good deal mixed up. I can hardly expect to make aconnected narrative of the various plans and events, so will follow eachone far enough to launch it and then leave it for future development. 

Little snow fell in January and February '96. The weather was averagewinter weather, and a good deal of outdoor work was done. On the 2d Iwent to the farm to plan with Thompson an outline for the two months. Ihad decided to make Thompson the foreman, for I had watched himcarefully for five months and was satisfied that I might go farther andfare a great deal worse. Indeed, I thought myself very fortunate to havefound such a dependable man. He was temperate and good-natured, and hehad a bluff, hearty way with the other men that made it easy for them toaccept his directions. He was thorough, too, in his work. He knew how ajob should be done, and he was not satisfied until it was finishedcorrectly. He was not a worker for work's sake, as was Anderson, but hewas willing to put his shoulder to the wheel for results. 

"Wait till I get my shoulder under it, " was a favorite expression withhim, and I am frank to say that when this conjunction took place therewas apt to be something doing. Thompson is still at Four Oaks, and itwill be a bad day for the farm when he leaves. 

"Thompson, " said I, "you are to be working foreman out here, and I wantyou to put your mind on the business and keep it there. I cannot raiseyour wages, for I have a system; but you shall have $50 as a Christmaspresent if things go well. Will you stay on these terms?"

"I will stay, all right, Dr. Williams, and I will give the best I'vegot. I like the looks of this place, and I want to see how you are goingto work it out. "

That being settled, I told Thompson of some things that must be doneduring January and February. 

"You must get out a great lot of wood, have it sawed, and store it inthe shed, more than enough for a year's use. The wood should be takenfrom that which is already down. Don't cut any standing trees, eventhough they are dead. Use all limbs that are large enough, but pile thebrushwood where it can be burned. We must do wise forestry in thesewoods, and we will have an unlimited supply of fuel. I mean that thewood lot shall grow better rather than worse as the years go by. Wecannot do much for it now, but more in time. You must see to it that themen are not careless about young trees, --no breaking or knocking downwill be in order. Another thing to look after is the ice supply. I willget Nelson to build an ice-house directly, and you must look around forthe ice. Have you any idea as to where it can be had?"

"A big company is getting ice on Round Lake three miles west, and Isuppose they will sell you what you want, " said Thompson, "and our teamscan haul it all right. "

"What do you suppose they will charge per ton on their platform?"

"From twenty-five to forty cents, I reckon. "

"All right, make as good a bargain as you can, and attend to it at thebest time. When the teams are not hauling ice or wood, let them drawgravel from French's pit. It will be hard to get it out in the winter, but I guess it can be done, and we will need a lot of it on these roads. Have it dumped at convenient places, and we will put it on the drives inthe spring. 

"Another thing, --we must have a bridge across the brook on each lane. You will find timbers and planks enough in the piles from the old barnsto make good bridges, and the men can do the work. Then there is allthat wire for the inside fences to stretch and staple; but mind, nobarbed wire is to be put on top of inside fences. 

"These five jobs will keep you busy for the next two months, forthere'll be only four men besides yourself to do them. I am going to setSam at the chicken plant. I'll see you before long, and we'll go overthe cow and hog plans; but you have your work cut out for the next twomonths. By the way, how much of an ice-house shall I need?"

"How many cows are you going to milk?"

"About forty when we run at full speed; perhaps half that number thisyear. "

"Well, then you'd better build a house for four hundred tons. That won'tbe too big when you are on full time, and it's a mighty bad thing to runshort of ice. "

I saw Nelson the same day and contracted with him for an ice-housecapable of holding four hundred tons, for $900. The walls of the houseto be of three thicknesses of lumber with two air spaces (one fourinches, the other two) without filling. As a result of the conferencewith Thompson, I had, before the first of March, a wood-house full ofwood, which seemed a supply for two years at full steam; an ice-housenearly full of ice; two serviceable bridges across the brook; the wirefencing almost completed; and eighty loads of gravel, --about one-thirdof what I needed. The whole cash outlay was, --

300 tons of ice at 30 cents per ton $90. 0080 tons of gravel at 25 cents per load 20. 00Fence staples 19. 00 ------ Total $129. 00

The conference with Sam Jones, the hen man, was deferred until my nextvisit, and my plans for the cow barn, dairy-house, and hog-house wereleft to Nelson for consideration, he promising to give me estimateswithin a few days. 

CHAPTER XVII

WHAT SHALL WE ASK OF THE HEN?

Sam Jones, the chicken-loving man, was as pleased as a boy with a newtop when I began to talk of a hen plant. He had a lot of practicalknowledge of the business, for he had _failed_ in it twice; and I couldfurnish any amount of theory, and enough money to prevent disaster. 

In his previous attempts he had invested nearly all his small capital ina plant that might yield two hundred eggs a day; he had to buy all foodsin small quantities, and therefore at high prices; and he had to givehis whole time to a business which was too small and too much on thehand-to-mouth order to give him a living profit. My theory of thebusiness was entirely different. I could plan for results, and, what wasmore to the point, I could wait for them. Mistakes, accidents, evendisasters, were disarmed by a bank account; my bread and butter did notdepend upon the temper of a whimsical hen. The food would cost theminimum. All grains and green food, and most of the animal food, in theform of skim milk, would be furnished by the farm. I meant also todevelop a plant large enough to warrant the full attention of anable-bodied man. I felt no hesitation about this venture, for I did notintend to ask more of my hens than a well-disposed hen ought to bewilling to grant. 

I do not ask a hen to lay a double-yolk every day in the year. That istoo much to expect of a creature in whom the mother instinct isprominent, and who wishes also to have a new dress for herself at leastonce in that time. I do not wish a hen to work overtime for me. If shewill furnish me with eight dozen of her finished product per annum, Iwill do the rest. Whatever she does more than that shall redound to hercredit. Two-hundred-eggs-a-year hens are scarcer than hens with teeth, and I was not looking for the unusual. A hen can easily lay one hundredeggs in three hundred and sixty-five days, and yet find time fordomestic and social affairs. She can feel that she is not a subject forcharity, while at the same time she retains her self-respect as a hen ofleisure. 

I have the highest regard for this domestic fowl, and I would not for agreat deal impose a too arduous task upon her. I feel like encouragingher in her peculiar industry, for which she is so eminently fitted, butnot like forcing her into strenuous efforts that would rob her ofvivacity and dull her social and domestic impulses. No; if the hen willpolitely present me with one hundred eggs a year, I will thank her andask no more. Some one will say: "How can you make hens pay if they don'tlay more than eight dozen eggs a year? Eggs sometimes sell as low astwelve cents per dozen. "

Four Oaks hens never have laid one-cent eggs, and never will. They wouldquit work if such a price were suggested. Ninety per cent of the eggsfrom Four Oaks have sold for thirty cents or more per dozen, and thedemand is greater than the supply. The Four Oaks certificate that theegg is not thirty-six hours old when it reaches the egg cup, makes twoand a half cents look small to those who can afford to pay for the best. To lack confidence in the egg is a serious matter at the breakfasttable, and a person who can insure perfect trust will not lackpatronage. If, therefore, a hen will lay eight dozen eggs, she iswelcome to say to an acquaintance: "I have just handed the Headman atwo-dollar bill, " for she knows that I have not paid fifty cents for herfood. 

Of course the wages of the hen man and his food and the interest on theplant must be counted, but I do not propose to count them twice. FourOaks is a factory where several things are made, each in a measuredependent on, and useful to, the others, and we cannot itemize costs ofsingle products because of this mutual dependence. I feel certain that Icould not drop one of the factory's industries without loss to each ofthe others. For this reason I kept a very simple set of books. I chargedthe farm with all money spent for it, and credited it with all moneysreceived. Even now I have no very definite knowledge of what it coststo keep a hen, a hog, or a cow; nor do I care. Such data are greatlyinfluenced by location, method of getting supplies, and marketfluctuations. I furnish most of my food, and my own market. My cropshave never entirely failed, and I take little heed whether they be largeor small. They are not for sale as crops, but as finished products. I amnot willing to sell them at any price, for I want them consumed on theplace for the sake of the land. 

Corn has sold for eighty cents a bushel since I began this experiment, yet at that time I fed as much as ever and was not tempted to sell abushel, though I could easily have spared five thousand. When it wentdown to twenty-eight cents, I did not care, for corn and oats to me aresimply in transition state, --not commodities to be bought or sold. Theycost me, one year with another, about the same. An abundant harvestfills my granaries to overflowing; a bad harvest doesn't deplete them, for I do not sell my surplus for fear that I, too, may have to buy outof a high market. I have bought corn and oats a few times, but only whenthe price was decidedly below my idea of the feeding value of thesegrains. I can find more than twenty-eight cents in a bushel of corn, andmore than eighteen cents in thirty-two pounds of oats. But I am away offmy subject. I began to talk about the hen plant, and have wandered to myfavorite fad, --the factory farm. 

CHAPTER XVIII

WHITE WYANDOTTES

"Sam, " said I, "I am going to start this poultry plant from just as nearthe beginning of things as possible. I want you to dispose of every henon the place within the next twenty days, and to burn everything thathas been used in connection with them. We've cleared this land ofdisease germs, if there were germs in it, by turning it bottom-side up;now let's start free from the pestiferous vermin that make a hen's lifeunhappy. No stock, either old or young, shall be brought here. When wewant to change our breeding, we'll buy eggs from the best fanciers andhatch them in our own incubators. It will then be our own fault if wedon't keep our chickens comfortable and free from their enemies. This issound theory, and we'll try how it works out in practice. Certainly itwill be easier to keep clean if we start clean. Not one board or pieceof lumber that has been used for any other purpose shall find place inmy hen-houses. Eternal vigilance makes a full egg basket; and a full eggbasket means a lot of money at the year's end. I will never find faultwith you for being too careful Attend to the details in such way assuits you best, provided the result is thorough and everlastingcleanliness. Nothing less will win out, and nothing less will meet therequirements of our factory rules. 

"The first thing to do is to get the incubating cellar made. It ought tobe four feet in the ground and four feet out of it. Make it ten feet byfifteen, inside measure, and you can easily run five two-hundred-eggincubators. Build it near the south fence in No. 4, --that's the lot forthe hens. The walls are to be of brick, and we'll have a brick floor putin, for it's too cold to concrete it now. Gables are to point east andwest, and each is to have a window; put the door in the middle of thesouth wall, and shingle the roof. Digging through three feet of frostwill be hard, but it must be done, and done quickly. I want you to startyour incubator lamps before the 3d of February. "

"I can dig the hole without much trouble, --big fire on the ground fortwo or three hours will help, --and I can put on the roof and do all thecarpenter work, but I can't lay the brick. "

"I'll look out for that part of the job, but I want you to see thatthings are pushed, for I shall have a thousand eggs here by February 1stand another thousand by the 25th, and these eggs mean money. "

"What do you have to pay for them?"

"Ten cents apiece, --$200 for two thousand eggs. "

"Well, I should say! Are they hand-painted? I wouldn't have had to quitbusiness if I could have sold my eggs at a quarter of that price. "

"That's all right, Sam, but you didn't sell White Wyandotte eggs forhatching. I've contracted with two of the best-known fanciers ofWyandottes in the country to send me five hundred eggs apiece February1st and 25th. I don't think the price is high for the stock. "

"Have you decided to keep 'dottes? I hoped you would try Leghorns;they're great layers. "

"Yes, they're great summer layers, but the American birds will beat themhollow in winter; and I must have as steady a supply of eggs aspossible. My customers don't stop eating eggs in winter, and they'll bewilling to pay more for them at that season. The Leghorn is too small tomake a good broiler, and as half the chicks come cockerels, we must lookout for that. "

"Why do you throw down the Plymouth Rocks? They're bigger than 'dottes, and just as good layers. "

"I threw down the barred Plymouth Rocks on account of color; I likewhite hens best. It was hard to decide between White Rocks andWyandottes, for there's mighty little difference between them asall-around hens. I really think I chose the 'dottes because the firstreply to my letters was from a man who was breeding them. "

"They are 'beauts, ' all of them, and I'll give them a good chance tospread themselves, " said Sam. 

"What percentage of hatch may we expect from purchased eggs?"

"About sixty chicks out of every hundred eggs, I reckon. "

"That would be doing pretty well, wouldn't it? If we had good luck withthe sixty chicks, how many would grow up?"

"Fifty ought to. "

"Of these fifty, can we count on twenty-five pullets?"

"Yes. "

"That's what I was getting at. You think we might, by good luck, raisetwenty-five pullets from each hundred eggs. I'll cut that in the middleand be satisfied with twelve, or even with ten. At that rate the twothousand eggs that cost $200 will give me two hundred pullets to beginthe egg-making next November. That's not enough; we ought to raise justtwice that number. I'll spend as much more on eggs to be hatched by themiddle of April or the first of May, and then we can reasonably expectto go into next winter with four hundred pullets. They will cost thefarm a dollar apiece, but the farm will have four hundred cockerels tosell at fifty cents each, which will materially reduce the cost. "

"I think you put that pretty low, sir; we ought to raise more than fourhundred pullets out of four thousand eggs. "

"Everything more will be clear gain. I shall be satisfied with fourhundred. We must also get at the brooder house. This is the order inwhich I want the buildings to stand in the chicken lot: first, theincubating house, 10 feet from the south line; 40 feet north of this, the brooder house; and 120 feet north of that, the first hen-house, withruns 100 feet deep. We'll build other houses for the birds as we needthem. They are all to face to the south. If the brooder house is 50 feetlong and 15 feet wide, it can easily care for the eight hundred chicks, and for half as many more, if we are lucky enough to get them. 

"We'll have a five-foot walk against the north wall of this house, and aten-foot space north and south through the centre for heating plant andfood. This will leave a space at each side ten by twenty feet, to be cutinto five pens four feet by ten, each of which will mother a hundredchicks or more. There must be plenty of glass in the south wall, andwe'll use overhead water pipes in each hover. 

"There's no hurry about the poultry-houses. You can build one in theearly summer, and perhaps another in the fall. I expect you to do thecarpenter work on these houses. I'll see the mason at once and have himready by the time you've dug the hole. The incubators will be here ingood time, and we want everything ready for work as soon as the eggsarrive. "

Sam was pleased with his job; it was exactly to his liking. He took realdelight in caring for fowls, and he was especially anxious to prove tome that it was not so much lack of knowledge as lack of capital that hadcaused the downfall of his previous efforts. Sam could not thenunderstand why one man could sell his eggs at thirty-six cents a dozenwhen his neighbor could get only sixteen; he found out later. 

The mason's work for the incubator house and the foundation wall for thebrooder house cost $290. The lumber bill for these two, including doorsand windows, was $464. The five incubators, $65, and the hot-waterheater for the brooder house, $68, made the total $897. Add to this $400paid during two months for eggs, and we have $1297 as the cost ofstarting the poultry plant. 

CHAPTER XIX

FRIED PORK

I had given Nelson this sketch as a guide in working out the plan forthe cow barn: Length over all, 130 feet; width, 40 feet. Thisparallelogram was to be divided lengthwise into three equal spaces, onein the centre for a driveway, and one on each side for the cow platformsand feeding mangers. Twenty feet at the west end of the barn waspartitioned off, one corner for a small granary, the other for a kitchenin which the food was to be prepared. These rooms were each thirteenfeet by twenty. At the other end of the building, ten feet on each sidewas given over to hospital purposes, --a lying-in ward ten feet bythirteen being on each side of the driveway. 

The foundation for this building was to be of stone, and the entirefloor of cement; and the walls were to be sealed within and sheetedwithout, and then covered with ship lap boards, making three thicknessesof boards. It was to be one story high. An east-and-west passage, cutting the main drive at right angles, divided the barn at its middle. At the south end of this passage was a door leading to the dairy-house, which was on the building line 150 feet away. The four spaces made bythese passages were each subdivided into ten stalls five feet wide. Twodoors on the north and two on the south gave exit for the cows. I hadplaced my limit at forty milch cows, and I thought this stable wouldfurnish suitable quarters for that number. If I had to rebuild, I wouldmake some modifications. Experience is a good teacher; but the stablehas served its purpose, and I cannot quarrel with the results. The chiefdefect is in the distribution of water. The supply is abundant, but itis let on only in the kitchen, whence it is supplied to the cows bymeans of a hose or a barrel swung between wheels. 

[Illustration]

In the kitchen are appliances for mixing and cooking food, and forwarming the drinking water in winter. Nelson and I discussed the sketchplan given below, and he found some fault with it. I would not bedissuaded from my views, however, and Nelson had to yield. I was asopinionated in those days as a theoretical amateur is apt to be; and itwas hard to give up my theories at the suggestion of a person who hadonly experience to guide him. The best plan, as I have long sincelearned, is to mix the two and use the solid substance that results fromtheir combination. 

We located the site of the building, and talked plans until the low sunof January 8th disappeared in the west. Then we adjourned to the sittingroom of the farm-house to finish the matter so far as was possible. Anhour and a half passed, and we were in fair accord, when Mrs. Thompsoncame into the room to say that supper was ready, and to ask us to jointhe men at table before starting homeward. I was glad of theopportunity, for I was curious to know if Mrs. Thompson set a goodtable. We went into the dining room just as the farm family was ready tosit down. There were ten of us, --two women, six men, Nelson, and myself;and as we sat down, I noticed with pleasure that each had evidentlytaken some thought of the obligations which a table ought to impose. Thetable was clothed in clean white, and there was a napkin at each plate. Nelson and I had the only perfectly fresh ones, and this I took asevidence that napkins were usual. The food was all on the table, and wasvery satisfactory to look at. Thompson sat at one end, and before him, on a great platter, lay two dozen or more pieces of fried salt pork, crisp in their shells of browned flour, and fit for a king. On one sideof the platter was a heaping dish of steaming potatoes. A knife hadbeen drawn once around each, just to give it a chance to expand and showmealy white between the gaping circles that covered its bulk. At theother side was a boat of milk gravy, which had followed the pork intothe frying-pan and had come forth fit company for the boiled potatoes. Iwent back forty years at one jump, and said, --

"I now renew my youth. Is there anything better under the sun than friedsalt pork and milk gravy? If there is, don't tell me of it, for I haveworshipped at this shrine for forty years, and my faith must not beshaken. "

Such a supper twice or thrice a week would warm the cockles of my oldheart; but Polly says, "No modern cook can make these things just right;and if not just right, they are horrid. " That is true; it takes anartist or a mother to fry salt pork and make milk gravy. 

There were other things on the table, --quantities of bread and butter, apple sauce (in a dish that would hold half a peck), stacks of freshginger-bread, tea, and great pitchers of milk; but naught could distractmy attention from the _pièce de résistance_. Thrice I sent my plateback, and then could do no more. That meal convinced me that I couldtrust Mrs. Thompson. A woman who could fry salt pork as my mother did, was a woman to be treasured. 

I left the farm-house at 7, and reached home by 8. 45. Polly was notquite pleased with my late hours; she said it did not worry her not toknow where I was, but it was annoying. 

"Can't you have a telephone put into the farm-house? It would beconvenient in a lot of ways. "

"Why, of course; I don't see why it can't be done at once. I'll makeapplication this very night. "

It was six weeks before we really got a wire to the farm, but after thatwe wondered how we ever got along without it. 

CHAPTER XX

A RATION FOR PRODUCT

Nelson was to commence work on the cow-house at once; at least, themason was. I left the job as a whole to Nelson, and he made some sort ofcontract with the mason. The agreement was that I should pay $4260 forthe barn complete. The machinery we put into it was very simple, --awater heater and two cauldrons for cooking food. All three cost about$60. 

Thompson had selected six cows, from those bought with the place, asworth wintering. They were now giving from six to eight quarts each, andwere due to come in in April and May. An eight-quart-a-day cow was notmuch to my liking, but Thompson said that with good care they would dobetter in the spring. "Four of those cows ought to make fine milkers, "he said; "they are built for it, --long bodies, big bags, milk veins thatstand out like crooked welts, light shoulders, slender necks, and leanheads. They are young, too; and if you'll dehorn them, I believe they'llmake your thoroughbreds hump themselves to keep up with them at the milkpail. You see, these cows never had more than half a chance to showwhat they could do. They have never been 'fed for milk. ' Farmers don'tdo that much. They think that if a cow doesn't bawl for food or drinkshe has enough. I suppose she has enough to keep her from starving, andperhaps enough to hold her in fair condition, but not enough to do thisand fill the milk pail, too. I read somewhere about a ration for'maintenance' and one for 'product, ' and there was a deal of difference. Most farmers don't pay much attention to these things, and I guessthat's one reason why they don't get on faster. "

"You've got the whole matter down fine in that 'ration for product, 'Thompson, and that's what we want on this farm. A ration that willsimply keep a cow or a hen in good health leaves no margin for profit. Cows and hens are machines, and we must treat them as such. Crowd in theraw material, and you may look for large results in finished product. The question ought always to be, How much can a cow eat and drink? not, How little can she get on with? Grain and forage are to be turned intomilk, and the more of these foods our cows eat, the better we like it. If these machines work imperfectly, we must get rid of them at once andat any price. It will not pay to keep a cow that persistently fallsbelow a high standard. We waste time on her, and the smooth running ofthe factory is interrupted. I'm going to place a standard on this farmof nine thousand pounds a year for each matured cow; I don't think thattoo high. If a cow falls much below that amount, she must give place toa better one, for I'm not making this experiment entirely for my health. The standard isn't too high, yet it's enough to give a fine profit. Itmeans at least three hundred and fifty pounds of butter a year, and inthis case the butter means at least thirty cents a pound, or more than$100 a year for each cow. This is all profit, if one wishes to figure itby itself, for the skimmed milk will more than pay for the food andcare. But why did you say dehorn the cows?"

"Well, I notice that a man with a club is almost sure to find some usefor it. If he isn't pounding the fence or throwing it at a dog, he'ssnipping daisies or knocking the heads off bull-thistles. He's alwaysdoing something with it just because he has it in his hand. It's thesame way with a cow. If she has horns, she'll use them in some way, andthey take her mind off her business. No, sir; a cow will do a lot betterwithout horns. There's mighty little to distract her attention when herclubs are gone. "

"What breeds of cows have you handled, Thompson?"

"Not any thoroughbreds that I know of; mostly common kinds and gradeJerseys or Holsteins. "

"I'm going to put a small herd of thorough bred Holsteins on the place. "

"Why don't you try thoroughbred Jerseys' They'll give as much butter, and they won't eat more than half as much. "

"You don't quite catch my idea, Thompson. I want the cow that will eatthe most, if she is, at the same time, willing to pay for her food. Imean to raise a lot of food, and I want a home market for it. What comesfrom the land must go back to it, or it will grow thin. The Holsteinwill eat more than the Jersey, and, while she may not make more butter, she will give twice as much skimmed milk and furnish more fertilizer toreturn to the land. Fresh skimmed milk is a food greatly to be prized bythe factory-farm man; and when we run at full speed, we shall have threehundred thousand pounds of it to feed. 

"I have purchased twenty three-year-old Holstein cows, in calf toadvanced registry bulls, and they are to be delivered to me March 10. Ishall want you to go and fetch them. I also bought a young bull from thesame herd, but not from the same breeding. These twenty-one animals willcost, by the time they get here, $2200. I shall give the bull to myneighbor Jackson. He will be proud to have it, and I shall be relievedof the care of it. Be good to your neighbor, Thompson, if by so doingyou can increase the effectiveness of the factory farm. We will startthe dairy with twenty thoroughbreds and six scrubs. I shall probably buyand sell from time to time; but of one thing I am certain: if a cowcannot make our standard, she goes to the butcher, be she mongrel orthoroughbred. What do you think of Judson as a probable dairyman?"

"I shouldn't wonder if he would do first-rate. He's a quiet fellow, andcows like that. He has those roans tagging him all over the place; andif a horse likes a man, it's because he's nice and quiet in his ways. Inotice that he can milk a cow quicker than the other men, and it ain'tbecause he don't milk dry--I sneaked after him twice. The cow just givesdown for him better than for the others. "

CHAPTER XXI

THE RAZORBACK

We have now launched three of the four principal industries of ourfactory farm. The fourth is perhaps the most important of all, if asingle member of a group of mutually dependent industries can have thisdistinction. There is no question that the farmer's best friend is thehog. He will do more for him and ask less of him than any other animal. All he asks is to be born. That is enough for this non-ruminantquadruped, who can find his living in the earth, the roadside ditch, orthe forest, and who, out of a supply of grass, roots, or mast, canfurnish ham and bacon to the king's taste and the poor man'smaintenance. The half-wild razorback, with never a clutch of corn to hisback, gives abundant food to the mountaineer over whose forest heranges. The cropped or slit ear is the only evidence of human care orhuman ownership. He lives the life of a wild beast, and in the autumn hedies the death of a wild beast; while his flesh, made rich with juicesof acorns, beechnuts, and other sweet masts, nourishes a man whose onlyexercise of ownership is slaughter. The hog that can make his ownliving, run like a deer, and drink out of a jug, has done more for thepioneer and the backwoodsman than any other animal. 

Take this semi-wild beast away from his wild haunts, give him food andcare, and he will double his gifts. Add a hundred generations of carefulselection, until his form is so changed that it is beyond recognition, and again the product will be doubled. The spirit of swine is notchanged by civilization or good breeding; such as it was on that daywhen the herd "ran down a steep place and was drowned in the sea, " suchit is to-day. A fixed determination to have its own way dominated thecreature then, and a pig-headed desire to be the greatest food-producingmachine in the world is its ruling passion now. That the hog hassucceeded in this is beyond question; for no other food animal canincrease its own weight one hundred and fifty fold in the first eightmonths of its life. 

All over the world there is a growing fondness for swine flesh, and theever increasing supply doesn't outrun the demand. Since the dispersionof the tribes of Israel there has been no persistent effort todepopularize this wonderful food maker. Pig has more often been the foodof the poor than of the rich, but now rich and poor alike do it honor. Old Ben Jonson said:--

"Now pig is meat, and a meat that is nourishing and may be desired, andconsequently eaten: it may be eaten; yea, very exceedingly well eaten. "

Hundreds have praised the rasher of ham, and thousands the flitch ofbacon; it took the stroke of but one pen to make roast pig classical. 

The pig of to-day is so unlike his distant progenitor that he would notbe recognized; if by any chance he were recognized, it would be onlywith a grunt of scorn for his unwieldy shape and his unenterprisingspirit. Gone are the fleet legs, great head, bulky snout, terrible jaws, warlike tusks, open nostrils, flapping ears, gaunt flanks, and racingsides; and with these has gone everything that told of strength, freedom, and wild life. In their place has come a cuboidal mass, twiceas long as it is broad or high, with a place in front for mouth andeyes, and a foolish-looking leg under each corner. A mighty fall from"freedom's lofty heights, " but a wonderfully improved machine. Themodern hog is to his progenitor as the man with the steam-hammer to theman with the stone-hammer, --infinitely more useful, though not so free. 

It is not easy to overestimate the value of swine to the general farmer;but to the factory farmer they are indispensable. They furnish aprofitable market for much that could not be sold, and they turn thiswaste material into a surprising lot of money in a marvellously shorttime. A pig should reach his market before he is nine months old. Fromthe time he is new-born until he is 250 days old, he should gain atleast one pound a day, which means five cents, in ordinary times. During this time he has eaten, of things which might possibly have beensold, perhaps five dollars' worth. At 250 days, with a gain of one pounda day, he is worth, one year with another, $12. 50. This is putting ittoo low for my market, but it gives a profit of not less than $6 a headafter paying freight and commissions. It is, then, only a question ofhow many to keep and how to keep them. To answer the first half of thisquestion I would say, Keep just as many as you can keep well. It neverpays to keep stock on half rations of food or care, and pigs are notexceptions. In answering the other half of the question, how to keepthem, I shall have to go into details of the first building of a piggeryat Four Oaks. 

As in the case of the hens, I determined to start clean. Hogs had beenkept on the farm for years, and, so far as I could learn, there had beenno epizoötic disease. The swine had had free range most of the time, andthe specimens which I bought were healthy and as well grown as could beexpected. They were not what I wanted, either in breed or indevelopment, so they had been disposed of, all but two. These I nowconsigned to the tender care of the butcher, and ordered the sty inwhich they had been kept to be burned. 

I had planned to devote lot No. 2 to a piggery. There are five acres inthis lot, and I thought it large enough to keep four or five hundredpigs of all sizes in good health and good condition for forcing. Some ofthe swine, not intended for market, would have more liberty; but closeconfinement in clean pens and small runs was to be the rule. To crowdhogs in this way, and at the same time to keep them free from disease, would require special vigilance. The ordinary diseases that come fromdamp and draughts could be fended off by carefully constructedbuildings. Cleanliness and wholesome food ought to do much, andisolation should accomplish the rest. I have established a perfectquarantine about my hog lot, and it has never been broken. After thefirst invoices of swine in the winter and spring of 1896, no hog, youngor old, has entered my piggery, save by the way of a sixty-dayquarantine in the wood lot, and very few by that way. 

My pigs are several hundred yards from the public roads, and myneighbor, Jackson, has planted a young orchard on his land to the northof my hog lots, and permits no hogs in this planting. I have thussecured practical isolation. I have rarely sent swine to fairs or stockshows. In the few instances in which I have broken this rule I have soldthe stock shown, never returning it to Four Oaks. 

Isolation, cleanliness, good food, good water, and a constant supply ofashes, charcoal, and salt, have kept my herd (thus far) from thosedreadfully fatal diseases that destroy so many swine. If I can keep thespecific micro-organism that causes hog-cholera off my place, I need notfear the disease. The same is true of swine plague. These diseases areof bacterial origin, and are communicated by the transference ofbacteria from the infected to the non-infected. I propose to keep myhealthy herd as far removed as possible from all sources of infection. Ihave carried these precautions so far that I am often scoffed at. Irequire my swineherd, when returning from a fair or a stock show, totake a full bath and to disinfect his clothing before stepping into thepig-house. This may seem an unnecessary refinement in precautionarymeasures, but I do not think so. It has served me well: no case ofcholera or plague has shown itself at Four Oaks. 

What would I do if disease should appear? I do not know. I think, however, that I should fight it as hard as possible at close quarters, killing the seriously ill, and burning all bodies. After the scourge hadpassed I would dispose of all stock as best I could, and then burn theentire plant (fences and all), plough deep, cover the land white as snowwith lime, leave it until spring, plough again, and sow to oats. Duringthe following summer I would rebuild my plant and start afresh. A wholeyear would be lost, and some good buildings, but I think it would pay inthe end. There would be no safety for the herd while a single colony ofcholera or plague bacteria was harbored on the place; and while neithermight, for years, appear in virulent form, yet there would be constantsmall losses and constant anxiety. One cannot afford either of theseannoyances, and it is usually wise to take radical measures. If we applysound business rules to farm management, we shall at least deservesuccess. 

I chose to keep thoroughbred swine for the reason that all the standardvarieties are reasonably certain to breed true to a type which, in eachbreed, is as near pork-making perfection as the widest experience canmake it. Most of our good hogs are bred from English or Chinese stock. Modifications by climate, care, crossing, and wise selection haveprocured a number of excellent varieties, which are distinct enough towarrant separate names, but which are nearly equal as pork-makers. 

In color one could choose between black, black and white, and white andred. I wanted white swine; not because they are better than swine ofother colors, for I do not think they are, but for æsthetic reasons. Mypoultry was to be white, and white predominated in my cows; why shouldnot my swine be white also, --or as white as their habits would permit? Iam told on all sides that the black hog is the hardiest, that it fattenseasier, and that for these reasons it is a better all-round hog. Thismay be true, but I am content with my white ones. When some neighbortakes a better bunch of hogs to market, or gets a better price for them, than I do, I may be persuaded to think as he talks. Thus far I have soldclose to the top of the market, and my hogs are never left over. 

Perhaps my hogs eat more than those of my neighbors. I hope they do, forthey weigh more, on a "weight for age" scale, and I do not think theyare "air crammed, " for "you cannot fatten capons so. " I am more thansatisfied with my Chester Whites. They have given me a fine profit eachyear, and I should be ungrateful if I did not speak them fair. 

I wished to get the hog industry started on a liberal scale, and scouredthe country, by letter, for the necessary animals. I found it difficultto get just what I wanted. Perhaps I wanted too much. This is what Iasked for: A registered young sow due to farrow her second litter inMarch or April. By dint of much correspondence and a considerable outlayof money, I finally secured nineteen animals that answered therequirements. I got them in twos and threes from scattered sources, andthey cost an average price of $31 per head delivered at Four Oaks. Ayoung boar, bred in the purple, cost $27. My foundation herd of ChesterWhites thus cost me $614, --too much for an economical start; but, again, I was in a hurry. 

The hogs began to arrive in February, and were put into temporaryquarters pending the building of the house for the brood sows, whichhouse must now be described. 

It was a low building, 150 by 30 feet, divided by a six-foot alley-wayinto halves, each 150 by 12 feet. Each of these halves was again dividedinto fifteen pens 10 by 12 feet, with a 10 by 30 run for each pen. Thiswas the general plan for the brood-house for thirty sows. At the eastend of this house was a room 15 by 30 feet for cooking food and storingsupplies for a few days. The building was of wood with plank floors. Itstands there yet, and has answered its purpose; but it was never quitesatisfactory. I wanted cement floors and a more sightly building. Ishall probably replace it next year. When it was built the weather wasunfavorable for laying cement, and I did not wish to wait for a moreclement season. The house and the fences for the runs cost $2100. 

On the 6th of March Thompson called me to one of the temporary pens andshowed me a family of the prettiest new-born animals in the world, --afine litter of no less than nine new-farrowed pigs. I felt that thefourth industry was fairly launched, and that we could now work andwait. 

CHAPTER XXII

THE OLD ORCHARD

March was unusually raw even for that uncooked month. The sun had tocross the line before it could make much impression on the deep frost. After the 15th, however, we began to find evidences that things werestirring below ground. The red and yellow willows took on brightercolors, the bark of the dogwood assumed a higher tone, and the catkinsand lilac buds began to swell with the pride of new sap. 

If our old orchard was to be pruned while dormant, it must be done atonce. Thompson and I spent five days of hard work among the trees, cutting out all dead limbs, crossing branches, and suckers. We calledthe orchard old, but it was so only by comparison, for it was not out ofits teens; and I did not wish to deal harshly with it. A good manyunusual things were being done for it in a short time, and it was notwise to carry any one of them too far. It had been fertilized andploughed in the fall, and now it was to be pruned and sprayed, --allinnovations. The trees were well grown and thrifty. They had given afair crop of fruit last year, and they were well worth considerableattention. They could not hereafter be cultivated, for they were all inthe soiling lot for the cows, but they could be pruned and sprayed. Thelack of cultivation would be compensated by the fertilization incidentto a feeding lot. The trees would give shade and comfort to the cows, while the cows fed and nourished the trees, --a fair exchange. 

The crop of the year before, though half the apples were stung, hadbrought nearly $300. With better care, and consequently better fruit, wecould count on still better results, for the varieties were excellent(Baldwins, Jonathans, and Rome Beauties); so we trimmed carefully andburned the rubbish. This precaution, especially in the case of deadlimbs, is important, for most dead wood in young trees is due todisease, often infectious, and should be burned at once. 

I bought a spraying-pump (for $13), which was fitted to a sound oilbarrel, and we were ready to make the first attack on fungus diseasewith the Bordeaux mixture. This was done by Johnson and Anderson late inthe month. Another vigorous spraying with the same mixture when the budswere swelling, another when the flower petals were falling, and stillanother when the fruit was as large as peas (the last two sprayings hadParis green added to the Bordeaux mixture), and the fight against appleenemies was ended for that year. 

Thompson had gone for the cows. He left March 9, and returned with thebeauties on Friday the 17th. They were all my fancy had paintedthem, --large, gentle-eyed, with black and white hair over softbutter-yellow skin, and all the points that distinguish these marvellousmilk-machines. They were bestowed as needs must until the cow barn wascompleted. One of them had dropped a bull calf two days before leavingthe home farm. The calf had been left, and the mother was in anuncomfortable condition, with a greatly distended udder and milkstreaming from her four teats, though Thompson had relieved her thricewhile _en route_. 

I was greatly pleased with the cows, but must not spend time on themnow, for things are happening in my factory faster than I can tell ofthem. Johnson had built some primitive hotbeds for early vegetables outof old lumber and oiled muslin. He had filled them with refuse from thehorse stable and had sown his seeds. 

CHAPTER XXIII

THE FIRST HATCH

On February 3 the incubator lamps were lighted under the first invoiceof one thousand eggs. The incubating cellar was to Sam's liking, and hefelt confident that three weeks of strict attention to temperature, moisture, and the turning of eggs, would bring results beyond myexpectations. 

After the seventh day, on which he had tested or candled the eggs, hewas willing to promise almost anything in the way of a hatch, up toseventy-five or eighty per cent. In the intervals of attendance on theincubators he was hard at work on the brooder-house, which must be readyfor its first occupants by the 25th. Everything went smoothly until the18th. That morning Sam met me with a long face. 

"Something went wrong with one of my lamps last night, " said he. "Ilooked at them at ten o'clock and they were all right, but at six thismorning one of the thermometers was registering 122°, and the wholebatch was cooked. "

"Not the whole thousand, Sam!"

"No, but 170 fertile eggs, and that spoils a twenty-dollar bill and alot of good time. What in the name of the black man ever got into thatlamp of mine is more than I know. It's just my luck!"

"It's everybody's luck who tries to raise chickens by wholesale, and wemust copper it. Don't be downed by the first accident, Sam; keepfighting and you'll win out. "

The brooder-house was ready when the first chicks picked the shells onthe 24th, and within thirty-six hours we had 503 little white balls offluff to transfer from the four incubators to the brooder-house. We putabout a hundred together in each of five brooders, fed them cut oats andwheat with a little coarse corn meal and all the fresh milk they coulddrink, and they throve mightily. 

The incubators were filled again on the 26th, and from that hatch we got552 chicks. On the 21st of March they were again filled, and on the 13thof April we had 477 more to add to the colony in the brooder-house. Forthe last time we started the lamps April 15th, and on the 6th of May weclosed the incubating cellar and found that 2109 chicks had been hatchedfrom the 4000 eggs. The last hatch was the best of all, giving 607. Idon't think we have ever had as good results since, though to tell thetruth I have not attempted to keep an exact count of eggs incubated. Myopinion is that fifty per cent is a very good average hatch, and thatone should not expect more. 

In September, when the young birds were separated, the census report was723 pullets and 764 cockerels, showing an infant mortality of 622, ortwenty-nine per cent. The accidents and vicissitudes of earlychickenhood are serious matters to the unmothered chick, and they mustnot be overlooked by the breeder who figures his profits on paper. 

After the first year I kept no tabs on the chickens hatched; my desirewas to add each year 600 pullets to my flock, and after the third seasonto dispose of as many hens. It doesn't pay to keep hens that are morethan two and a half years old. I have kept from 1200 to 1600 laying hensfor the past six years. I do not know what it costs to feed one or allof them, but I do know what moneys I have received for eggs, youngcockerels, and old hens, and I am satisfied. 

There is a big profit in keeping hens for eggs if the conditions areright and the industry is followed, in a businesslike way, in connectionwith other lines of business; that is, in a factory farm. If one had todevote his whole time to the care of his plant, and were obliged to buyalmost every morsel of food which the fowls ate, and if his market weredistant and not of the best, I doubt of great success; but with food atthe lowest and product at the highest, you cannot help making goodmoney. I do not think I have paid for food used for my fowls in any oneyear more than $500; grits, shells, meat meal, and oil meal will coverthe list. I do not wish to induce any man or woman to enter thisbusiness on account of the glowing statements which these pages contain. I am ideally situated. I am near one of the best markets for fine food;I can sell all the eggs my hens will lay at high prices; food costs theminimum, for it comes from my own farm; I utilize skim-milk, theby-product from another profitable industry, to great advantage; and Ihad enough money to carry me safely to the time of product. In otherwords, I could build my factory before I needed to look to it forrevenue. I do not claim that this is the only way, but I do claim thatit is the way for the fore-handed middle-aged man who wishes to changefrom city to country life without financial loss. Younger people withless means can accomplish the same results, but they must offset moneyby time. The principle of the factory farm will hold as well with theone as with the other. 

To intensify farming is the only way to get the fat of the land. Thenations of the old world have nearly reached their limit in foodproduction. They are purchasers in the open market. This country must bethat market; and it behooves us to look to it that the market be wellstocked. There is land enough now and to spare, but will it be so fiftyor a hundred years hence? Our arid lands will be made fertile byirrigation, but they will add only a small percentage to the amountalready in quasi-cultivation. Our future food supplies must be drawnlargely from the six million farms now under fences. These farms must bemade to yield fourfold their present product, or they will fall short, not only of the demands made upon them, but also of their possibilities. That is why I preach the gospel of intensive farming, for grain, hay, market, and factory farm alike. 

I will put the chickens out of the way for the present, referring tothem from time to time and indicating their general management, the costof their houses and food, and the amount of money received for eggs andfowls. I do not think my plant would win the approval of fanciers, andit is not in all ways up to date; but it is clean, healthy, andcommodious, and the birds attend as strictly to business as a reasonableowner could wish. I shall be glad to show it to any one interestedenough to search it out, and to go into the details of the business andshow how I have been able to make it so remunerative. 

Sam is with me no longer. For three years he did good service and savedmoney, and the lurid nose grew dim. There is, however, a limit to humanendurance. Like victims of other forms of circular insanity, thedipsomaniac completes his cycle in an uncertain period and falls uponbad times. For a month before we parted company I saw signs of relapsein Sam. He was loquacious at times, at other times morose. He talkedabout going into business for himself, and his nose took on new color. Ilabored with him, but to no purpose; the spirit of unrest was upon him, and it had to work its own. I held him firm long enough to secureanother man, and then we parted, he to do business for himself, I to geton as best I could. Sam painted his nose and raised chickens and otherthings until his savings had flown; then he got a position with a womanwho runs a broiler plant, and for two years he has given good service. He will probably continue in ways of well-doing until the next cycle iscomplete, when the beacon light will blaze afresh and he will follow iton to the rocks. Such a man is more to be pitied than condemned, for hisanchor is sure to drag at times. 

CHAPTER XXIV

THE HOLSTEIN MILK MACHINE

During the month of March the teams hauled more gravel. They alsodistributed the manure that had been purchased in the fall for mulchingthe trees. While the ground was still frozen this mulch was placed nearthe trees, to be used as soon as the sun had warmed the earth. The moundof dirt at the base of each tree was of course levelled down before thisdressing was applied. I never afterward purchased stable or stock-yardmanure, though I could often have used it to advantage; for I did notthink it safe to purchase this kind of fertilizer for a farm where largenumbers of animals are kept. The danger from infection is too great. Large quantities of barnyard manure were furnished yearly out of my ownpits, and I supplemented it with a good deal of the commercial variety. I try to turn back to the land each year more than I take from it, but Ido not dare to go to a stock-yard for any part of my supply. It was notuntil I had mentally established a quarantine for my hogs that Irealized the danger from those six carloads of manure; and I promisedmyself then that no such breach of quarantine should again occur. 

The cows arrived on St. Patrick's Day. Our herd was then composed of thetwenty Holstein heifers (coming three years old), and six of the best ofthe common cows purchased with the farm. Within forty days the herd wasincreased by the addition of twenty-three calves. Twenty-five were born, but two were dead. Of this number, eighteen were Holsteins eligible forregistration, ten heifers, and eight bulls. Each calf was taken from itsmother on the third day and fed warm skim-milk from a patent feederthree times a day, all it would drink. When three weeks old, seven ofthe Holstein calves and the five from the common cows were sent tomarket. They brought $5. 25 each above the expense of selling, or $63 forthe bunch. The ten Holstein heifer calves were of course held; and onebull calf, which had a double cross of Pieterje 2d and Pauline Paul, andwhich seemed an unusually fair specimen, was kept for furtherdevelopment. 

The cow barn was finished about April 1st, and shortly after that theherd was established in permanent quarters. As the dairy-house wasunfinished, and there was no convenient way of disposing of the milkwhich now flowed in abundance, I bought a separator (for $200) and sentthe cream to a factory, using the fresh skim-milk for the calves andyoung pigs and chickens. 

From March 22, when I began to sell, until May 10, when my dairy-housewas in working order, I received $203 for cream. Thompson had sold milkfrom the old cows, from August to December, 1895, to the amount of $132. This item should have been entered on the credit side for the last year, but as it was not, we will make a note of it here. These are the onlysales of milk and cream made from Four Oaks since I bought the land. 

The milk supply from my herd started out at a tremendous rate, considering the age of the cows. It must be borne in mind that none ofthe thoroughbreds was within three years of her (probable) best; yetthey were doing nobly, one going as high as fifty-two pounds of milk inone day, and none falling below thirty-six as a maximum. The common cowsdid nearly as well at first, four of them giving a maximum of thirty-twopounds each in twenty-four hours. It was easy to see the differencebetween the two sorts, however. The old ones had reached maturity andwere doing the best they could; the others were just beginning tomanufacture milk, and were building and regulating their machinery forthat purpose. The Holsteins, though young, were much larger than the oldcows, and were enormous feeders. A third or a half more food passedtheir great, coarse mouths than their less aristocratic neighbors couldbe coaxed to eat. Food, of course, is the one thing that will makemilk; other things being equal, then the cow that consumes the most foodwill produce the most milk. This is the secret of the Holsteins'wonderful capacity for assimilating enormous quantities of food withoutretaining it under their hides in the shape of fat. They have been bredfor centuries with the milk product in view, and they have becomenotable machines for that purpose. They are not the cows for people tokeep who have to buy feed in a high market, for they are not easykeepers in any sense; but for the farmer who raises a lot of grain androughage which should be fed at his own door, they are ideal. They willeat much and return much. 

As to feeding for milk, I have followed nearly the same plan through mywhole experiment. I keep an abundance of roughage, usually shreddedcorn, before the cows all the time. When it has been picked overmoderately well, it is thrown out for bedding, and fresh fodder is putin its place. The finer forages, timothy, red-top, clover, alfalfa, andoat straw, are always cut fine, wetted, and mixed with grain beforefeeding. This food is given three times a day in such quantities as willbe eaten in forty-five minutes. Green forage takes the place of dry inseason, and fresh vegetables are served three times a week in winter. The grain ration is about as follows: By weight, corn and cob meal, three parts; oatmeal, three parts; bran, three parts; gluten meal, twoparts; linseed meal, one part. The cash outlay for a ton of this mixtureis about $12; this price, of course, does not include corn and oats, furnished by the farm. A Holstein cow can digest fifteen pounds of thisgrain a day. This means about two and a half tons a year, with a cashoutlay of $30 per annum for each head. Fresh water is always given fourtimes a day, and much of the time the cows have ready access to it. Incold weather the water is warmed to about 65° F. The cows are let out ina twenty-acre field for exercise every day, except in case of severestorms. They are fed forage in the open when the weather is fine andinsects are not troublesome, and they sometimes sleep in the open on hotnights; but by far the largest part of their time is spent in their ownstalls away from chilling winds and biting flies. In their stables theyare treated much as fine horses are, --well bedded, well groomed, andwell cared for in all ways. 

A quiet, darkened stable conduces rumination. Loud talking, shouting, orlaughing are not looked upon with favor in our cow barn. On the otherhand, continuous sounds, if at all melodious, seem to soothe the animalsand increase the milk flow. Judson, who has proved to be our bestherdsman, has a low croon in his mouth all the time. It can hardly becalled a tune, though I believe he has faith in it, but it has afetching way with the herd. I have never known him to be quick, sharp, or loud with the cows. When things go wrong, the crooning ceases. Whenit is resumed, all is well in the cow world. The other man, French, whois an excellent milker, and who stands well with the cows, has a halfhiss, half whistle, such as English stable-boys use, except that it runsup and down five notes and is lost at each end. The cows like it andseem to admire French for his accomplishment even more than Judson, forthey follow his movements with evident pleasure expressed in their greatox eyes. 

Rigid rules of cleanliness are carried out in every detail with thegreatest exactness. The house and the animals are cared for all the timeas if on inspection. Before milking, the udders are carefully brushedand washed, and the milker covers himself entirely with a clean apron. As each cow is milked, the milker hangs the pail on a spring balance andregisters the exact weight on a blackboard. He then carries the milkthrough the door that leads to the dairy-house, and pours it into a tankon wheels. This ends his responsibility. The dairymaid is then incharge. 

CHAPTER XXV

THE DAIRYMAID

Of course I had trouble in getting a dairymaid. I was not looking forthe bouncing, buxom, red-cheeked, arms-akimbo, butter-colored-hair sort. I didn't care whether she were red-cheeked and bouncing or not, but forobvious reasons I didn't want her hair to be butter-colored. What I didwant was a woman who understood creamery processes, and who could andwould make the very giltest of gilt-edged butter. 

I commenced looking for my paragon in January. I interviewed applicantsof both sexes and all nationalities, but there was none perfect; no, notone. I was not exactly discouraged, but I certainly began to growanxious as the time approached when I should need my dairymaid, and needher badly. One day, while looking over the _Rural New Yorker_ (I wasweaned on that paper), I saw the following advertisement. "Wanted:Employment on a dairy-farm by a married couple who understand thebusiness. " If this were true, these two persons were just what I needed;but, was it true? I had tried a score of greater promise and had notfound one that would do. Was I to flush two at once, and would theyfall to my gun?

A small town in one of the Middle Western states was given as theaddress, and I wrote at once. My letter was strong in requirements, andasked for particulars as to experience, age, references, andnationality. The reply came promptly, and was more to my liking than anyI had received before. Name, French; Americans, newly married, twenty-eight and twenty-six respectively; experience four and threeyears in creamery and dairy work; references, good; the couple wished towork together to save money to start a dairy of their own. I was pleasedwith the letter, which was an unusual one to come from native-bornAmericans. Our people do not often hunt in couples after this manner. Itelegraphed them to come to the city at once. 

It was late in April when I first saw the Frenches. The man was tall andraw-boned, but good-looking, with a frank manner that inspiredconfidence. He was a farmer's son with a fair education, who had saved alittle money, and had married his wife out of hand lest some one elseshould carry her off while he was building the nest for her. 

"I took her when I could get her, " he said, "and would have done it witha two-dollar bill in my pocket rather than have taken chances. "

The woman was worthy of such an extreme measure, for she looked capableof caring for both. She was a fine pattern of a country girl, with ahead full of good sense, and very useful-looking hands and arms. Herface was good to look upon; it showed strength of character and adefinite object in life. She said she understood the creamery processesin all their niceties, and that she could make butter good enough forQueen Victoria. 

The proposition offered by this young couple was by far the best I hadreceived, and I closed with them at once. I agreed to pay each $25 amonth to start with, and explained my plan of an increasing wage of $1 amonth for each period of six months' service. They thought they ought tohave $30 level. I thought so, too, if they were as good as theypromised. But I had a fondness for my increasing scale, and I held toit. These people were skilled laborers, and were worth more to beginwith than ordinary farm hands. That is why I gave them $25 a month fromthe start. Six hundred dollars a year for a man and wife, with noexpense except for clothing, is good pay. They can easily put away $400out of it, and it doesn't take long to get fore-handed. I think theFrenches have invested $500 a year, on an average, since they came toFour Oaks. 

It is now time to get at the dairy-house, since the dairy and thedairymaid are both in evidence. The house was to be on the buildingline, and both Polly and I thought it should have attractive features. We decided to make it of dark red paving brick. It was to be eighteenfeet by thirty, with two rooms on the ground. The first, or south room, ten feet by eighteen, was fitted for storing fruit, and afforded astairway to the rooms above, which were four in number besides the bath. The larger room was of course the butter factory, and was equipped withup-to-date appliances, --aërator, Pasteurizer, cooler, separator, Babcocktester, swing churn, butter-worker, and so on. The house was to havesteep gables and projecting eaves, with a window in each gable, and twodormer windows in each roof. The walls were to be plastered, and theground floor was to be cement. It cost $1375. 

As motive power for the churn and separator, a two-sheep-power treadmillhas proved entirely satisfactory. It is worked by two sturdy wethers whoare harbored in a pleasant house and run, close to the power-house, andwho pay for their food by the sweat of their brows and the wool fromtheir backs. They do not appear to dislike the "demnition grind, " whichlasts but an hour twice a day; they go without reluctance to the trampthat leads nowhere, and the futile journey which would seem foolish toanything wiser than a sheep. This sheep-power is one of the curios ofthe place. My grand-girls never lose their interest in it, and it hasbeen photographed and sketched more times than there are fingers andtoes on the sheep. 

The expenditure for equipment, from separator to sheep, was $354. Imade an arrangement with a fancy grocer in the city to furnish himthirty pounds, more or less, of fresh (unsalted) butter, six days in theweek, at thirty-three cents a pound, I to pay express charges. I boughtsix butter-carriers with ice compartments for $3. 75 each, $23 in all, and arranged with the express company to deliver my packages to thegrocer for thirty cents each. The butter netted me thirty-two cents apound that year, or about $60 a week. 

In July I bought four thoroughbred Holsteins, four years old, in freshmilk, and in October, six more, at an average price of $120 ahead, --$1200 in all. These reënforcements made it possible for me tokeep my contract with the middleman, and often to exceed it. 

The dairy industry was now fairly launched and in working order. It hadcost, not to be exact, $7000, and it was reasonably sure to bring backto the farm about $60 a week in cash, besides furnishing butter for thefamily and an immense amount of skim-milk and butter-milk to feed to theyoung animals on the place. 

CHAPTER XXVI

LITTLE PIGS

By April 1st all my sows had farrowed. There was much variation in thenumber of pigs in these nineteen litters. One noble mother gave methirteen, two of which promptly died. Three others farrowed eleven each, and so down to one ungrateful mother who contributed but five to theindustry at Four Oaks. The average, however, was good; 154 pigs on April10th were all that a halfway reasonable factory man could expect. 

These youngsters were left with their mothers until eight weeks old;then they were put, in bunches of thirty, into the real hog-house, whichwas by that time completed. It was 200 feet long and 50 feet wide, witha 10-foot passageway through the length of it. On either side were 10pens 20 feet by 20, each connected with a run 20 feet by 120. The housestood on a platform or bed of cement 90 by 200 feet, which formed thefloor of the house and extended 20 feet outside of each wall, to securecleanliness and a dry feeding-place in the open. The cement floor wasexpensive ($1120 as first cost), but I think it has paid for itselfseveral times over in health and comfort to the herd. The structure onthis floor was of the simplest; a double wall only five feet high at thesides, shingled roof, broken at the ridge to admit windows, and strongpartitions. It cost $3100. As in the brood-sow house, there is a kitchenat the west end. The 150 little pigs made but a small showing in thisgreat house, which was intended to shelter six hundred of all sizes, from the eight-weeks-old baby pig to the nine-months-oldthree-hundred-pounder ready for market. 

Pigs destined for market never leave this house until ripe for killing. At six or seven months a few are chosen to remain on the farm and keepup its traditions; but the great number live their ephemeral lives ofeight months luxuriously, even opulently, until they have made the hamand bacon which, poor things, they cannot save, and then pass into thepork barrel or the smoke-house without a sigh of regret. They toil not, neither do they spin; but they have a place in the world's economy, andthey fit it perfectly. So long as one animal must eat another, the mananimal should thank the hog animal for his generosity. 

Now that my big hog-house seemed so empty, I would gladly have sent intothe highways and byways to buy young stock to fill it; but I dared notbreak my quarantine. I could easily have picked up one hundred or eventwo hundred new-weaned pigs, within six or eight miles of my place, atabout $1. 50 each, and they would have grown into fat profit by fall; butI would not take a risk that might bear ill fruit. I had slightdepressions of spirits when I visited my piggery during that summer; butI chirked up a little in the fall, when the brood sows again made good. But more of that anon. 

CHAPTER XXVII

WORK ON THE HOME FORTY

April and May made amends for the rudeness of March, and the ploughswere early afield. Thompson, Zeb, Johnson, and sometimes Anderson, followed the furrows, first in 10 and 11, and lastly in 13. Number 9 hada fair clover sod, and was not disturbed. We ploughed in all about 114acres, but we did not subsoil. We spent twenty days ploughing and asmany more in fitting the ground for seed. The weather was unusually warmfor the season, and there was plenty of rain. By the middle of May, oatswere showing green in Nos. 8, 10, 11, 12, and 13, --sixty-two acres. Thecorn was well planted in 15 and the west three-quarters of14, --eighty-two acres. The other ten acres in the young orchard wasplanted to fodder corn, sown in drills so that it could be cultivated inone direction. 

The ten-acre orchard on the south side of the home lot was used forpotatoes, sugar beets, cabbages, turnips, etc. , to furnish a wintersupply of vegetables for the stock. 

The outlook for alfalfa was not bright. In the early spring wefertilized it again, using five hundred pounds to the acre, though itseemed like a conspicuous waste. The warm rains and days of April andMay brought a fine crop of weeds; and about the middle of May I turnedAnderson loose in the fields with a scythe, and he mowed down everythingin sight. 

After that things soon began to look better in the alfalfa fields. Asthe season was favorable, we were able to cut a crop of over a ton tothe acre early in July, and nearly as much in the latter part of August. We cut forty tons from these twenty acres within a year from seeding, but I suspect that was unusual luck. I had used thirteen hundred poundsof commercial fertilizer to the acre, and the season was very favorablefor the growth of the plant. I have since cut these fields three timeseach year, with an average yield of five tons to the acre for the wholecrop. 

I like alfalfa, both as green and as dry forage. When we use it green, we let it lie in swath for twenty-four hours, that it may wiltthoroughly before feeding. It is then fit food for hens, hogs, and, inlimited quantities, for cows, and is much relished. When used dry, it isalways cut fine and mixed with ground grains. In this shape it is fedliberally to hens and hogs, and also to milch cows; for the latter itforms half of the cut-food ration. 

While the crops are growing, we will find time to note the changes onthe home lot. Nearly in front of the farm-house, and fifty yardsdistant, was a space well fitted for the kitchen garden. We marked off aplat two hundred feet by three hundred, about one and a half acres, carted a lot of manure on it, and ploughed it as deep as the subsoilerwould reach. This was done as soon as the frost permitted. We expectedthis garden to supply vegetables and small fruits for the whole colonyat Four Oaks. An acre and a half can be made exceedingly productive ifproperly managed. 

Along the sides of this garden we planted two rows of currant andgooseberry bushes, six feet between rows, and the plants four feet apartin the rows. The ends of the plat were left open for convenience inhorse cultivation. Ten feet outside these rows of bush fruit was planteda line of quince trees, thirty on each side, and twenty feet beyondthese a row of cherry trees, twenty in each row. 

Near the west boundary of the home lot, and north of the lane thatenters it, I planted two acres of dwarf pear trees--Bartlett andDuchess, --three hundred trees to the acre. I also planted six hundredplum trees--Abundance, Wickson, and Gold--in the chicken runs on lot 4. After May 1, when he was relieved from his farm duties, Johnson hadcharge of the planting and also of the gardening, and he took up hisspecial work with energy and pleasure. 

The drives on the home lot were slightly rounded with ploughs andscraper, and then covered with gravel. The open slope intended for thelawn was now to be treated. It comprised about ten acres, irregular inform and surface, and would require a good deal of work to whip it intoshape. A lawn need not be perfectly graded, --in fact, naturalinequalities with dips and rises are much more attractive; but we had totake out the asperities. We ploughed it thoroughly, removed all stumpsand stones, levelled and sloped it as much as pleased Polly, harrowed ittwice a week until late August, sowed it heavily to grass seed, rolledit, and left it. 

Polly had the house in her mind's eye. She held repeated conversationswith Nelson, and was as full of plans and secrets as she could hold. Byagreement, she was to have a free hand to the extent of $15, 000 for thehouse and the carriage barn. I never really examined the plans, though Isaw the blue prints of what appeared to be a large house with a drivingentrance on the east and a great wide porch along the whole south side. I did not know until it was nearly finished how large, convenient, andcomfortable it was to be. A hall, a great living-room, the dining room, a small reception room, and an office, bedroom, and bath for me, wereall on the ground floor, besides a huge wing for the kitchen and otheruseful offices. 

Above stairs there was room for the family and a goodly number offriends. We had agreed that the house should be simple in all ways, withno hard wood except floors, and no ornamentation except paint and paper. It must be larger than our needs, for we looked forward to delightfulvisits from many friends. We were to have more leisure than ever beforefor social life, and we desired to make the most of our opportunities. 

A country house is by all odds the finest place to entertain friends andto be entertained by them. They come on invitation, not as a matter ofform, and they stay long enough to put by questions of weather, clothes, and servant-girls, and to get right down to good old-fashioned visiting. Real heart-to-heart talks are everyday occurrences in country visits, while they are exceptional in city calls. We meant to make much of ourfriends at Four Oaks, and to have them make much of us. We havediscovered new values even in old friends, since we began to live withthem, weeks at a time, under the same roof. Their interests are ours, and our plans are warmly taken up by them. There is nothing like itamong the turmoils and interruptions of town life, and the older we growthe more we need this sort of rest among our friends. The guest book atthe farm will show very few weeks, in the past six years, when friendshaven't been with us, and Polly and I feel that the pleasure we havereceived from this source ought to be placed on the credit side of thefarm ledger. 

Another reason for a company house was that Jack and Jane would shortlybe out of school. It was not at all in accord with our plan that theyshould miss any pleasure by our change. Indeed, we hoped that the changewould be to their liking and to their advantage. 

CHAPTER XXVIII

DISCOUNTING THE MARKET

We broke ground for the house late in May, and Nelson said that weshould be in it by Thanksgiving Day. Soon after the plans were settledPolly informed me that she should not spend much money on the stable. 

"Can't do it, " she said, "and do what I ought to on the house. I willgive you room for six horses; the rest, if you have more, must go to thefarm barn. I cannot spend more than $1100 or $1200 on the barn. "

Polly was boss of this department, and I was content to let her have herway. She had already mulcted me to the extent of $436 for trees, plants, and shrubs which were even then grouped on the lawn after a fashion thatpleased her. I need not go into the details of the lawn planting, theflower garden, the pergola, and so forth. I have a suspicion that Pollyhas in mind a full account of the "fight for the home forty, " in a formgreatly better than I could give it, and it is only fair that she shouldtell her own story. I am not the only one who admires her landscape, herflower gardens, and her woodcraft. Many others do honor to her tastesand to the evidence of thought which the home lot shows. She disclaimsgreat credit, for she says, "One has only to live with a place to findout what it needs. "

As I look back to the beginning of my experiment, I see only one bit ofgood luck that attended it. Building material was cheap during themonths in which I had to build so much. Nothing else specially favoredme, while in one respect my experiment was poorly timed. The price ofpork was unusually low. For three years, from 1896, the price of hogsnever reached $5 per hundred pounds in our market, --a thingunprecedented for thirty years. I never sold below three and a halfcents, but the showing would have been wonderfully bettered could I haveadded another cent or two per pound for all the pork I fattened. Theaverage price for the past twenty-five years is well above five cents apound for choice lots. Corn and all other foods were also cheap; butthis made little difference with me, because I was not a seller ofgrain. 

In 1896 I was, however, a buyer of both corn and oats. In September ofthat year corn sold on 'Change at 19-1/2 cents a bushel, and oats at14-3/4. These prices were so much below the food value of these grainsthat I was tempted to buy. I sent a cash order to a commission house forfive thousand bushels of each. I stored this grain in my granary, against the time of need, at a total expense of $1850, --21 cents abushel for corn and 16 for oats. I had storage room and to spare, and Iknew that I could get more than a third of a cent out of each pound ofcorn, and more than half a cent out of each pound of oats. I recalledthe story of a man named Joseph who did some corn business in Egypt agood many years ago, much in this line, and who did well in thetransaction. There was no dream of fat kine in my case; but I knewsomething of the values of grains, and it did not take a reader ofriddles to show me that when I could buy cheaper than I could raise, itwas a good time to purchase. 

As I said once before, there have been no serious crop failures at FourOaks, --indeed, we can show better than an average yield each year; butthis extra corn in my cribs has given me confidence in following my planof very liberal feeding. With this grain on hand I was able to cuttwenty acres of oats in Nos. 10 and 11 for forage. This was done whenthe grain was in the milk, and I secured about sixty tons of excellenthay, much loved by horses. We got from No. 9 a little less than twelvetons of clover, --alfalfa furnished forty tons; and there was nearlytwenty tons of old hay left over from that originally purchased. Withall this forage, good of its kind, there was, however, no timothy or redtop, which is by all odds the best hay for horses. I determined toremedy this lack before another year. As soon as the oats were off lots10 and 11, they were ploughed and crossed with the disk harrow. Fromthen until September 1, these fields were harrowed each week in halflap, so that by the time we were ready to seed them they were inexcellent condition and free from weeds. About September 1 they weresown to timothy and red top, fifteen pounds each to the acre, top-dressed with five hundred pounds of fertilizer, harrowed once more, rolled, and left until spring, when another dose of fertilizer was used. 

I wished to establish twenty acres of timothy and as much alfalfa, tofurnish the hay supply for the farm. With one hundred tons of alfalfaand sixty of timothy, which I could reasonably expect, I could get onsplendidly. 

From the first I have practised feeding my hay crop for immediatereturns. The land receives five hundred pounds of fertilizer per acrewhen it is sown, a like amount again in the spring, and, as soon as acrop is cut, three hundred pounds an acre more. This usually gives asecond crop of timothy about September 1, if the season is at allfavorable. The alfalfa is cut at least three times, and for each cuttingit receives three hundred pounds of plant food per acre. In the courseof a year I spend from $10 to $12 an acre for my grass land. In return Iget from each acre of timothy, in two cuttings, about three and a halftons; worth, at an average selling price, $12 a ton. The alfalfa yieldsnearly five tons per acre, and has a feeding value of $10 a ton. I havesold timothy hay a few times, but I feel half ashamed to say so, for itis against my view of justice to the land. I find oat hay cheaper toraise than timothy, and, as it is quite as well liked by the horses, Ihave been tempted to turn a part of my timothy crop into money directlyfrom the field. 

CHAPTER XXIX

FROM CITY TO COUNTRY

In early July I went through my young orchard, which had been cut backso ruthlessly the previous autumn, and carefully planned a head for eachtree. Quite a bunch of sprouts had started from near the top of eachstub, and were growing luxuriantly. Out of each bunch I selected threeor four to form the head; the rest were rubbed off or cut out with asharp knife or pruning shears. It surprised me to see what a growth someof these sprouts had made; sixteen or eighteen inches was not uncommon. Big roots and big bodies were pushing great quantities of sap toward thetops. 

Of course I bought farm machinery during this first season, --mower, reaper, corn reaper, shredder, and so on. In October I took account ofexpenditures for machinery, grass seed, and fertilizer, and found that Ihad invested $833. I had also, at an expense of $850, built a large shedor tool-house for farm implements. It is one of the rules at Four Oaksto grease and house all tools when not in actual use. I believe theobservation of this rule has paid for the shed. 

In October 1896 I had a good offer for my town house, and accepted it. I had purchased the property eleven years before for $22, 000, but, as itwas in bad condition, I had at once spent $9000 on it and the stable. Isold it for $34, 000, with the understanding that I could occupy it forthe balance of the year if I wished. 

After selling the house, I calculated the cost of the elementarynecessities, food and shelter, which I had been willing to pay duringmany years of residence in the city. The record ran about like this:--

Interest at 5% on house valued at $34, 000 $1700. 00Yearly taxes on same 340. 00Insurance 80. 00Fuel and light 250. 00Wages for one man and three women 1200. 00Street sprinkling, watchman, etc. 90. 00Food, including water, ice, etc. 1550. 00 ________ Making a total of $5210. 00

It cost me $100 a week to shelter and feed my family in the city. This, of course, took no account of personal expenses, --travel, sight-seeing, clothing, books, gifts, or the thousand and one things which enter moreor less prominently into the everyday life of the family. 

If the farm was to furnish food and shelter for us in the future, itwould be no more than fair to credit it with some portion of thisexpenditure, which was to cease when we left the city home. What portionof it could be justly credited to the farm was to be decided bycomparative comforts after a year of experience. I did not plan ourexodus for the sake of economy, or because I found it necessary toretrench; our rate of living was no higher than we were willing and ableto afford. Our object was to change occupation and mode of life withoutfinancial loss, and without moulting a single comfort. We wished to endour days close to the land, and we hoped to prove that this could bedone with both grace and profit. I had no desire to lose touch with thecity, and there was no necessity for doing so. Four Oaks is less than anhour from the heart of town. I could leave it, spend two or three hoursin town, and be back in time for luncheon without special effort; andPolly would think nothing of a shopping trip and friends home with herto dinner. The people of Exeter were nearly all city people who were sofortunate as not to be slaves to long hours. They were rich by work orby inheritance, and they gracefully accepted the _otium cum dignitate_which this condition permitted. Social life was at its best in Exeter, and many of its people were old acquaintances of ours. A noted countryclub spread its broad acres within two miles of our door, and I had beenfavorably posted for membership. It did not look as though we should bethrust entirely upon our own resources in the country; but at the worstwe had resources within our own walls and fences that would fend off allbut the most violent attacks of ennui. 

We were both keenly interested in the experiment. Nothing that happenedon the farm went unchallenged. The milk product for the day was a thingof interest; the egg count could not go unnoted; a hatch of chickensmust be seen before they left the incubator; a litter of new-born pigsmust be admired; horses and cows were forever doing things which theyshould or should not do; men and maids had griefs and joys to share withmistress or Headman; flowers were blooming, trees were leafing, a robinhad built in the black oak, a gopher was tunnelling the rose bed, --athousand things, full of interest, were happening every day. As a placewhere things the most unexpected do happen, recommend me to a quietfarm. 

But we were not to depend entirely upon outside things for diversion. Books we had galore, and we both loved them. Many a charming eveninghave I spent, sometimes alone, more often with two or three congenialfriends, listening to Polly's reading. This is one of her mostdelightful accomplishments. Her friends never tire of her voice, and hervoice never tires of her friends. We all grow lazy when she is about;but there are worse things than indolence. No, we did not mean to dropout of anything worth while; but we were pretty well provisioned againsta siege, if inclement weather or some other accident should lock us upat the farm. 

To keep still better hold of the city, I suggested to Tom and Kate thatthey should keep open house for us, or any part of us, whenever we wereinclined to take advantage of their hospitality. This would give us cityrefuge after late functions of all sorts. The plan has worked admirably. I devote $1200 a year out of the $5200 of food-and-shelter money to thesupport of our city shelter at Kate's house, and the balance, $4000, isentered at the end of each year on the credit side of the farm ledger. Nor do I think this in any way unjust. We do not expect to get thingsfor nothing, and we do not wish to. If the things we pay for now are asvaluable as those we paid for six or eight years ago, we ought not tofind fault with an equal price. I have repeatedly polled the family onthis question, and we all agree that we have lost nothing by the change, and that we have gained a great deal in several ways. Our friends are oflike opinion; and I am therefore justified in crediting Four Oaks with aconsiderable sum for food and shelter. We have bettered our conditionwithout foregoing anything, and without increasing our expenses. That isenough. 

CHAPTER XXX

AUTUMN RECKONING

We harvested the crops in the autumn of 1896, and were thankful for thebountiful yield. Nearly sixteen hundred bushels of oats and twenty-sevenhundred bushels of corn made a proud showing in the granary, when addedto its previous stock. The corn fodder, shredded by our own men andmachine, made the great forage barn look like an overflowing cornucopia, and the only extra expense attending the harvest was $31 paid forthreshing the oats. 

Three important items of food are consumed on the farm that have to bepurchased each year, and as there is not much fluctuation in the pricepaid, we may as well settle the per capita rate for the milch cows andhogs for once and all. At each year's end we can then easily find thecash outlay for the herds by multiplying the number of stock by the costof keeping one. 

My Holstein cows consume a trifle less than three tons of grain each peryear, --about fifteen pounds a day. Taking the ration for four cows as amatter of convenience, we have: corn and cob meal, three tons, andoatmeal, three tons, both kinds raised and ground on the farm, and notcharged in this account; wheat bran, three tons at $18, $54; glutenmeal, two tons at $24, $48; oil meal, one ton, $26; total cash outlayfor four cows, $128, or $32 per head. This estimate is, however, about$2 too liberal. We will, hereafter, charge each milch cow $30, and willalso charge each hog fattened on the place $1 for shorts and middlingsconsumed. This is not exact, but it is near enough, and it greatlysimplifies accounts. 

As I kept twenty-six cows ten months, and ten more for an average offour and a half months, the feeding for 1896 would be equivalent to oneyear for thirty cows, or $900. To this add $120 for swine food and $25for grits and oyster shells for the chickens, and we have $1045 paid forfood for stock. Shoeing the horses for the year and repairs to machinerycost $157. The purchased food for eight employees for twelve months andfor two additional ones for eight months, amounted to $734. The wageaccount, including $50 extra to Thompson, was $2358. 

A second hen-house, a duplicate of the first, was built before October. It was intended that each house should accommodate four hundred layinghens. We have now on the place five of these houses; but only two ofthem, besides the incubator and the brooder-house, were built in 1896. As offset to the heavy expenditure of this year, I had not much to show. Seven hundred cockerels were sold in November for $342. In October thepullets began laying in desultory fashion, and by November they hadsettled down to business; and that quarter they gave me 703 dozen eggsto sell. As these eggs were marketed within twenty-four hours, and undera guarantee, I had no difficulty in getting thirty cents a dozen, net. November eggs brought $211, and the December out-put, $252. I sold 600bushels of potatoes for $150, and the apples from 150 of the old trees(which, by the way, were greatly improved this year) brought $450 on thetrees. 

The cows did well. In the thirty-three weeks from May 12 to December 31, I sold a little more than 6600 pounds of butter, which netted me $2127. 

We had 122 young hogs to sell in December. They had been crowded as fastas possible to make good weight, and they went to market at an averageof 290 pounds a head. The price was low, but I got the top of themarket, --$3. 55 a hundred, which amounted to $1170 after paying charges. I had reserved twenty-five of the most likely young sows to stay on thefarm, and had transferred eight to the village butcher, who was toreturn them in the shape of two barrels of salt pork, thirty-two smokedhams and shoulders, and a lot of bacon. 

The old sows farrowed again in September and early October, and we wentinto the winter with 162 young pigs. I get these details out of the waynow in order to turn to the family and the social side of life at FourOaks. 

CHAPTER XXXI

THE CHILDREN

The house did not progress as fast as Nelson had promised, and it waslikely to be well toward Christmas before we could occupy it. As thedays shortened, Polly and I found them crowded with interests. Life atFour Oaks was to mean such a radical change that we could not helpspeculating about its influence upon us and upon the children. Would itbe satisfactory to us and to them? Or should we find after a year or twoof experiment that we had been mistaken in believing that we could livehappier lives in the country than in town? A year and a half of outdoorlife and freedom from professional responsibilities had wrought a greatchange in me. I could now eat and sleep like a hired man, and it seemedpreposterous to claim that I was going to the country for my health. Mymedical adviser, however, insisted that I had not gotten far enough awayfrom the cause of my breakdown, and that it would be unwise for me totake up work again for at least another year. In my own mind there was afixed opinion that I should never take it up again. I loved it dearly;but I had given long, hard service to it, and felt that I had earned theright to freedom from its exacting demands. I have never lost interestin this, the noblest of professions, but I had done my share, and wasnow willing to watch the work of others. In my mind there was no doubtabout the desirability of the change. I have always loved the thought ofcountry life, and now that my thoughts were taking material shape, I waskeen to push on. Polly looked toward the untrammelled life we hoped tolead with as great pleasure as I. 

But how about the children? Would it appeal to them with the same forceas to us? The children have thus far been kept in the background. Iwanted to start my factory farm and to get through with most of its dulldetails before introducing them to the reader, lest I should be divertedfrom the business to the domestic, or social, proposition. 

The farm is laid by for the winter, and most of the details needed for ajust comprehension of our experiment have been given. From this time onwe will deal chiefly with results. We will watch the out-put from thefactory, and commend or find fault as the case may deserve. 

The social side of life is quite as important as the commercial, forthough we gain money, if we lose happiness, what profit have we? Let usstudy the children to see what chances for happiness and good fellowshiplie in them. 

Kate is our first-born. She is a bright, beautiful woman offive-and-twenty, who has had a husband these six years, one daughter forfour years, and, wonderful to relate, another daughter for two years. She is quick and practical, with strong opinions of her own, prompt withadvice and just as prompt with aid; a woman with a temper, but a friendto tie to in time of stress. She has the education of a good school, andwhat is infinitely better, the cultivation of an observing mind. She isquick with tongue and pen, but her quickness is so tempered byunquestioned friendliness that it fastens people to her as with a cord. She overflows with interests of every description, but she is never toobusy to listen sympathetically to a child or a friend. She is thepractical member of the family, and we rarely do much out of theordinary without first talking it over with Kate. 

Tom Hamilton, her husband, is a young man who is getting on in theworld. He is clever in his profession, and sure to succeed beyond thesuccess of most men. He is quiet in manner, but he seems to have a wayof managing his quick, handsome wife, which is something of a surpriseto me, and to her also, I fancy. They are congenial and happy, and theirchildren are beings to adore. Tom and Kate are to live in town. They aretoo young for the joys of country life, and must needs drag on as theyare, loved and admired by a host of friends. They can, and will, however, spend much time at Four Oaks; and I need not say they approvedour plans. 

Jack is our second. He was a junior at Yale, and I am shy of saying muchabout him lest I be accused of partiality. Enough to say that he istall, blond, handsome, and that he has gentle, winning ways that drawthe love of men and women. He is a dreamer of dreams, but he has asturdy drop of Puritan blood in his veins that makes him strong inconviction and brave in action. Jack has never caused me an hour ofanxiety, and I was ever proud to see him in any company. 

Concerning Jane, I must be pardoned in advance for a father'sfavoritism. She is my youngest, and to me she seems all that a fathercould wish. Of fair height and well moulded, her physique is perfect. Good health and a happy life had set the stamp of superb womanhood uponher eighteen years. Any effort to describe her would be vain andunsatisfactory. Suffice it to say that she is a pure blonde, with eyes, hair, and skin just to my liking. She is quiet and shy in manner, deliberate in speech, sensitive beyond measure, wise in intuitivejudgment, clever in history and literature, but always a little in doubtas to the result of putting seven and eight together, and notunreasonably dominated by the rules of orthography. She is fond ofoutdoor life, in love with horses and dogs, and withal very much of ahome girl. Every one makes much of Jane, and she is not spoiled, butrather improved by it. She was in her second year at Farmington, and, like all Farmington students, she cared more for girls than for boys. 

These were the children whom I was to transport from the city, wherethey were born, to the quiet life at Four Oaks. After carefully takingtheir measures, I felt little hesitation about making the change. They, of course, had known of the plan, and had often been to the farm; butthey were still to find out what it really meant to live there. A saddlehorse and dogs galore would square me with Jane, beyond question; butwhat about Jack? Time must decide that. His plan of life was not yetformed, and we could afford to wait. We did not have much time in whichto weigh these matters, for the Christmas holidays were near, and theyoungsters would soon be home. We planned to be settled in the new housewhen they arrived. 

CHAPTER XXXII

THE HOME-COMING

In arranging to move my establishment I was in a quandary as to what itwas best to do for a coachman. Lars had been with me fifteen years. Hecame a green Swedish lad, developed into a first-class coachman, marrieda nice girl--and for twelve years he and his wife lived happily in therooms above my stable. Two boys were born to them, and these lads werenow ten and twelve years of age. Shortly after I bought the farm Larswas so unfortunate as to lose his good wife, and he and the boys wereleft forlorn. A relative came and gave them such care as she could, butthe mother and wife was missed beyond remedy. In his depression Larstook to drink, and things began to go wrong in the stable. He was notoften drunk, but he was much of the time under the influence of alcohol, and consequently not reliable. I had done my best for the poor fellow, and he took my lectures and chidings in the way they were intended, and, indeed, he tried hard to break loose from the one bad habit, but with nogood results. His evil friends had such strong hold on him that theycould and would lead him astray whenever there was opportunity. Pollyand I had many talks about this matter. She was growing timid under hisdriving, and yet she was attached to him for long and faithful service. 

"Let's chance it, " she said. "If we get him away from these people wholead him astray, he may brace up and become a man again. "

"But what about the boys, Polly?" said I. 

"We ought to be able to find something for the boys to do on the farm, and they can go to school at Exeter. Can't they drive the butter-cartout each morning and home after school? They're smart chaps, you know, and used to doing things. "

Polly had found a way, and I was heartily glad of it, for I did not feellike giving up my hold on the man and the boys. Lars was glad of thechance to make good again, and he willingly agreed to go. He was toreceive $23 a month. This was less than he was getting in the city, butit was the wage which we were paying that year at the farm, and he wascontent; for the boys were each to receive $5 a month, and to be sent toschool eight months a year for three years. 

This matter arranged, we began to plan for the moving. I had five horsesin my stable, --a span of blacks for the carriage and three singledrivers. Besides the horses, harness, and equipment, there was a largecarriage, a brougham, a Goddard phæton, a runabout, and a cart. Iexchanged the brougham and the Goddard for a station wagon and a parkphæton, as more suitable for country use. 

The barn equipment was all sent in one caravan, Thompson and Zeb cominginto town to help Lars drive out. Our lares and penates were sent byfreight on December 17. Polly had managed to coax another thousanddollars out of me for things for the house; and these, with thefurniture from our old home, made a brave showing when we gatheredaround the big fire in the living room, December 22, for our first nightin the country. 

Tom, Kate, and the grand-girls were with us to spend the holidays, andso, too, was the lady whom we call Laura. I shall not try to say muchabout Laura. She was a somewhat recent friend. How we ever came to knowher well, was half a mystery; and how we ever got on before we knew herwell, was a whole one. 

Roaring fires and shaded lamps gave an air of homelike grace to our newhouse, and we decided that we would never economize in either wood oroil; they seemed to stir the home spirit more than ever did coal orelectricity. 

The day had been a busy one for the ladies, but they were pleased withresults as they looked around the well-ordered house and saw the work oftheir hands. Before separating for the night, Kate said:--

"I'm going to town to-morrow, and I'll pick up Jane and Jack in time totake the four o'clock train out. Papa will meet us at the station, andMomee will greet us at the doorstep. Make an illumination, Momee, and wewill carry them by storm. Tom will have to take a later train, but hewill be here in time for dinner. "

The afternoon of the 23d, the children came, and there was no failure inKate's plan. The youngsters were delighted with everything. Jane said:--

"I always wanted to live on a farm. I can have a saddle horse now, andkeep as many dogs as I like, can't I, Dad?"

"You shall have the horse, and the dogs, too, when you come to stay. "

"Daddy, " said Jack, "this will be great for you. Let me finish at anagricultural college, so that I can be of some practical help. "

"Not on your life, my son! What your daddy doesn't know about farmingwouldn't spoil a cup of tea! While you are at home I will give you dailyinstruction in this most wholesome and independent business, which willbe of incalculable benefit to you, and which, I am frank to say, youcannot get in any agricultural college. College, indeed! I have spentthousands of hours in dreaming and planning what a farm should be like!Do you suppose I am going to let these visions become contaminated bypractical knowledge? Not by a long way! I have, in the silent watchesof the night, reduced the art to mathematical exactness, and I can showyou the figures. Don't talk to me about colleges!"

After supper we took the children through the house. Every part wasinspected, and many were the expressions of pleasure and admiration. They were delighted with their rooms, and apparently with everythingelse. We finally quieted down in front of the open fire and discussedplans for the holidays. The children decided that it must be a houseparty. 

"Florence Marcy is with an aunt for whom she doesn't particularly care, and Minnie will just jump at the chance of spending a week in thecountry, " said Jane. 

"You can invite three girls, and Jack can have three men. Of courseJessie Gordon will be here. We will drive over in the morning and makesure of her. "

"Jack, whom will you ask? Get some good men out here, won't you?"

"The best in the world, little sister, and you will have to keep a sharplookout or you will lose your heart to one of them. Frank Howard willcount it a lark. He has stuck to the "business" as faithfully as if hewere not heir to it, and he will come sure to-morrow night. Dear oldPhil--my many years' chum--will come because I ask him. These two areall right, and we can count on them. The other one is Jim Jarvis, --thefinest man in college. "

"Tell us about him, Jack. "

"Jarvis's father lives in Montana, and has a lot of gold mines and otherthings to keep him busy. He doesn't have time to pay much attention tohis son, who is growing up after his own fashion. Jim's mother is dead, and he has neither brother nor sister, --nothing but money and beauty andhealth and strength and courage and sense and the stanchest heart thatever lifted waistcoat! He has been on the eleven three years. They wanthim in the boat, but he'll not have it; says it's not good work for aman. He's in the first division, well toward the front, too, and in thebest society. He's taken a fancy to me, and I'm dead gone on him. He'sthe man for you to shun, little woman, unless you wish to be ledcaptive. "

"There are others, Jack, so don't worry about me. But do you think youcan secure this paragon?"

"Not a doubt of it! I'll wire him in the morning, and he'll be here assoon as steam can bring him; he's my best chum, you know. "

This would make our party complete. We were all happy and pleased, andthe evening passed before we knew it. 

CHAPTER XXXIII

CHRISTMAS EVE

The next day was a busy one for all of us. Polly and Jane drove to theGordons and secured Miss Jessie, and then Jane went to town to fetch herother friends. Jack went with her, after having telegraphed to JimJarvis. They all came home by mid-afternoon, just as a message came fromJarvis: "Will be on deck at six. "

Florence Marcy and Minnie Henderson were former neighbors andschoolmates of Jane's. They were fine girls to look at and bright girlsto talk with; blondes, eighteen, high-headed, full of life, and greatgirls for a house party. Phil and Frank were good specimens of theirkinds. Frank was a little below medium height, slight, blond, vivaciousto a degree, full of fun, and the most industrious talker within miles;he would "stir things up" at a funeral. Phil Stone was tall, slender, dark, quiet, well-dressed, a good dancer, and a very agreeable fellow inthe corner of the room, where his low musical voice was most effective. 

Jessie Gordon came at five o'clock. We were all very fond of Jessie, andwho could help it? She was tall (considerably above the averageheight), slender, straight as an arrow, graceful in repose and inmotion. She carried herself like a queen, with a proud kind of shynessthat became her well. Her head was small and well set on a slender neck, her hair dark, luxurious, wavy, and growing low over a broad forehead, her eyes soft brown, shaded by heavy brows and lashes. She had a Greciannose, and her mouth was a shade too wide, but it was guarded bysingularly perfect and sensitive lips. Her chin was pronounced enough togive the impression of firmness; indeed, save for the soft eyes andsensitive mouth, firmness predominated. She was not a great talker, yetevery one loved to listen to her. She laughed with her eyes and lips, but rarely with her voice. She enjoyed intensely, and could, therefore, suffer intensely. She was a dear girl in every way. 

All was now ready for the début of Jack's paragon. Jack had driven tothe station to fetch him, and presently the sound of wheels on thegravel drive announced the arrival of the last guest. I went into thehall to meet the men. 

"Daddy, I want you to know my chum, Jim Jarvis, --the finest all-roundson of old Eli. Jarvis, this is my daddy, --the finest father that everhad son!"

"I'm right glad to meet you, Mr. Jarvis; your renown has preceded you. "

"I fear, Doctor, it has _exceeded_ me as well. Jack is not to betrusted on all subjects. But, indeed, I thank you for your hospitality;it was a godsend to me. "

As we entered the living room, Polly came forward and I presented Jarvisto her. 

"You are more than welcome, Mr. Jarvis! Jack's 'best friend' is certainof a warm corner at our fireside. "

"Madam, I find no word of thanks, but I _do_ thank you. I have enviedJack his home letters and the evidences of mother care more thananything else, --and God knows there are enough other things to envy himfor. I have no mother, and my father is too busy to pay much attentionto me. I wish you would adopt me; I'll try to rival Jack in all that isdutiful. "

She did adopt him then and there, for who could refuse such a son! Brownhair, brown eyes, brown skin, a frank, rugged, clean-shaven face, features strong enough to excite criticism and good enough to bear it;broad-shouldered, deep-chested, strong in arm and limb, he carried hissix feet of manhood like an Apollo in tweeds. He was introduced to thegirls, --the men he knew, --but he was not so quick in his speeches tothem. Our Hercules was only mildly conscious of his merits, and wasevidently relieved when Jack hurried him off to his room to dress fordinner. When he was fairly out of hearing there was a chorus ofcomments. The girls all declaimed him handsome, and the boys said:--

"That isn't the best of it, --he's a _trump_! Wait till you know him. "

Jane was too loyal to Jack to admit that his friend was any handsomer orin any way a finer fellow than her brother. 

"Who said he was?" said Frank, "Jack Williams is out and out the finestman I know. We were sizing him up by such fellows as Phil and me. "

"Jack's the most popular man at Yale, " said Phil, "but he's too modestto know it; Jarvis will tell you so. He thinks it's a great snap to haveJack for his chum. "

These things were music in my ears, for I was quite willing to agreewith the boys, and the mother's eyes were full of joy as she led the wayto the dining room. That was a jolly meal. Nothing was said that couldbe remembered, and yet we all talked a great deal and laughed a greatdeal more. City, country, farm, college, and seminary were touched withmerry jests. Light wit provoked heavy laughter, and every one was thebetter for it. It was nine o'clock before we left the table. I heardJarvis say:--

"Miss Jane, I count it very unkind of Jack not to have let me go toFarmington with him last term. He used to talk of his 'little sister' asthough she were a miss in short dresses. Jack is a deep and treacherousfellow!"

"Rather say, a very prudent brother, " said Jane. "However, you may cometo the Elm Tree Inn in the spring term, if Jack will let you. "

"I'll work him all winter, " was Jarvis's reply. 

CHAPTER XXXIV

CHRISTMAS

Christmas light was slow in coming. There was a hush in the air as ifthe earth were padded so that even the footsteps of Nature might not beheard. Out of my window I saw that a great fall of snow had come in thenight. The whole landscape was covered by fleecy down--soft and white asit used to be when I first saw it on the hills of New England. No windhad moved it; it lay as it fell, like a white mantle thrown lightly overthe world. Great feathery flakes filled the air and gently descendedupon the earth, like that beautiful Spirit that made the plains of Judeabright two thousand years ago. It seemed a fitting emblem of that naturewhich covered the unloveliness of the world by His own beauty, andchanged the dark spots of earth to pure white. 

It was an ideal Christmas morning, --clean and beautiful. Such a wealthof purity was in the air that all the world was clothed with it. Theearth accepted the beneficence of the skies, and the trees bent inthankfulness for their beautiful covering. It was a morning to make onethoughtful, --to make one thankful, too, for home and friends andcountry, and a future that could be earned, where the white folds ofusefulness and purity would cover man's inheritance of selfishness andpassion. 

For an hour I watched the big flakes fall; and, as I watched, I dreamedthe dream of peace for all the world. The brazen trumpet of war was athing of the past. The white dove of peace had built her nest in thecannon's mouth and stopped its awful roar. The federation of the worldwas secured by universal intelligence and community of interest. Envyand selfishness and hypocrisy, and evil doing and evil speaking, weredeeply covered by the snowy mantle that brought "peace on earth and goodwill to men. "

My dream was not dispelled by any rude awakening. As the house threw offthe fetters of the night and gradually struggled into activity, it wasin such a fresh and loving manner and with such thoughtful solicitudefor each member of our world, that I walked in my dream all day. 

The snow fell rapidly till noon, and then the sun came forth from theveil of clouds and cast its southern rays across the white expanse withan effect that drew exclamations of delight from all who had eyes tosee. No wind stirred the air, but ever and anon a bright avalanche wouldslide from bough or bush, sparkle and gleam as the sun caught it, andthen sink gently into the deep lap spread below. The bough would springas if to catch its beautiful load, and, failing in this, would throw upits head and try to look unconcerned, --though quite evidently consciousof its bereavement. 

The appearance of the sun brought signs of life and activity. The menimprovised a snow-plough, the strong horses floundering in front of itmade roads and paths through the two feet of feathers that hid theworld. 

After lunch, the young people went for a frolic in the snow. Two hourslater the shaking of garments and stamping of feet gave evidence of thereturn of the party. Stepping into the hall I was at once surrounded bythe handsomest troupe of Esquimaux that ever invaded the temperate zone. The snow clung lovingly to their wet clothing and would not be shakenoff; their cheeks were flushed, their eyes bright, and their voicespitched at an out-of-doors key. 

"Away to your rooms, every one of you, and get into dry clothes, " saidI. "Don't dare show yourselves until the dinner bell rings. I'll sendeach of you a hot negus, --it's a prescription and must be taken; I'm atyrant when professional. "

We saw nothing more of them until dinner. The young ladies came inwhite, with their maiden shoulders losing nothing by contact with theirsnow-white gowns. All but Miss Jessie, whose dress was a pearl velvet, buttoned close to her slender throat. I loved this style best, but Icould never believe that anything could be prettier than Jane's whiteshoulders. 

The table was loaded, as Christmas tables should be, and, as I askedGod's blessing on it and us, the thought came that the answer hadpreceded the request and that we were blessed in unusual degree. 

After dinner the rugs in the great room were rolled up, and the youngfolks danced to Laura's music, which could inspire unwilling feet. Butthere were none such that night. Tom and Kate led off in the newest andmost fantastic waltz, others followed, and Polly and I were the onlyspectators. An hour of this, and then we gathered around the hearth tohear Polly read "The Christmas Carol. " No one reads like Polly. Her low, soft voice seems never to know fatigue, but runs on like a musicalbrook. When the reading was over, a hush of satisfied enjoyment hadtaken possession of us all. It was not broken when Miss Jessie turned tothe piano and sang that glorious hymn, "Lead, Kindly Light. " Jack wasclose beside her, his blue eyes shining with an appreciation of whichany woman might be proud, and his baritone in perfect harmony with herrich contralto. The young ladies took the higher part, Frank added histenor, and even Phil and I leaned heavily on Jarvis's deep bass. Myeffort was of short duration; a lump gathered in my throat that causedme to turn away. Polly was searching fruitlessly for something to drythe tears that overran her eyes, and I was able to lend her aid, but theaccommodation was of the nature of a "call loan. "

As we separated for the night, Jarvis said: "Lady mother, this day hasbeen a revelation to me. If I live a hundred years, I shall never forgetit. " I was slow in bringing it to a close. As I loitered in my room, Iheard the shuffling of slippered feet in the hall, and a timid knock atPolly's door. It was quickly opened for Jane and Jessie, and I heardsobbing voices say:--

"Momee, we want to cry on your bed, " and, "Oh, Mrs. Williams, why can'tall days be like this!"

Polly's voice was low and indistinct, but I know that it carried strongand loving counsel; and, as I turned to my pillow, I was still dreamingthe dream of the morning. 

CHAPTER XXXV

WE CLOSE THE BOOKS FOR '96

The morning after Christmas broke clear, with a wind from the south thatpromised to make quick work of the snow. The young people were engagedfor the evening, as indeed for most evenings, in the hospitable village, and they spent the day on the farm as pleased them best. 

There were many things to interest city-bred folk on a place like FourOaks. Everything was new to them, and they wanted to see the workings ofthe factory farm in all its detail. They made friends with the men whohad charge of the stock, and spent much time in the stables. Polly and Isaw them occasionally, but they did not need much attention from us. Wehave never found it necessary to entertain our friends on the farm. Theyseem to do that for themselves. We simply live our lives with them, andthey live theirs with us. This works well both for the guests and forthe hosts. 

The great event of the holiday week was a New Year Eve dance at theCountry Club. Every member was expected to appear in person or by proxy, as this was the greatest of many functions of the year. 

Sunday was warm and sloppy, and little could be done out of doors. Partof the household were for church, and the rest lounged until luncheon;then Polly read "Sonny" until twilight, and Laura played strange musicin the half-dark. 

The next day the men went into town to look about, and to lunch withsome college chums. As they would not return until five, the ladies hadthe day to themselves. They read a little, slept a little, and talkedmuch, and were glad when five o'clock and the men came. Tea was so hotand fragrant, the house so cosey, and the girls so pretty, that Jacksaid:--

"What chumps we men were to waste the whole day in town!"

"And what do you expect of men, Mr. Jack?" said Jessie. 

"Yes, I know, the old story of pearls and swine, but there are pearlsand pearls. "

"Do you mean that there are more pearls than swine, Mr. Jack? For, ifyou do, I will take issue with you. "

"If I am a swine, I will be an æsthetic one and wear the pearl thatcomes my way, " said Jack, looking steadily into the eyes of thehigh-headed girl. 

"Will you have one lump or two?"

"One, " said Jack, as he took his cup. 

The last day of the year came all too quickly for both young and old atFour Oaks. Polly and I went into hiding in the office in the afternoonto make up the accounts for the year. As Polly had spent the largerlump sum, I could face her with greater boldness than on the previousoccasion. Here is an excerpt from the farm ledger:--

Expended in 1896 $43, 309Interest on previous account 2, 200 _______ Total $45, 509Receipts 5, 105 _______Net expense $40, 404Previous account 44, 000 _______ $84, 404

The farm owes me a little more than $84, 000. "Not so good as I hoped, and not so bad as I feared, " said Polly. "We will win out all right, Mr. Headman, though it does seem a lot of money. "

"Like the Irishman's pig, " quoth I. "Pat said, 'It didn't weigh nearlyas much as I expected, but I never thought it would. '"

There was little to depress us in the past, and nothing in the present, so we joined the young people for the dance at the Club. 

CHAPTER XXXVI

OUR FRIENDS

After our guests had departed, to college or school or home, the housewas left almost deserted. We did not shut it up, however. Fires werebright on all hearths, and lamps were kept burning. We did not mean tolose the cheeriness of the house, though much of the family haddeparted. For a wonder, the days did not seem lonesome. After the fistbreak was over, we did not find time to think of our solitude, and asthe weeks passed we wondered what new wings had caused them to fly soswiftly. Each day had its interests of work or study or social function. Stormy days and unbroken evenings were given to reading. We consumedmany books, both old and new, and we were not forgotten by our friends. The dull days of winter did not drag; indeed, they were accepted withreal pleasure. Our lives had hitherto been too much filled with thehurry and bustle inseparable from the fashionable existence-struggle ofa large city to permit us to settle down with quiet nerves to the realhappiness of home. So much of enjoyment accompanies and depends upontranquillity of mind, that we are apt to miss half of it in the turmoilof work-strife and social-strife that fill the best years of most menand women. 

It is a pity that all overwrought people cannot have a chance to relaxtheir nerves, and to learn the possibilities of happiness that arewithin them. Most of the jars and bickerings of domestic life, most ofthe mental and moral obliquities, depend upon threadbare nerves, eitherinherited or uncovered by friction incident to getting on in the world. I never understood the comforts that follow in the wake of a quiet, unambitious life, until such a life was forced upon me. When youdiscover these comforts for the first time, you marvel that you haveforegone them so long, and are fain to recommend them to all the world. 

Polly and I had gotten on reasonably well up to this time; but before webecame conscious of any change, we found ourselves drawn closer togetherby a multitude of small interests common to both. After twenty-fiveyears of married life it will compensate any man to take a little timefrom business and worry that he may become acquainted with his wife. Afew fortunate men do this early in life, and they draw compound intereston the investment; but most of us feel the cares of life so keenly thatwe take them home with us to show in our faces and to sit at our tablesand to blight the growth of that cheerful intercourse which perpetuateslove and cements friendship in the home as well as in the world. 

There were no serious cares nowadays, and time passed so smoothly atFour Oaks that we wondered at the picnic life that had fallen to us. Thevillage of Exeter was alive in all things social. The city families whohad farms or country places near the village were so fond of them thatthey rarely closed them for more than two or three months, and thesemonths were as likely to come in summer as in winter. 

Our friends the Gordons made Homestead Farm their permanent residence, though they kept open house in town. Beyond the Gordons' was the modesthome of an Irish baronet, Sir Thomas O'Hara. Sir Tom was a bachelor ofsixty. He had run through two fortunes (as became an Irish baronet) inthe racing field and at Homburg, and as a young man he had lived tenyears at Limmer's tavern in London. When not in training to ride his ownsteeple-chasers, he was putting up his hands against any man in Englandwho would face him for a few friendly rounds. He was not alwaysvictorious, either in the field, before the green cloth, or in the ring;but he was always a kind-hearted gentleman who would divide his lastcrown with friend or foe, and who could accept a beating with grace andunruffled spirit. 

He could never ride below the welter weight, and after a few years heoutgrew this weight and was forced to give up the least expensive ofhis diversions. The green cloth now received more of his attention, and, as a matter of course, of his money. Things went badly with him, and he began to see the end of his second fortune before he called ahalt. Bad times in Ireland seriously reduced his rents, and he wasforced to dispose of his salable estates. Then he came to this countryin the hope of recouping himself, and to get away from the fast set thatsurrounded him. 

"I can resist anything but temptation, " this warm-hearted Irishman wouldsay; and that was the keynote of his character. 

Though Sir Tom was only sixty years old, he looked seventy. He was muchbroken in health by gout and the fast pace of his early manhood. But hisspirit was untouched by misfortune, disease, or hardship. His couragewas as good as when he served as a subaltern of the Guards in thetrenches before Sebastopol, or presented his body as a mark for thesledge-hammer blows of Tom Sayers, just for diversion. His constitutionmust have been superb, for even in his decrepitude he was good to lookupon: five feet ten, fine body, slightly given to rotundity, legs alittle shrunken in the shanks, but giving unmistakable signs of whatthey had been ("not lost, but gone before, " as he would say of them), hands and feet aristocratic in form and well cared for, and a fine headset on broad shoulders. His hair was thin, and he parted it with greatexactness in the middle. His eyes were brown, large, and of exceedingsoftness. His nose was straight in spite of many a contusion, and hiswhole expression was that of a high-bred gentleman somewhat the worsefor wear. Sir Tom was perfectly groomed when he came forth from hischamber, which was usually about ten in the morning. 

Those of us who had access to his rooms often wondered how he ever gotout of them looking so immaculate, for they were a perfectly impassablejungle to the stranger. Such a tangle of trunks, hand-bags, rug bundles, clothes, boots, pajamas, newspapers, scrap-books, B. & S. Bottles, couldhardly be found anywhere else in the world. He had a fondness fornewspaper clippings, and had trunks of them, sorted into bundles orpasted in scrap-books. Old volumes of Bell's _Life_ filled more than onetrunk, and on one occasion when he and I were spending a long eveningtogether, in celebration of his recent recovery from an attack of gout, and when he had done more than usual justice to the B. & S. Bottles andless than usual justice to his gout, he showed me the record of along-gone year in which this same Bell's _Life_ called him the "firstamong the gentlemen riders in the United Kingdom, " and proved thisassertion by showing how he had won most of the great steeple-chases inEngland and Ireland, riding his own horses. This was the nearestapproach to boasting that ever came to my knowledge in the years of ourclose friendship, and I would never have thought of it as such had Inot seen that he regarded it as unwarrantable self-praise. 

I have never known a more simple, kind-hearted, agreeable, and lovablegentleman than this broken-down sporting man and gambler. I loved him asa brother; and though he has passed out of my life, I still love thememory of his genial face, his courtesy, his unselfish friendship, morethan words can express. A tender heart and a gentle spirit found strangehousing in a body given over to reckless prodigality. The combination, tempered by time and exhaustion, showed nothing that was not lovable;and it is scant praise to say that Sir Thomas was much to me. 

He was just as acceptable to Polly. No woman could fail to appreciatethe homage which he never failed to show to the wife and mother. Manywinter evenings at Four Oaks were made brighter by his presence, and wegrew to expect him at least three nights each week. His plate was placedon our round table these nights, and he rarely failed to use it; and theB. & S. Bottles were near at hand, and his favorite brand of cigarswithin easy reach. 

"I light a 'baccy' by your permission, Mrs. Williams, " and a courtly bowaccompanied the words. 

At 9. 30 William came to bring Sir Tom home. The leave-taking was alwaysformal with Polly, but with me it was, "Ta-ta, Williams--see youlater, " and our guest would hobble out on his poor crippled feet, wavinghis hand gallantly, with a voice as cheery as a boy's. 

Another family whom I wish the reader to know well is the Kyrles. Formore than twenty-five years we have known no joys or sorrows which theydid not feel, and no interests that touched them have failed to leave amark on us. We could not have been more intimate or better friends hadthe closest blood tie united us. The acquaintance of young marriedcouples had grown into a friendship that was bearing its best fruit at atime when best fruit was most appreciated. We do not consider a pleasuremore than half complete until we have told it to Will and Frances Kyrle, for their delight doubles our happiness. 

They were among the earliest of my patients, and they are easily firstamong our friends. I have watched more than a half-dozen of theirchildren from infancy to adult life, and this alone would be a strongbond; but in addition to this is the fact that the whole family, fromfather to youngest child, possess in a wonderful degree that subtlesense of true camaraderie which is as rare as it is charming. 

The Kyrles lived in the city, but they were foot-free, and we couldcount on having them often. Four Oaks was to be, if we had our way, acountry home for them almost as much as for us. Indeed, one of therooms was called the Kyrles' room, and they came to it at will. Enoughabout our friends. We must go back to the farm interests, which are, indeed, the only excuse for this history. 

CHAPTER XXXVII

THE HEADMAN'S JOB

Our life at Four Oaks began in earnest in January, 1897. Even during thewinter months there was no lack of employment and interest for theHeadman. I breakfasted at seven, and from that time until noon I was asbusy as if I were working for $20 a month. The master's eye is worthmore than his hand in a factory like mine. My men were, and are, anunusual lot, --intelligent, sober, and willing, --but they, like others, are apt to fall into routine ways, and thereby to miss points which anobserving proprietor would not overlook. 

The cows, for instance, were all fed the same ration. Fifteen pounds ofmixed grains was none too much for the big Holstein milk-makers, whowere yielding well and looking in perfect health; but the common cowswere taking on too much flesh and falling off in milk. I at once changedthe ration for these six cows by leaving out the corn entirely andsubstituting oat straw for alfalfa in the cut feed. The change broughtgood results in five of the cows; the other one did not pick up in hermilk, and after a reasonable trial I sold her. 

The herd was doing excellently for mid-winter, --the yield amounted to adaily average of 840 pounds throughout the month, and I was able to makegood my contract with the middleman. I could see breakers ahead, however, and it behooved me to make ready for them. I decided to buy tenmore thoroughbreds in new milk, if I could find them. I wrote to thepeople from whom I had purchased the first herd, and after a littledelay secured nine cows in fresh milk and about four years old. Thisaddition came in February, and kept my milk supply above the dangerpoint. Since then I have bought no cows. Thirty-four of thesethoroughbreds are still at Four Oaks--two of them have died, and threehave been sold for not keeping up to the standard--and are doing grandservice. Their numbers have been reënforced by twenty of their bestdaughters, so there are at this writing fifty-four milch cows and fiveyearling heifers in the herd. Most of the calves have been disposed ofas soon as weaned. I have no room for more stock on my place, and itdoesn't pay to keep them to sell as cows. Four Oaks is not a breedingfarm, but a factory farm, and everything has to be subordinated to thefactory idea. 

My thoroughbred calves have brought me an average price of $12 each atfour to six weeks, sold to dairymen, and I am satisfied to do businessin that way. The nine milch cows which I bought to complete the herdcost, delivered at Four Oaks, $1012. 

All the grain fed to cows, horses, and hogs, and a portion of that fedto chickens, is ground fine before feeding. The grinding is done in thegranary by a mill with a capacity of forty bushels an hour. We make cornmeal, corn and cob meal, and oatmeal enough for a week's supply in a fewhours. All hay and straw is cut fine, before being fed, by a powercutter in the forage barn, and from thence is taken by teams in boxracks to the feeding rooms, where it is wetted with hot water and mixedwith the ground feed for the cows and horses, and steamed or cooked withthe ground feed for the hogs and hens. 

Alfalfa is the only hay used for the hens, and wonderfully good it isfor them. Besides feed for the hogs, we have to provide ashes, salt, andcharcoal for them. These three things are kept constantly before them innarrow troughs set so near the wall that they cannot get their feet intothem. 

We carefully save all wood ashes for the hogs and hens, and we burn ourown charcoal in a pit in the wood lot. Five cords of sound wood make anabundant supply for a year. I think this side dish constantly beforeswine goes a long way toward keeping them healthy. Clean pens, well-balanced and well-cooked food, pure water, and this medicine canbe counted on to keep a growing and fattening herd healthy during itsnine months of life. 

It is claimed that it is unnatural and artificial to confine these youngthings within such narrow limits, and so it is; but the whole scheme isunnatural, if you please. The pig is born to die, and to die quickly, for the profit and maintenance of man. What could be more unnatural?Would he be better reconciled to his fate after spending his nine monthsbetween field and sty? I wot not. The Chester White is an indolentfellow, and I suspect he loves his comfortable house, his cool stoneporch, his back yard to dig in, his neighbors across the wire fence togossip with, and his well-balanced, well-cooked food served under hisown nose three times a day. At least he looks content in his piggery, and grows faster and puts on more flesh in his 250 days than does hisneighbor of the field. If the hog's profitable life were twice or thriceas long, I would advocate a wider liberty for the early part of it; butas it doesn't pay to keep the animal after he is nine months old, thequickest way to bring him to perfection is the best. One cannot affordto graze animals of any kind when one is trying to do intensive farming. It is indirect, it is wasteful of space and energy, and it doesn't forcethe highest product. Grazing, as compared with soiling, may beeconomical of labor, but as I understand economics that is the onething in which we do not wish to economize. The multiplication ofwell-paid and well-paying labor is a thing to be specially desired. Ifthe soiling farm will keep two or three more men employed at good wages, and at the same time pay better interest than the grazing farm, itshould be looked upon as much the better method. The question offurnishing landscape for hogs is one that borders too closely on theæsthetic or the sentimental to gain the approval of the factory-farmman. What is true of hogs is also true of cows. They are better offunder the constant care of intelligent and interested human beings thanwhen they follow the rippling brook or wind slowly o'er the lea at theirown sweet pleasure. 

The truth is, the rippling brook doesn't always furnish the best water, and the lea furnishes very imperfect forage during nine months of theyear. A twenty-acre lot in good grass, in which to take the air, is allthat a well-regulated herd of fifty cows needs. The clean, cool, calmstable is much to their liking, and the regular diet of a first-classcow-kitchen insures a uniform flow of milk. 

What is true of hogs and cows is true also of hens. The common opinionthat the farm-raised hen that has free range is healthier or happierthan her sister in a well-ordered hennery is not based on facts. Freedomto forage for one's self and pick up a precarious living does not alwaysmean health, happiness, or comfort. The strenuous life on the farmcannot compare in comfort with the quiet house and the freedom fromanxiety of the well-tended hen. The vicissitudes of life are terriblefor the uncooped chicken. The occupants of air, earth, and water lie inwait for it. It is fair game for the hawk and the owl; the fox, theweasel, the rat, the wood pussy, the cat, and the dog are its swornenemies. The horse steps on it, the wheel crushes it; it falls into thecistern or the swill barrel; it is drenched by showers or stiffened byfrosts, and, as the English say, it has a "rather indifferent time ofit. " If it survive the summer, and some chickens do, it will roost andshiver on the limb of an apple tree. Its nest will be accessible only tothe mink and the rat; and, like Rachel, it will mourn for its children, which are not. 

No, the well-yarded hen has by all odds the best of it. The wonder isthat, with three-fourths of the poultry at large and making its ownliving, hens still furnish a product, in this country alone, $100, 000, 000 greater in value than the whole world's output of gold. Ourannual production of eggs and poultry foots up to $280, 000, 000, --$4apiece for every man, woman, and child, --and yet people say that hens donot pay!

Each flock of forty hens at Four Oaks has a house sixteen feet bytwenty, and a run twenty feet by one hundred. I hear no complaints ofclose quarters or lack of freedom, but I do hear continually the songof contentment, and I see results daily that are more satisfactory thanthose of any oil well or mine in which I have ever been interested. 

CHAPTER XXXVIII

SPRING OF '97

Sam began to make up his breeding pens in January. He selected 150 ofhis favorites, divided them into 10 flocks of 15, added a fine cockerelto each pen (we do not allow cocks or cockerels to run with the layinghens), and then began to set the incubator house in order. 

He filled the first incubator on Saturday, January 30, and from that dayuntil late in April he was able to start a fresh machine about every sixdays. Sam reports the total hatch for the year as 1917 chicks, out ofwhich number he had, when he separated them in the early autumn, 678pullets to put in the runs for laying hens, and 653 cockerels to go tothe fattening pens. These figures show that Sam was a first-classchicken man. 

We secured 300 tons of ice at the side of the lake for $98, having topay a little more that year than the last, on account of the heavy fallof snow. 

The wood-house was replenished, although there was still a good deal oflast year's cut on hand. We did not fell any trees, for there was stilla considerable quantity of dead wood on the ground which should be usedfirst. I wanted to clear out much of the useless underbrush, but we hadonly time to make a beginning in this effort at forestry. We went overperhaps ten acres across the north line, removing briers and brush. Everything that looked like a possible future tree was left. Around oakand hickory stumps we found clumps of bushes springing from livingroots. These we cut away, except one or possibly two of the mostthrifty. We trimmed off the lower branches of those we saved, and leftthem to make such trees as they could. I have been amazed to see what agrowth an oak-root sprout will make after its neighbors have been cutaway. There are some hundreds of these trees in the forest at Four Oaks, from five to six inches in diameter, which did not measure more than oneor two inches five years ago. 

As the underbrush was cleared from the wood lot, I planned to set youngtrees to fill vacant spaces. The European larch was used in the firstexperiment. In the spring of 1897 I bought four thousand seedlinglarches for $80, planted them in nursery rows in the orchard, cultivatedthem for two years, and then transplanted them to the forest. The larchis hardy and grows rapidly; and as it is a valuable tree for manypurposes, it is one of the best for forest planting. I have planted noothers thus far at Four Oaks, as the four thousand from my littlenursery seem to fill all unoccupied spaces. 

Fresh mulching was piled near all the young fruit trees, to be appliedas soon as the frost was out of the ground. Several hundreds of loads ofmanure were hauled to the fields, to be spread as soon as the snowdisappeared. I always return manure to the land as soon as it can bedone conveniently. The manure from the hen-house was saved this year touse on the alfalfa fields, to see how well it would take the place ofcommercial fertilizer. I may as well give the result of the experimentnow. 

It was mixed with sand and applied at the rate of eight hundred poundsan acre for the spring dressing over a portion of the alfalfa, againstfour hundred pounds an acre of the fertilizer 3:8:8. After two years Iwas convinced that, when used alone, it is not of more than half thevalue of the fertilizer. 

My present practice is to use five hundred pounds of hen manure and twohundred pounds of fertilizer on each acre for the spring dressing, andtwo hundred pounds an acre of the fertilizer alone after each cuttingexcept the last. We have ten or twelve tons of hen manure each year, andit is nearly all used on the alfalfa or the timothy as spring dressing. It costs nothing, and it takes off a considerable sum from thefertilizer account. I am not at all sure that the scientists wouldapprove this method of using it; I can only give my experience, and saythat it brings me satisfactory crops. 

There was much snow in January and February, and in March much rain. When the spring opened, therefore, the ground was full of water. Thiswas fortunate, for April and May were unusually dry months, --only 1. 16inches of water. 

The dry April brought the ploughs out early; but before we put our handsto the plough we should make a note of what the first quarter of 1897brought into our strong box. 

Sold: Butter . . . . $842. 00 Eggs . . . . 401. 00 Cow . . . . 35. 00 Two sows . . . 19. 00 Total . . . $1297. 00

Fifteen of the young sows farrowed in March, and the other 9 in April, as also did 18 old ones. The young sows gave us 147 pigs, and the oldones 161, so that the spring opened with an addition to our stock of 300head of young swine. 

Between March 1 and May 10 were born 25 calves, which were all soldbefore July 1. The population of our factory farm was increasing sorapidly that it became necessary to have more help. We already had eightmen and three women, besides the help in the big house. One would thinkthat eight men could do the work on a farm of 320 acres, and so theycan, most of the time; but in seed-time and harvest they are notsufficient at Four Oaks. We could not work the teams. 

Up to March, 1897, Sam had full charge of the chickens, and also lookedafter the hogs, with the help of Anderson. Judson and French had theirhands full in the cow stables, and Lars was more than busy with thecarriage horses and the driving. Thompson was working foreman, and hisson Zeb and Johnson looked after the farm horses during the winter anddid the general work. From that time on Sam gave his entire time to thechickens, Anderson his entire time to the hogs, and Johnson begangardening in real earnest. This left only Thompson and Zeb for generalfarm work. 

Again I advertised for two farm hands. I selected two of the mostpromising applicants and brought them out to the farm. Thompsondischarged one of them at the end of the first day for persistentlyjerking his team, and the other discharged himself at the week's end, tocontinue his tramp. Once more I resorted to the city papers. This time Iwas more fortunate, for I found a young Swede, square-built andblond-headed, who said he had worked on his father's farm in the oldcountry, and had left it because it was too small for the five boys. Otto was slow of speech and of motion, but he said he could work, and Ihired him. The other man whom I sent to the farm at the same time provedof no use whatever. He stayed four days, and was dismissed forinnocuous desuetude. Still another man whom I tried did well for fiveweeks, and then broke out in a most profound spree, from which he couldnot be weaned. He ended up by an assault on Otto in the stable yard. TheSwede was taken by surprise, and was handsomely bowled over by the firstonslaught of his half-drunk, half-crazed antagonist. As soon, however, as his slow mind took in the fact that he was being pounded, he gatheredhis forces, and, with a grunt for a war-cry, rolled his enemy under him, sat upon his stomach, and, flat-handed, slapped his face until heshouted for aid. The man left the farm at once, and I commended theSwede for having used the flat of his hand. 

In spite of bad luck with the new men we were able to plough and seed144 acres by May 10. Lots Nos. 8, 12, 13, and 14 were planted to corn, and No. 15 sowed to oats, and the 10 acres on the home lot were dividedbetween sweet fodder corn, potatoes, and cabbage. The abundant water inthe soil gave the crops a fair start, and June proved an excellentgrowing month, a rainfall of nearly four inches putting them beyonddanger from the short water supply of July and August. Indeed, had itnot been for the generosity of June we should have been in a bad way, for the next three months gave a scant four inches of rain. 

The oats made a good growth, though the straw was rather short, and thecorn did very well indeed, --due largely to thorough cultivation. Twelveacres of oats were cut for forage, and the rest yielded 33 bushels tothe acre, --a little over 1300 bushels. 

The alfalfa and timothy made a good start. From the former we cut, latein June, 2¼ tons to the acre, and from the timothy, in July, 2½tons, --50 tons of timothy and 45 of alfalfa. Each of these fieldsreceived the usual top-dressing after the crop was cut; but the timothydid not respond, --the late season was too dry. We cut two more cropsfrom the alfalfa field, which together made a yield of a little morethan 2 tons. The alfalfa in that dry summer gave me 95 tons of good hay, proving its superiority as a dry-weather crop. 

Johnson started the one-and-one-half-acre vegetable and fruit garden inApril, and devoted much of his time to it. His primitive hotbedsgradually emptied themselves into the garden, and we now began to tastethe fruit of our own soil, much to the pleasure of the whole colony. Itis surprising what a real gardener can do with a garden of this size. Byfeeding soil and plants liberally, he is able to keep the groundproducing successive crops of vegetables, from the day the frost leavesit in the spring until it again takes possession in the fall, withoutdoing any wrong to the land. Indeed, our garden grows better and moreprolific each year in spite of the immense crops that are taken fromit. This can be done only by a person who knows his business, andJohnson is such a person. He gave much of his time to this practicalpatch, but he also worked with Polly among the shrubs on the lawn, andin her sunken flower garden, which is the pride of her life. We shallhear more about this flower garden later on. 

The accounts for the second quarter of the year show these items on theincome side:--

Butter $1052. 00Eggs 379. 00Twenty-five calves 275. 00 --------Total $1706. 00

CHAPTER XXXIX

THE YOUNG ORCHARD

One of the most enjoyable occupations of a farmer's life is the care ofyoung trees. Until your experience in this work is of a personal andproprietary nature, you will not realize the pleasure it can afford. Theintimate study of plant life, especially if that plant life is yours, isa never failing source of pleasurable speculation, and a thing uponwhich to hang dreams. You grow to know each tree, not only by its shapeand its habit of growth, but also by peculiarities that belong to it asan individual. The erect, sturdy bearing of one bespeaks a frank, boldnature, which makes it willing to accept its surroundings and make themost of them; while the crooked, dwarfish nature of another requires theutmost care of the husbandman to keep it within the bounds of goodbehavior. And yet we often find that the slow-growing, ill-conditionedyoung tree, if properly cared for, will bring forth the finest fruit atmaturity. 

To study the character and to watch the development of young trees is apleasing and useful occupation for the man who thinks of them as livingthings with an inheritance that cannot be ignored. That seeds in allappearance exactly alike should send forth shoots so unlike, is a wonderof Nature; and that young shoots in the same soil and with the same careshould show such dissimilarity in development, is a riddle whose answeris to be found only in the binding laws of heredity. That a tiny budinserted under the bark of a well-grown tree can change a sour root to asweet bough, ought to make one careful of the buds which one grafts onthe living trunk of one's tree of life. The young orchard can teach manylessons to him who is willing to be taught; in the hands of him who isnot, the schoolmaster has a very sorry time of it, no matter how he setshis lessons. 

The side pockets of my jacket are usually weighted down withpruning-shears, a sharp knife, and a handled copper wire, --always, indeed, in June, when I walk in my orchard. June is the month of allmonths for the prudent orchardist to go thus armed, for the apple-treeborer is abroad in the land. When the quick eye of the master sees alittle pile of sawdust at the base of a tree, he knows that it is timefor him to sit right down by that tree and kill its enemy. The sharpknife enlarges the hole, which is the trail of the serpent, and thesharp-pointed, flexible wire follows the route until it has reached andtransfixed the borer. 

This is the only way. It is the nature of the borer to maim or kill thetree; it is for the interest of the owner that the tree should live. Theconflict is irrepressible, and the weakest must go to the wall. Theborer evil can be reduced to a minimum by keeping the young trees bankedthree or four inches high with firm dirt or ashes; but borers must befollowed with the wire, once they enter the bark. 

The sharp knife and the pruning-shears have other uses in the Juneorchard. Limbs and sprouts will come in irregular and improper places, and they should be nipped out early and thus save labor and mutilationlater on. Sprouts that start from the eyes on the trunk can be removedby a downward stroke of the gloved hand. All intersecting or crossingboughs are removed by knife or scissors, and branches which are tooluxuriant in growth are cut or pinched back. Careful guidance of thetree in June will avoid the necessity of severe correction later on. 

A man ought to plant an orchard, if for no other reason, that he mayhave the pleasure of caring for it, and for the companionship of thetrees. This was the second year of growth for my orchard, and I wasgratified by the evidences of thrift and vigor. Fine, spreading headsadorned the tops of the stubs of trees that had received such(apparently) cruel treatment eighteen months before. The growth of thesetwo seasons convinced me that the four-year-old root and thethree-year-old stem, if properly managed, have greater possibilities ofrapid development than roots or stems of more tender age. I think I madeno mistake in planting three-year-old trees. 

As I worked in my orchard I could not help looking forward to the timewhen the trees would return a hundred-fold for the care bestowed uponthem. They would begin to bring returns, in a small way, from the fourthyear, and after that the returns would increase rapidly. It is safe topredict that from the tenth to the fortieth year a well-managed orchardwill give an average yearly income of $100 an acre above all expenses, including interest on the original cost. A fifty-acre orchard ofwell-selected apple trees, near a first-class market and in intelligenthands, means a net income of $5000, taking one year with another, forthirty or forty years. What kind of investment will pay better? Whatsort of business will give larger returns in health and pleasure?

I do not mean to convey the idea that forty years is the life of anorchard; hundreds of years would be more correct. As trees die fromaccident or decrepitude, others should take their places. Thus the leaseof life becomes perpetual in hands that are willing to keep adding tothe soil more than the trees and the fruit take from it. Comparativelyfew owners of orchards do this, and those who belong to the majoritywill find fault with my figures; but the thinking few, who do not expectto enjoy the fat of the land without making a reasonable return, willsay that I am too conservative, --that a well-placed, well-cared-for, well-selected, and well-marketed orchard will do much better than myprophecy. Nature is a good husbandman so far as she goes, but her schemecontemplates only the perpetuation of the tree, by seeds or by othermeans. Nature's plan is to give to each specimen a nutritive ration. Anything beyond this is thrown away on the individual, and had better beused for the multiplying of specimens. When man comes to ask somethingmore than germinating seeds from a plant, he must remove it from thecrowded clump, give it more light and air, _and feed it for product_. Inother words, he must give it more nitrogen, phosphoric acid, and potashthan it can use for simple growth and maintenance, and thus make itburst forth into flower-or fruit-product. Nature produces the appletree, but man must cultivate it and feed it if he would be fed andcomforted by it. People who neglect their orchards can get neitherpleasure nor profit from them, and such persons are not competent to sitin judgment upon the value of an apple tree. Only those who love, nourish, and profit by their orchards may come into the apple court andspeak with authority. 

CHAPTER XL

THE TIMOTHY HARVEST

On Friday, the 25th, the children came home from their schools, and withthem came Jim Jarvis to spend the summer holidays. Our invitation toJarvis had been unanimous when he bade us good-by in the winter. Jackwas his chum, Polly had adopted him, I took to him from the first, andJane, in her shy way, admired him greatly. The boys took to farm lifelike ducks to water. They were hot for any kind of work, and hot, too, from all kinds. I could not offer anything congenial until the timothyharvest in July. When this was on, they were happy and useful at thesame time, --a rare combination for boys. 

The timothy harvest is attractive to all, and it would be hard to find aform of labor which contributes more to the æsthetic sense than does thegathering of this fragrant grass. At four o'clock on a fine morning, with the barometer "set fair, " Thompson started the mower, and kept ithumming until 6. 30, when Zeb, with a fresh team, relieved him. Zeb triedto cut a little faster than his father, but he was allowed no moretime. Promptly at nine he was called in, and there was to be no morecutting that day. At eleven o'clock the tedder was started, and in twohours the cut grass had been turned. At three o'clock the rake gatheredit into windrows, from which it was rolled and piled into heaps, orcocks, of six hundred or eight hundred pounds each. The cutting of themorning was in safe bunches before the dew fell, there to go through theprocess of sweating until ten o'clock the next day. It was then openedand fluffed out for four hours, after which all hands and all teamsturned to and hauled it into the forage barn. 

The grass that was cut one morning was safely housed as hay by thesecond night, if the weather was favorable; if not, it took little harmin the haycocks, even from foul weather. It is the sun-bleach that takesthe life out of hay. 

This year we had no trouble in getting fifty tons of as fine timothy hayas horses could wish to eat or man could wish to see. We began to cut onTuesday, the 6th of July, and by Saturday evening the twenty-acre cropwas under cover. The boys blistered their hands with the fork handles, and their faces, necks, and arms with the sun's rays, and claimed tolike the work and the blisters. Indeed, tossing clean, fragrant hay iswork fit for a prince; and a man never looks to better advantage or morepicturesque than when, redolent with its perfume, he slings a jug overthe crook in his elbow and listens to the gurgle of the home-made gingerale as it changes from jug to throat. There may be joys in other drinks, but for solid comfort and refreshment give me a July hay-field at 3P. M. , a jug of water at forty-eight degrees, with just the amount ofmolasses, vinegar, and ginger that is Polly's secret, and I will givecards and spades to the broadest goblet of bubbles that was ever poured, and beat it to a standstill. Add to this a blond head under a broad hat, a thin white gown, such as grasshoppers love, and you can see why theemptying of the jug was a satisfying function in our field; for Jane wasthe one who presided at these afternoon teas. Often Jane was not alone;Florence or Jessie, or both, or others, made hay while the sun shone inthose July days, and many a load went to the barn capped with white andlaughter. The young people decided that a hay farm would be ideal--noend better than a factory farm--and advised me to put all the land intotimothy and clover. I was not too old to see the beauties ofhaying-time, with such voluntary labor; but I was too old and too muchinterested with my experiment to be cajoled by a lot of youngsters. Ipromised them a week of haying in each fifty-two, but that was all theconcession I would make. Laura said:--

"We are commanded to make hay while the sun shines; and the sun alwaysshines at Four Oaks, for me. "

It was pretty of her to say that; but what else would one expect fromLaura?

The twelve acres from which the fodder oats had been cut were ploughedand fitted for sugar beets and turnips. I was not at all certain thatthe beets would do anything if sown so late, but I was going to try. Ofthe turnips I could feel more certain, for doth not the poet say:--

 "The 25th day of July, Sow your turnips, wet or dry"?

As the 25th fell on Sunday, I tried to placate the agricultural poet bysowing half on the 24th and the other half on the 26th, but it was nouse. Whether the turnip god was offended by the fractured rule andrefused his blessing, or whether the dry August and September preventedfull returns, is more than I can say. Certain it is that I had but ahalf crop of turnips and a beggarly batch of beets to comfort me and thehogs. 

Some little consolation, however, was found in Polly's joy over a smallcrop of currants which her yearling bushes produced. I also heard rumorsof a few cherries which turned their red cheeks to the sun for one happyday, and then disappeared. Cock Robin's breast was red the next morning, and on this circumstantial evidence Polly accused him. He pleaded "notguilty, " and strutted on the lawn with his thumbs in the armholes of hiswaistcoat and his suspected breast as much in evidence as a pouterpigeon's. A jury, mostly of blackbirds, found the charge "not proven, "and the case was dismissed. I was convinced by the result of this trialthat the only safe way would be to provide enough cherries for the birdsand for the people too, and ordered fifty more trees for fall planting. I found by experience, that if one would have bird neighbors (and whowould not?), he must provide liberally for their wants and also fortheir luxuries. I have stolen a march as to the cherries by plantingscores of mulberry trees, both native and Russian. Birds love mulberrieseven better than they do cherries, and we now eat our pies in peace. Tomake amends for this ruse, I have established a number of drinkingfountains and free baths; all of which have helped to make us friends. 

In August I sold, near the top of a low market, 156 young hogs. At $4. 50per hundred, the bunch netted me $1807. They did not weigh quite as muchas those sold the previous autumn, and I found two ways of accountingfor this. The first and most probable was that fall pigs do not grow sofast as those farrowed in the spring. This is sufficient to account forthe fact that the herd average was twenty pounds lighter than that ofits predecessor. I could not, however, get over the notion thatAnderson's nervousness had in some way taken possession of the swine (wehave Holy Writ for a similar case), and that they were wasted in growthby his spirit of unrest. He was uniformly kind to them and faithfulwith their food, but there was lacking that sense of cordial sympathywhich should exist between hog and man if both would appear at theirbest. Even when Anderson came to their pens reeking with the rich savorof the food they loved, their ears would prick up (as much as a ChesterWhite's ears can), and with a "woof!" they would shoot out the door, only to return in a moment with the greatest confidence. I never heardthat "woof" and saw the stampede without looking around for the "steepplace" and the "sea, " feeling sure that the incident lacked only theseaccessories to make it a catastrophe. 

Anderson was good and faithful, and he would work his arms and legs offfor the pigs; but the spirit of unrest entered every herd which he kept, though neither he nor I saw it clearly enough to go and "tell it in thecity. " With other swineherds my hogs averaged from fifteen to eighteenpounds better than with faithful Anderson, and I am, therefore, competent to speak of the gross weight of the spirit of contentment. 

CHAPTER XLI

STRIKE AT GORDON'S MINE

Frank Gordon owned a coal mine about six miles west of the village ofExeter, and four miles from Four Oaks. A village called Gordonville hadsprung up at the mouth of the mine. It was the home of the three hundredminers and their families, --mostly Huns, but with a sprinkling ofCornishmen. 

The houses were built by the owner of the mine, and were leased to theminers at a small yearly rental. They were modest in structure, but theycould be made inviting and neat if the occupants were thrifty. No onewas allowed to sell liquor on the property owned by the Gordons, butoutside of this limit was a fringe of low saloons which did a thrivingbusiness off the improvident miners. 

There had never been a strike at Gordonville, and such a thing seemedimprobable, for Gordon was a kind master, who paid his men promptly andlooked after their interests more than is usual for a capitalist. 

It was, therefore, a distinct surprise when the foreman of the minetelephoned to Gordon one July morning that the men had struck work. Gordon did not understand the reason of it, but he expressed himself asbeing heartily glad, for financial reasons, that the men had gone out. He had more than enough coal on the surface and in cars to supply thedemand for the next three months, and it would be money in his pocket todispose of his coal without having to pay for the labor of replacing it. 

During the day the reason for the strike was announced. From theestablishment of the mine it had been the custom for the miners to havetheir tools sharpened at a shop built and run by the property. This wasdone for the accommodation of the men, and the charge for keeping thetools sharp was ten cents a week for each man, or $5 a year. For twentyyears no fault had been found with the arrangement; it had been lookedupon as satisfactory, especially by the men. A walking delegate, mousingaround the mine, and finding no other cause for complaint, had lightedupon this practice, and he told the men it was a shame that they shouldhave to pay ten cents a week out of their hard-earned wages for keepingtheir tools sharp. He said that it was the business of the property tokeep the tools sharp, and that the men should not be called upon to payfor that service; that they ought, in justice to themselves and for thedignity of associated labor, to demand that this onerous tax be removed;and, to insure its removal, he declared a strike on. This was thereason, and the only reason, for the strike at Gordon's mine. Threehundred men quit work, and three hundred families suffered, many of themfor the necessities of life, simply because a loud-mouthed delegateassured them that they were being imposed upon. 

Things went on quietly at the mine. There was no riot, no disturbance. Gordon did not go over, but simply telephoned to the superintendent toclose the shaft houses, shut down the engines, put out the fires, andlet things rest, at the same time saying that he would hold thesuperintendent and the bosses responsible for the safety of the plant. 

The men were disappointed, as the days went by, that the owner made noeffort to induce them to resume work. They had believed that he would atonce accede to their demand, and that they would go back to work withthe tax removed. This, however, was not his plan. Weeks passed and themen became restless. They frequented the saloons more generally, spenttheir remaining money for liquor, and went into debt as much as theywere permitted for more liquor. They became noisy and quarrelsome. Thefew men who were opposed to the strike could make no headway againstpublic opinion. These men held aloof from the saloons, husbanded theirmoney, and confined themselves as much as possible to their own houses. 

Things had gone on in this way for six weeks. The men grew more andmore restless and more dissipated. Again the walking delegate came toencourage them to hold out. Mounted on an empty coal car, he made aninflammatory speech to the men, advising them not only to hold outagainst the owner, but also to prevent the employment of any other help. If this should not prove sufficient, he advised them to wreck the miningproperty and to fire the mine, --anything to bring the owner to terms. 

Jack and Jarvis went for a long walk one day, and their route took themnear Gordonville. Seeing the men collected in such numbers around a coalcar, they approached, and heard the last half of this inflammatoryspeech. As the walking delegate finished, Jack jumped up on the car, andsaid:--

"McGinnis has had his say; now, men, let me have mine. There are alwaystwo sides to a question. You have heard one, let me give you the other. I am a delegate, self-appointed, from the amalgamated Order of Thinkers, and I want you to listen to our view of this strike, --and of allstrikes. I want you also to think a little as well as to listen. 

"You have been led into this position by a man whose sole business is tofoment discords between working-men and their employers. The momentthese discords cease, that moment this man loses his job and must workor starve like the rest of you. He is, therefore, an interested party, and he is more than likely to be biassed by what seems to be hisinterest. He has made no argument; he has simply asserted things whichare not true, and played upon your sympathies, emotions, and passions, by the use of the stale war-cries--'oppression, ' 'down-troddenworking-man, ' 'bloated bond-holders, ' and, most foolish of all, 'theconflict between Capital and Labor. ' You have not thought this matterout for yourselves at all. That is why I ask you to join hands for alittle while with the Order of Thinkers and see if there is not somegood way out of this dilemma. McGinnis said that the Company has noright to charge you for keeping your tools sharp. In one sense this istrue. You have a perfect right to work with dull tools, if you wish to;you have the right to sharpen your own tools; and you also have theright to hire any one else to do it for you. You work 'by the ton, ' youown your pickaxes and shovels from handle to blade, and you have theright to do with them as you please. 

"There are three hundred of you who use tools; you each pay ten cents aweek to the Company for keeping them sharp, --that is, in round numbers, $1500 a year. There are two smiths at work at $50 a month (that is$1200), and a helper at $25 a month ($300 more), making just $1500 paidby the Company in wages. If you will think this matter out, you will seethat there is a dead loss to the Company of the coal used, the wear andtear of the instruments, and the interest, taxes, insurance, anddegeneration of the plant. Is the Company under obligation to lose thismoney for you? Not at all! The Company does this as an accommodation anda gratuity to you, but not as a duty. Just as much coal would be takenfrom the Gordon mine if your tools were never sharpened, only it wouldrequire more men, and you would earn less money apiece. You could notget this sharpening done at private shops so cheaply, and you cannot doit yourselves. You have no more right to ask the Company to do this workfor nothing than you have to ask it to buy your tools for you. It wouldbe just as sensible for you to strike because the Company did not sendeach of you ten cents' worth of ice-cream every Sunday morning, as it isfor you to go out on this matter of sharpening tools. 

"But, suppose the Company were in duty bound to do this thing for you, and suppose it should refuse; would that be a good reason for quittingwork? Not by any means! You are earning an average of $2 a day, --nearly$16, 000 a month. You've 'been out' six weeks. If you gain your point, itwill take you fifteen years to make up what you've already lost. If youhave the sense which God gives geese, you will see that you can't affordthis sort of thing. 

"But the end is not yet. You are likely to stay out six weeks longer, and each six weeks adds another fifteen years to your struggle to catchup with your losses. Is this a load which thinking people would imposeupon themselves? Not much! You will lose your battle, for your strike isbadly timed. It seems to be the fate of strikes to be badly timed; theyusually occur when, on account of hard times or over-supply, theemployers would rather stop paying wages than not. That's the case now. Four months of coal is in yards or on cars, and it's an absolute benefitto the Company to turn seventy or eighty thousand dollars of deadproduct into live money. Don't deceive yourselves with the hope that youare distressing the owner by your foolish strike; you are putting moneyinto his pockets while your families suffer for food. There is no greatprinciple at stake to make your conduct seem noble and to call forthsympathy for your suffering, --only foolishness and the blind followingof a demagogue whose living depends upon your folly. 

"McGinnis talked to you about the conflict between capital and labor. That is all rot. There is not and there cannot be such a conflict. Labormakes capital, and without capital there would be no object in labor. They are mutually dependent upon each other, and there can be no quarrelbetween them, for neither could exist after the death of the other. Thecapitalist is only a laborer who has saved a part of his wages, --either in his generation or in some preceding one. Any man with asound mind and a sound body can become a capitalist. When the laborerhas saved one dollar he is a capitalist, --he has money to lend atinterest or to invest in something that will bring a return. The seconddollar is easier saved than the first, and every dollar saved is earningsomething on its own account. All persons who have money to invest or tolend are capitalists. Of course, some are great and some are small, butall are independent, for they have more than they need for immediatepersonal use. 

"I am going to tell you how you may all become capitalists; but first Iwant to point out your real enemies. The employer is not your enemy, capital is not your enemy, but the saloonkeeper is, --and the most deadlyenemy you can possibly have. In that fringe of shanties over yonder livethe powers that keep you down; there are the foes that degrade you andyour families, forcing you to live little better than wild beasts. Yourfood is poor, your clothing is in rags, your children are without shoes, your homes are desolate, there are no schools and no social life. Yearfollows year in dreary monotone, and you finally die, and your neighborsthrust you underground and have an end of you. Misery and wretchednessfill the measure of your days, and you are forgotten. 

"This dull, brutish condition is self-imposed, and to what end? Thatsome dozen harpies may fatten on your flesh; that your labor may givethem leisure; that your suffering may give them pleasure; that yoursweat may cool their brows, and your money fill their tills!

"What do you get in return? Whiskey, to poison your bodies and pervertyour minds; whiskey, to make you fierce beasts or dull brutes; whiskey, to make your eyes red and your hands unsteady; whiskey, to make yourhomes sties and yourselves fit occupants for them; whiskey, to make youbeat your wives and children; whiskey, to cast you into the gutter, themost loathsome animal in all the world. This is cheap whiskey, but itcosts you dear. All that makes life worth living, all that raises manabove the brute, and all the hope of a future life, are freely given forthis poor whiskey. The man who sells it to you robs you of your moneyand also of your manhood. You pay him ten times (often twenty times) asmuch as it cost him, and yet he poses as your friend. 

"I'm not going to say anything against beer, for I don't think good beeris very likely to hurt a man. I will say this, however, --you pay morethan twice what it is worth. This is the point I would make: beer is afood of some value, and it should be put on a food basis in price. Itisn't more than half as valuable as milk, and it shouldn't cost morethan half as much. You can have good beer at three or four cents aquart, if you will let whiskey alone. 

"I promised to tell you how to become capitalists, each and every one ofyou, and I'll keep my word if you'll listen to me a little longer. "

While Jack had been speaking, some of the men had shown considerableinterest and had gradually crowded their way nearer to the boy. Thirtyor forty Cornishmen and perhaps as many others of the better sort wereclose to the car, and seemed anxious to hear what he had to say. Back ofthese, however, were the large majority of the miners and the hangers-onat the saloons, who did not wish to hear, and did not mean that othersshould hear, what the boy had to say. Led by McGinnis and thesaloon-keepers, they had kept up such a row that it had been impossiblefor any one, except those quite near the car, to hear at all. Now theydetermined to stop the talk and to bounce the boy. They made a vigorousrush for the car with shouts and uplifted hands. 

A gigantic Cornishman mounted the car, and said, in a voice that couldeasily be heard above the shouting of the crowd:--

"Wait--wait a bit, men! The lad is a brave one, and ye maun own to that!There be small 'urt in words, and mebbe 'e 'ave tole a bit truth. Me andme mates 'ere are minded to give un a chance. If ye men don't want to'ear 'im, you don't 'ave to stay; but don't 'e dare touchen with afinger, or, by God! Tom Carkeek will kick the stuffin' out en 'e!"

This was enough to prevent any overt act, for Tom Carkeek was thechampion wrestler in all that county; he was fiercer than fire whenroused, and he would be backed by every Cornishman on the job. 

Jack went on with his talk. "The 'Order of Thinkers' claim that you menand all of your class spend one-third of your entire wages for whiskeyand beer. There are exceptions, but the figures will hold good. I amgoing to call the amount of your wages spent in this way, one-fourth. The yearly pay-roll of this mine is, in round numbers, $200, 000. Fiftythousand of this goes into the hands of those harpies, who grow rich asyou grow poor. You are surprised at these figures, and yet they are toosmall. I counted the saloons over there, and I find there are eleven ofthem. Divide $50, 000 into eleven parts, and you would give each saloonless than $5000 a year as a gross business. Not one of those places canrun on the legitimate percentage of a business which does not amount tomore than that. Do you suppose these men are here from charitablemotives or for their health? Not at all. They are here to make money, and they do it. Five or six hundred dollars is all they pay for the vilestuff for which they charge you $5000. They rob you of manhood and moneyalike. 

"Now, what would be the result if you struck on these robbers? I willtell you. In the first place, you would save $50, 000 each year, and youwould be better men in every way for so doing. You would earn moremoney, and your children would wear shoes and go to school. That wouldbe much, and well worth while; but that is not the best of it. I willmake a proposition to you, and I will promise that it shall be carriedout on my side exactly as I state it. 

"This is a noble property. In ten years it has paid its owner$500, 000, --$50, 000 a year. It is sure to go on in this way under goodmanagement. I offer, in the name of the owner, to bond this property toyou for $300, 000 for five years at six per cent. Of course this is anunusual opportunity. The owner has grown rich out of it, and he is nowwilling to retire and give others a chance. His offer to you is to sellthe mine for half its value, and, at the same time, to give you fiveyears in which to pay for it. I will add something to this proposition, for I feel certain that he will agree to it. It is this: Mr. Gordon willbuild and equip a small brewery on this property, in which good, wholesome beer can be made for you at one cent a glass. You are to payfor the brewery in the same way that you pay for the other property; itwill cost $25, 000. This will make $325, 000 which you are to pay duringthe next five years. How? Let me tell you. 

"The property will give you a net income of $40, 000 or $50, 000, and youwill save $50, 000 more when you give up whiskey and get your beer forless than one-fourth of what it now costs you. The general store atwhich you have always traded will be run in your interests, and all thatyou buy will be cheaper. The market will be a cooperative one, whichwill furnish you meat, fattened on your own land, at the lowest price. Your fruit and vegetables will come from these broad acres, which willbe yours and will cost you but little. You will earn more money becauseyou will be sober and industrious, and your money will purchase morebecause you will deal without a middleman. You will be better clothed, better fed, and better men. Your wives will take new interest in life, and there will be carpets on your floors, curtains at your windows, vegetables behind your cottages, and flowers in front of them. 

"All these things you will have with the money you are now earning, andat the same time you will be changing from the laborer to thecapitalist. The mine gives you a profit of $40, 000, and you saveone-fourth of your wages, which makes $50, 000 more, --$90, 000 in all. What are you to do with this? Less than $20, 000 will cover the interest. You will have $70, 000 to pay on the principal. This will reduce theinterest for the next year more than $3000. Each year you can do aswell, and by the time the five years have passed you will own the mine, the land, the brewery, the store, the market, and this blessedblacksmith shop about which you have had so much fuss, and also a bankwith a paid-up capital of $50, 000. You are capitalists, every one ofyou, at the end of five years, if you wish to be, and if you are willingto give up the single item, --whiskey. 

"Do you like the plan? Do you like the prospect? Turn it over and seewhat objections you can find. If you are willing to go into it, comeover to Four Oaks some day and we will go more into details. McGinnisgave you one side of the picture: I have given you the other. You are atliberty to follow whichever you please. "

Jack and Jarvis jumped off the car and struck out for home. Carkeek andhis Cornishmen followed the lads until they were well clear of thevillage, to protect them, and then Carkeek said:--"Me and the otherslike for to hear 'e talk, mister, and we like for to 'ear 'e talk more. "

"All right, Goliath, " said Jack. "Come over any time and we'll makeplans. "

CHAPTER XLII

THE RIOT

Two days later the boys, returning from the city, were met by Jane andJessie in the big carriage to be driven home. Halfway to Four Oaks thecarriage suddenly halted, and a confused murmur of angry voices gavewarning of trouble. Jack opened the door and stood upon the step. 

"Fifteen or twenty drunken miners block the way, --they are holding thehorses, " said he. 

"Let me out; I'll soon clear the road, " said Jarvis, trying to force hisway past Jack. 

"Sit still, Hercules; I am slower to wrath than you are. Let me talk tothem, " and Jack took three or four steps forward, followed closely byJarvis. 

"Well, men, what do you want? There is no good in stopping a carriage onthe highroad. "

"We want work and money and bread, " said a great bearded Hun who wasnearest to Jack. 

"This is no way to get either. We have no work to offer, there is nobread in the carriage, and not much money. You are dead wrong in thisbusiness, and you are likely to get into trouble. I can make someallowance when I remember the bad whiskey that is in you, but you mustget out of our way; the road is public and we have the right to use it. "

"Not until you have paid toll, " said the Hun. 

"That's the rooster who said we drank whiskey and didn't work. He's thefellow who would rob a poor man of his liberty, " came a voice in thecrowd. 

"Knock his block off!"

"Break his back!"

"Let me at him, " and a score of other friendly offers came from thedrunken crowd. 

Jack stood steadily looking at the ruffians, his blue eyes growing blackwith excitement and his hands clenched tightly in the pockets of hisreefer. 

"Slowly, men, slowly, " said he. "If you want me, you may have me. Thereare ladies in the carriage; let them go on; I'll stay with you as longas you like. You are brave men, and you have no quarrel with ladies. "

"Ladies, eh!" said the Hun, "ladies! I never saw anything but _women_. Let's have a look at them, boys. "

This speech was drunkenly approved, and the men pressed forward. Jackstood firm, his face was white, but his eyes flamed. 

"Stand off! There are good men who will die for those ladies, and itwill go hard but bad men shall die first. "

The Hun disregarded the warning. 

"I'll have a look into--"

"Hell!" said the slow-of-wrath Jack, and his fist went straight from theshoulder and smote the Hun on the point of the jaw. It was a terribleblow, dealt with all the force of a trained athlete, and inspired byevery impulse which a man holds dear; and the half-drunken brute felllike a stricken ox. Catching the club from the falling man, Jack made asudden lunge forward at the face of the nearest foe. 

"Now, Jim!" he shouted, as the full fever of battle seized him. Hisforward lunge had placed another miner _hors de combat_, and Jarvissprang forward and secured the wounded man's bludgeon. 

"Back to back, Jack, and mind your guard!"

The odds were eighteen to two against the young men, but they did notheed them. Back to back they stood, and the heavy clubs were likefeathers in their strong hands. Their skill at "single stick" was ofimmense advantage, for it built a wall of defence around them. Thecrazy-drunk miners rushed upon them with the fierceness of wild beasts;they crowded in so close as to interfere with their own freedom ofmovement; they sought to overpower the two men by weight of numbers andby showers of blows. Jack and Jim were kept busy guarding their ownheads, and it was only occasionally that they could give an aggressiveblow. When these opportunities came, they were accepted with fiercedelight, and a miner fell with a broken head at every blow. Two fell infront of Jack and three went down under Jarvis's club. The battle hadnow lasted several minutes, and the strain on the young men was tellingon their wind; they struck as hard and parried as well as at first, butthey were breathing rapidly. The young men cheered each other withjoyous words; they felt no need of aid. 

"Beats football hollow!" panted Jarvis. 

"Go in, old man! you're a dandy full-back!" came between strokes fromJack. 

Let us leave the boys for a minute and see what the girls are doing. When Jarvis got out of the carriage, he said:--

"Lars, if there is trouble here, you drive on as soon as you can getyour horses clear. Never mind us; we'll walk home. Get the ladies toFour Oaks as soon as possible. "

When the battle began, the miners left the horses to attack the men. This gave a clear road, and Lars was ready to drive on, but the girlswere not in the carriage. They had sprung out in the excitement of thefirst sound of blows; and now stood watching with glowing eyes and whitefaces the prowess of their champions. For minutes they watched theconflict with fear and pride combined. When seven or eight minutes hadpassed and the champions had not slain all their enemies, some degree ofterror arose in the minds of the young ladies, --terror lest theirknights be overpowered by numbers or become exhausted by slaying, --andthey looked about for aid. Lars, remembering what Jarvis had said, urgedthe ladies to get into the carriage and be driven out of danger. Theyrepelled his advice with scorn. Jane said:--"I won't stir a step untilthe men can go with us!"

Jessie said never a word, but she darted forward toward the fightingmen, stooped, picked up a fallen club, and was back in an instant. Mounting quickly to the box, she said:--"I can hold the horses. Don'tyou think you can help the men, Lars?"

"I'd like to try, miss, " and the coachman's coat was off in a trice andthe club in his hand. He was none too soon!

Jane, who had mounted the box with Jessie, cried, "Look out, Jack!"just as a heavy stone crashed against the back of his head. Some brutein the crowd had sent it with all his force. The stone broke through theDerby hat and opened a wide gash in Jack's scalp, and sent him to theground with a thousand stars glittering before his eyes. Jane gave a soband covered her eyes. Jessie swayed as though she would fall, but shenever took her eyes from the fallen man; her lips moved, but she saidnothing; and her face was ghastly white. Jarvis heard the dull thudagainst Jack's head and knew that he was falling. Whirling swiftly, hestopped a savage blow that was aimed at the stricken man, and with aback-handed cut laid the striker low. 

"All right, Jack; keep down till the stars are gone. " He stood with onesturdy leg on each side of Jack's body and his big club made a charmedcircle about him. It was not more than twenty seconds before the wheelswere out of Jack's head and he was on his feet again, though not quitesteady. 

Jack's fall had given courage to the gang, and they made a furiousattack upon Jarvis, who was now alone and not a little impeded by thefriend at his feet. As Jack struggled to his legs, a furious blowdirected at him was parried by Jarvis's left arm, --his right being busyguarding his own head. The blow was a fearful one; it broke the smallbone in the forearm, beat down the guard, and came with terrible forceupon poor Jack's left shoulder, disabling it for a minute. At the sametime Jarvis received a nasty blow across the face from an unexpectedquarter. He was staggered by it, but he did not fall. Jack's right armwas good and very angry; a savage jab with his club into the face of theman who had struck Jarvis laid him low, and Jack grinned withsatisfaction. 

Things were going hard with the young men. They had, indeed, disqualified nine of the enemy; but there were still eight or ten more, and through hard work and harder knocks they had lost more than halftheir own fighting strength. At this rate they would be used upcompletely while there were still three or four of the enemy on foot. This was when they needed aid, and aid came. 

No sooner had Lars found himself at liberty and with a club in his handsthan he began to use it with telling effect. He attacked the outercircle, striking every head he could reach, and such was hissprightliness that four men fell headlong before the others became awareof this attack from the rear. This diversion came at the right moment, and proved effective. There were now but six of the enemy in fightingcondition, and these six were more demoralized by the sudden and unknownelement of a rear attack than by the loss of their thirteen comrades. They hesitated, and half turned to look, and two of them fell under theblows of Jack and Jarvis. As the rest turned to escape, the Swede's clubfelled one, and the other three ran for dear life. They did not escape, however, for the long legs of the young men were after them. Young bloodis hot, and the savage fight that had been forced upon these boys hadaroused all that was savage in them. In an instant they overtook two ofthe fleeing men, but neither could strike an enemy in the back. Throwingaside their clubs, each seized his enemy by the shoulder, turned himface to face and smote him sore, each after his fashion. Then theylaughed, took hold of hands, and walked wearily back to the carriage. Jarvis's face was covered with blood, and Jack's neck and shoulders weredrenched, --his wound had bled freely. Lars had relieved the ladies onthe box after administering kicks and blows in generous measure to thedazed and crippled miners, who were crawling off the road or staggeringalong it. The Swede had a strain of fierce North blood which was noteasily laid when once aroused, and he glared around the battle-field, hoping to find signs of resistance. When none were to be seen, he donnedhis coachman's coat and sat the box like a sphinx. 

The girls went quickly forward to meet the men. They said little, butthey put their hands on their battered champions in a way to make theheart of man glad. The men were flushed and proud, as men have been, andmen will be, through all time, when they have striven savagely againstother savages in the sight of their mistresses, and have gained thevictory. Their bruises were numb with exultation and their wounds dumbwith pride. There was no regret for blows given or received, --nosympathy for fallen foe. The male fights, in the presence of the female, with savage delight, from the lowest to the highest ranks of creation, and we must forgive our boys for some cruel exultation as they looked onthe field of strife. Better feelings will come when the blood flows lessrapidly in their veins!

"We must hurry home, " said Jane, "and let papa mend you. " Then sheburst into tears. "Oh, I am so sorry and so frightened! Do you feel_very_ bad, Jack? I know you are suffering dreadfully, Mr. Jarvis. Can'tI do something for you?"

"My arm is bruised a bit, " said Jarvis; "if you don't mind, you cansteady it a little. "

Jane's soft hands clasped themselves tenderly over Jarvis's great fist, and she felt relieved in the thought that she was doing something forher hero. She held the great right hand of Hercules tenderly, and Jarvisnever let her know that it was the _left_ arm that had been broken. Shefelt certain that he must be suffering agony, for ever and anon hisfingers would close over hers with a spasmodic grip that sent a thrillof mixed joy and pain to her heart. 

While I was bandaging the broken arm I saw the young lady going throughsome pantomimic exercises with her hands, as if seeking to revive thememory of some previous position; then her face blazed with a light, half pleasure and half shame, and she disappeared. 

When the carriage arrived at Four Oaks, the story was told in few words, and I immediately set to work to "mend" the boys. Jack insisted thatJarvis should receive the first attention, and, indeed, he looked theworse. But after washing the blood off his face, I found that beyond asevere bruise, which would disfigure him for a few days, his face andhead were unhurt. His arm was broken and badly contused. After I hadattended to it, he said:--

"Doctor, I'm as good as new; hope Jack is no worse. "

I carefully washed the blood off Jack's head and neck, and found an uglyscalp wound at least three inches long. It made me terribly anxiousuntil I fairly proved that the bone was uninjured. After giving the boythe tonsure, I put six stitches into the scalp, and he never said aword. Perhaps the cause of this fortitude could be found in the blazingeyes of Jessie Gordon, which fixed his as a magnet, while her handsclasped his tightly. Miss Jessie was as white as snow, but there was notremor in hand or eye. When it was all over, her voice was steady andlow as she said:--

"Jack Williams, in the olden days men fought for women, and they werecalled knights. It was counted a noble thing to take peril in defence ofthe helpless. I find no record of more knightly deed than you have doneto-day, and I know that no knight could have done it more nobly. I wantyou to wear this favor on your hand. "

She kissed his hand and left the room. Jack didn't seem to mind thewound in his head, but he gave great attention to his hand. 

CHAPTER XLIII

THE RESULT

As soon as the first report of the battle reached me, I telephoned toBill Jackson, asking him to come at once to Four Oaks and to bring a manwith him. When he arrived, attended by his big Irishman, my men hadalready put one of the farm teams to a great farm wagon, and had filledthe box nearly full of hay. We gave Jackson a hurried account of thefight and asked him to go at once and offer relief to the wounded, --ifsuch relief were needed. Jackson was willing enough to go, but he wasgreatly disappointed that he had missed the fight; it seemed unnaturalthat there should be a big fight in his neighborhood and he not in it. 

"I'd give a ten-acre lot to have been with you, lads, " said the bigfarmer as he started off. 

Word had been sent to Dr. High to be ready to care for some brokenheads. Two hours later I drove to the Inn at Exeter and found the doctorjust commencing the work of repair. Thirteen men had been brought in bythe wagon, twelve of them more or less cut and bruised about the head, and all needing some surgical attention. The thirteenth man was stonedead. A terrific blow on the back of the head had crushed his skull asif it had been an egg-shell, and he must have died instantly. Afterlooking this poor fellow over to make sure that there was no hope forhim, we turned our attention to the wounded. The barn had been turnedinto a hospital, and in two hours we had a dozen sore heads well caredfor, and their owners comfortably placed for the night on soft haycovered by blankets from the Inn. Mrs. French brought tea and gruels forthe thirsty, feverish fellows, and we placed Otto and the big Irishmanon duty as nurses for the night. The coroner had been summoned, andarrived as we finished our work. He was an energetic official, and lostno time in getting a jury of six to listen to the statements which thewounded men would give. To their credit be it said that every one whogave testimony at all, gave it to the effect that the miners werecrazy-drunk, that they stopped the carriage, provoked the fight, and didtheir utmost to disable or destroy the enemy. The coroner would listento no further testimony, but gave the case to the jury. In five minutestheir verdict was returned, "justifiable and commendable homicide byperson unknown to the jury. "

The news of a fight and the death of a miner had reached Gordonville, where it created intense excitement. By the time the inquest was over acrowd of at least fifty miners had collected near the barn. Muchgrumbling and some loud threats were heard. Jackson took it upon himselfto meet these angry men, and no one could have done better. Steppingupon a box which raised him a foot or two above the crowd, he said:--

"See here, fellows, I want to say a word to you. My name's Jackson--BillJackson; perhaps some of you know me. If you don't, I'll introducemyself. I wasn't in this fight, --worse luck for me! but I am wide openfor engagements in that line. Some one inside said that this gang mustbe conciliated, and I thought I would come out and do it. I understandthat you feel sore over this affair, --it's natural that you should, --butyou must remember that those boys out at Four Oaks couldn't accommodateall of you. If you wouldn't mind taking me for a substitute, I'll do mylevel best to make it lively for you. You don't need cards ofintroduction to me; you needn't be American citizens; you needn't speakEnglish; all you have to do is to put up your hands or cock your hats, and I'll know what you mean. If any of you thinks he hasn't had hisshare of what's been going on this afternoon, he may just call on BillJackson for the balance. I want to conciliate you if I can! I'm agood-tempered man, and not the kind to pick a quarrel; but if any of youlow-lived dogs are looking for a fight, I'm not the man to disappointyou! I came out here to satisfy you in this matter and to send you homecontented, and, by the jumping Jews! I'll do it if I have to break thehead of every dog's son among you! They told me to speak gently to you, and by thunder, I've done it; but now I'm going to say a word formyself!

"A lot of your dirty crowd attacked two of the decentest men in thecounty when they were riding with ladies; one of the gang got killed andthe rest got their skulls cracked. Would these boys fight for the girlsthey had with them? Hell's blazes! I'll fight for just thinking of it!Just one of you duffers say 'boo' to me! I'm going right through you!"

Jackson sprang into the crowd, which parted like water before a strongswimmer. He cocked his hat, smacked his fists, and invited any or all tostand up to him. He was crazy for a fight, to get even with Jack andJarvis; but no one was willing to favor him. He marched through the ganglengthways, crossways, and diagonally, but to no purpose. In greatdisgust he returned to the barn and reported that the crowd would not be"conciliated. " When we left, however, there were no miners to be seen. 

It was after one o'clock in the morning when I reached home. Goingdirectly to the room occupied by the boys, I met Polly on the stairs. 

"I'm glad you've come, " said she, "for I can't do a thing with thoseboys; they are too wild for any use. "

Entering the room, I found the lads in bed, but hilarious. They hadsent for Lars and had filled him full of hot stuff and commendation. Hewas sitting on the edge of a chair between the two beds, his honest eyesbulging and his head rolling from the effects of unusual potations. Thelads had tasted the cup, too, but lightly; their high spirits came fromother sources. Victories in war and in love deserve celebration; andwhen the two are united, a bit of freedom must be permitted. They satbolt upright against the heads of their beds with flushed faces andshining eyes. They shouted Greek and Latin verse at the bewilderedSwede; they gave him the story of Lars Porsena in the original, and thenin bad Swedish. They called him Lars Porsena, --for had he not foughtgallantly? Then he was Gustavus Adolphus, --for had he not come to theaid of the Protestants when they were in sore need? And then things gotmixed and the "Royal Swede" was Lars Adolphus or Gustavus Porsena Vikingall in one. The honest fellow was more than half crazed by strongwaters, incomprehensible words, and "jollying up" which the young chapshad given him. 

"See here, boys, don't you see that you're sending your noble Swede tohis Lutzen before his time, --not dead, indeed, but dead drunk? Thisisn't the sort of medicine for either of you; you should have beenasleep three hours ago. I'll take your last victim home. "

We heard no more from any of the fighters until nine in the morning. Inlooking them over I found that the Swede had as sore a head as either ofthe others, though he had never taken a blow. 

Many friends came to see the boys during the days of their seclusion, tocongratulate them on their fortunate escape, and to compliment them ontheir skill and courage. The lads enjoyed being made much of, and theirconvalescence was short and cheerful. Of course Sir Tom was the mostconstant and most enthusiastic visitor. The warm-hearted Irishman lovedthe boys always, but now he seemed to venerate them. The successful clubfight appealed to his national instincts as nothing else could havedone. 

"With twenty years off and a shillalah in me hand I would have beenproud to stand with you. By the Lord, I'm asking too much! I'll yieldthe twenty years and only ask for the stick!" And his cane went whirlingaround his head, now guarding, now striking, and now with elaborateflourishes, after the most approved Donny-brook fashion. 

"But, me friend Jarvis, what is this you have on your face? Pond'sExtract! Oh, murder! What is the world coming to when fresh beef andusquebaugh are crowded to the wall by bad-smelling water! Look at menose; it is as straight as God made it, and yet many a time it has beenknocked to one side of me face or spread all over me features. Nothingbut whiskey and raw beef could ever coax it back! It's God's mercy ifyou are not deformed for life, me friend. Such privileges are not to beneglected with impunity. Let me bathe your face with whiskey and put abeef-steak poultice after it, and I'll have you as handsome as a girl inthree days. "

"Give me the steak and whiskey inside and I'll feel handsome at once, "said Jarvis. 

"Oh, the rashness of youth!" said Sir Tom. "But I'll not say a wordagainst it. Youth is the greatest luck in the world, and I'll not copperit. "

And then our sporting friend grew reminiscent and told of a time atLimmer's when the marquis and he occupied beds in the same room, notunlike our boys' room--only smoky and dingy--and poulticed theirbattered faces with beef, and used usquebaugh inside and outside, afterten friendly rounds. 

"Queensbary's nose never resumed entirely after that night, but minecame back like rubber. Maybe it was the beef--maybe it was usquebaugh;me own preference is in favor of the latter. "

Sir Tom came every day so long as the boys were confined to the place, and each day he was able to develop some new incident connected with thebattle which called for applause. After hearing Lars tell his story forthe fourth time, he gave him a ten-dollar note, saying:--

"You did nobly for a Swede, Mr. Gustavus Adolphus, but I would give tentenners to have had your place and your shillalah, --a Swede for amatch-lock, but an Irishman for a stick. "

Jack had hardly recovered when he was waited on by a committee from themine with a request that he would make another speech. He was asked tomake good his offer of bonding the property, and also to formulate aplan of cooperation for the guidance of the men. Jack had the plans fora cooperative mining village well digested, and was anxious to get thembefore the miners. As soon as he was fit he went to Gordonville to tryto organize the work. Jarvis of course went with him, and Bill Jacksonand Sir Tom would not be denied; they did not say so, but they looked asif they thought some diversion might be found. In spite of the influenceof strong whiskey, however, the meeting passed off peacefully. Theresults that grew from this effort at reformation were so great and sofar-reaching that they deserve a book for their narration. 

CHAPTER XLIV

DEEP WATERS

For sharp contrasts give me the dull country. The unexpected is theusual in small and in great things alike as they happen on a farm, and Imake no apology to the reader for entering them in my narrative. I onlyask him, if he be a city man, to take my word for the truth as to thegeneral facts. To some elaboration and embellishment I plead guilty, butthe groundwork is truth, and the facts stated are as real as thefoundations of my buildings or the cows in my stalls. If the fortunatereader be a country man, he will need no assurance from me, for his eyeshave seen and his ears have heard the strange and startling episodeswith which the quiet country-side is filled. I do not dare record allthe adventures which clustered around us at Four Oaks. People who knowonly the monotonous life of cities would not believe the half if told, and I do not wish to invite discredit upon my story of the making of thefactory farm. 

The incidents I have given of the strike at Gordon's mine aresubstantially correct, and I would love to follow them to theirsequel, --the coöperative mine; but as that is a story by itself, Icannot do it now. I promise myself, however, the pleasure of writing ahistory of this innovation in coal-mining at an early date. It is worththe world's knowing that a copartnership can exist between three hundredequal partners without serious friction, and that community in businessinterests on a large scale can be successfully managed without anyeffort to control personal liberty, either domestic, social, orreligious. Indeed, I believe the success of this experiment is duelargely to the absence of any attempt to superintend the privateinterests of its members, --the only bond being a common financial one, and the one requisite to membership, ability to save a portion of thewages earned. 

But to go back to farm matters. In August the ground was stirred for thesecond time around the young trees. To do this, the mulch was turnedback and the surface for a space of three feet all around the tree wasloosened by hoe or mattock, and the mulch was then returned. The treeswere vigorous, and their leaves had the polish of health, in spite ofthe dry July and August. The mulching must receive the credit for muchof this thrift, for it protected the soil from the rays of the sun andinvited the deep moisture to rise toward the surface. Few people realizethe amount of water that enters into the daily consumption of a tree. Itis said that the four acres of leaf surface of a large elm willtranspire or yield to evaporation eight tons of water in a day, and thatit takes more than five hundred tons of water to produce one ton of hay, wheat, oats, or other crop. This seems enormous; but an inch of rain onan acre of ground means more than a hundred tons of water, andprecipitation in our part of the country is about thirty-six inches perannum, so that we can count on over thirty-six hundred tons of water peracre to supply this tremendous evaporation of plant life. 

Water-pot and hose look foolish in the face of these figures; indeed, they are poor makeshifts to keep life in plants during pinching times. Amuch more effective method is to keep the soil loose under a heavymulch, for then the deep waters will rise. In our climate the tree'sgrowth for the year is practically completed by July 15, and fortunatelydry times rarely occur so early. We are, therefore, pretty certain toget the wood growth, no matter how dry the year, since it would takeseveral years of unusual drought to prevent it. Of course the wood isnot all that we wish for in fruit trees; the fruit is the main thing, and to secure the best development of it an abundant rainfall is neededafter the wood is grown. If the rain doesn't come in July and August, heavy mulching must be the fruit-grower's reliance, and a good one itwill prove if the drought doesn't continue more than one year. AfterJuly the new wood hardens and gets ready for the trying winter. If Julyand August are very wet, growth may continue until too late for the woodto harden, and it consequently goes into winter poorly prepared toresist its rigors. The result is a killing back of the soft wood, butusually no serious loss to the trees. The effort to stimulate latesummer growth by cultivation and fertilization is all wrong; use manuresand fertilizers freely from March until early June, but not later. Thefall mulch of manure, if used, is more for warmth than for fertility; itis a blanket for the roots, but much of its value is leached away by thesuns and rains of winter. 

I felt that I had made a mistake in not sowing a cover crop in myorchard the previous year. There are many excellent reasons for thecover crop and not one against it. The first reason is that it protectsthe land from the rough usage and wash of winter storms; the second, that it adds humus to the soil; and the third, if one of the legumes isused, that it collects nitrogen from the air, stores it in each knuckleand joint, and holds it there until it is liberated by the decay of theplant. As nitrogen is the most precious of plant foods, and as thenitrate beds and deposits are rapidly becoming exhausted, we must lookto the useful legumes to help us out until the scientists shall be ableto fix the unlimited but volatile supply which the atmosphere contains, and thus to remove the certain, though remote, danger of a nitrogenfamine. That this will be done in the near future by electric forces, and with such economy as to make the product available for agriculturalpurposes, is reasonably sure. In the meantime we must use the vetches, peas, beans, and clovers which are such willing workers. 

The legumes fulfil the three requisites of the cover crop: protection, humus, and the storing of nitrogen. That was why, when the corn in theorchard was last cultivated in July, I planted cow peas between therows. The peas made a fair growth in spite of the dry season, and afterthe corn was cut they furnished fine pasture for the brood sows, thatate the peas and trampled down the vines. In the spring ploughing thisblack mat was turned under, and with it went a store of fertility tofatten the land. Cow peas were sowed in all the corn land in 1897, andthe rule of the farm is to sow corn-fields with peas, crimson clover, orsome other leguminous plant. As my land is divided almost equally eachyear between corn and oats, which follow each other, it gets a covercrop turned under every two years over the whole of it. Great quantitiesof manure are hauled upon the oat stubble in the early spring, and thesefields are planted to corn, while the corn stubble is fertilized by thecover crop, and oats are sown. The land is taxed heavily every year, butit increases in fertility and crop-making capacity. For the past twoyears my oats have averaged forty-seven bushels and my corn nearlysixty-eight bushels per acre. There is no waste land in my fields, andwe have made such a strenuous fight against weeds that they no longerseriously tax the land. The wisdom of the work done on the fence rows isnow apparent. The ploughing and seeding made it easy to keep the brushand weeds down; hay gathered close to the fences more than pays us forthe mowing; and we have no tall weed heads to load the wind with seeds. This is a matter which is not sufficiently considered by the majority offarmers, for weeds are allowed to tax the land almost as much as cropsdo, and yet they pay no rent. Fence lines and corners are usuallybreeding beds for these pests, and it will pay any landowner to suppressthem. 

CHAPTER XLV

DOGS AND HORSES

It was definitely decided in August that Jane was not to go back toFarmington. We had all been of two minds over this question, and it wasa comfort to have it settled, though I always suspect that my share ofit was not beyond the suspicion of selfishness. 

Jane was just past nineteen. She had a fair education, so far as booksgo, and she did not wish to graduate simply for the honor of a diploma. Indeed, there were many studies between her and the diploma which sheloathed. She could never understand how a girl of healthy mind couldcare for mathematics, exact science, or dead languages. English andFrench were enough for her tongue, and history, literature, andmetaphysics enough for her mind. 

"I can learn much more from the books in your library and from the dogsand horses than I can at school, besides being a thousand times happier;and oh, Dad, if you will let me have a forge and workshop, I will makeno end of things. "

This was a new idea to me, and I looked into it with some interest. Iknew that Jane was deft with her fingers, but I did not know that shehad a special wish to cultivate this deftness or to put it to practicaluse. 

"What can you do with a forge?" said I. "You can't shoe the horses orsharpen the ploughs. Can you make nails? They are machine-made now, andyou couldn't earn ten cents a week, even at horse-shoe nails. "

"I don't want to make nails, Dad; I want to work in copper and brass, and iron, too, but in girl fashion. Mary Town has a forge in Hartford, and I spent lots of Saturdays with her. She says that I am cleverer thanshe is, but of course she was jollying me, for she makes beautifulthings; but I can learn, and it's great fun. "

"What kind of things does this young lady make, dear?"

"Lamp-shades, paper-knives, hinges, bag-tops, buckles, and lots ofthings. She could sell them, too, if she had to. It's like learning atrade, Dad. "

"All right, child, you shall have a forge, if you will agree not to burnyourself up. Do you roll up your sleeves and wear a leather apron?"

"Why, of course, just like a blacksmith; only mine will be of soft brownleather and pinked at the edges. "

So Jane was to have her forge. We selected a site for it at once in thegrove to the east of the house and about 150 yards away, and set thecarpenter at work. The shop proved to be a feature of the place, andsoon became a favorite resort for old and young for five o'clock teasand small gossiping parties. The house was a shingled cottage, sixteenby thirty-two, divided into two rooms. The first room, sixteen bytwenty, was the company room, but it contained a work bench as well asthe dainty trappings of a girl's lounging room. In the centre of thewall that separated the rooms was a huge brick chimney, with a fireplacein the front room and a forge bed in the rear room, which was the forgeproper. 

I suppose I must charge the $460 which this outfit cost to the farmaccount and pay yearly interest on it, for it is a fixture; but Iprotest that it is not essential to the construction of a factory farm, and it may be omitted by those who have no daughter Jane. 

There were other things hinging on Jane's home-staying which made methink that, from the standpoint of economy, I had made a mistake in notsending her back to Farmington. It was not long before the dogproposition was sprung upon me; insidiously at first, until I had halfcommitted myself, and then with such force and sweep as to take me offmy prudent feet. My own faithful terrier, which had dogged my heels forthree years, seemed a member of the family, and reasonably satisfied mydog needs. That Jane should wish a terrier of some sort to tug at herskirts and claw her lace was no more than natural, and I was quitewilling to buy a blue blood and think nothing of the $20 or $30 which itmight cost. We canvassed the list of terriers, --bull, Boston, fox, Irish, Skye, Scotch, Airedale, and all, --and had much to say in favor ofeach. One day Jane said:--

"Dad, what do you think of the Russian wolf-hound?"

"Fine as silk, " said I, not seeing the trap; "the handsomest dog thatruns. "

"I think so, too. I saw some beauties in the Seabright kennels. Wouldn'tone of them look fine on the lawn?--lemon and white, and so tall andsilky. I saw one down there, and he wasn't a year old, but his taillooked like a great white ostrich feather, and it touched the ground. Wouldn't it be grand to have such a dog follow me when I rode. Say, Dad, why not have one?"

"What do you suppose a good one would cost?"

"I don't know, but a good bit more than a terrier, if they sell dogs bysize. May I write and find out?"

"There's no harm in doing that, " said I, like the jellyfish that I am. 

Jane wasted no time, but wrote at once, and at least seventeen timeseach day, until the reply came, she gave me such vivid accounts of thebeauties of the beasts and of the pleasure she would have in owningone, that I grew enthusiastic as well, and quite made up my mind thatshe should not be disappointed. When the letter came, there wassuppressed excitement until she had read it, and then excitementunsuppressed. 

"Dad, we can have Alexis, son of Katinka by Peter the Great, for $125!See what the letter says: 'Eleven months old, tall and strong inquarters, white, with even lemon markings, better head than Marksman, and a sure winner in the best of company. ' Isn't that great? And I don'tthink $125 is much, do you?"

"Not for a horse or a house, dear, but for a dog--"

"But you know, Dad, this isn't a common dog. We mustn't think of it as adog; it's a barzoi; that isn't too much for a barzoi, is it?"

"Not for a barzoi, or a yacht either; I guess you will have to have oneor the other. "

"The Seabright man says he has a girl dog by Marksman out of Katrinathat is the very picture of Alexis, only not so large, and he will sellboth to the same person for $200; they are such good friends. "

"Break away, daughter, do you want a steam launch with your yacht?"

"But just think, Dad, only $75 for this one. You save $50, don't yousee?"

"Dimly, I must confess, as through a glass darkly. But, dear, I maycome to see it through your eyes and in the light of this altruistic dogfancier. I'm such a soft one that it's a wonder I'm ever trusted withmoney. "

The natural thing occurred once more; the fool and his money partedcompany, and two of the most beautiful dogs came to live on our lawn. Tolive on our lawn, did I say? Not much! Such wonderful creatures musthave a house and grounds of their own to retire to when they were wearyof using ours, or when our presence bored them. The kennel and runs werebuilt near the carriage barn, the runs, twenty by one hundred feet, enclosed with high wire netting. The kennel, eight by sixteen, was ahandsome structure of its kind, with two compartments eight by eight(for Jane spoke for the future), and beds, benches, and the usualfixtures which well-bred dogs are supposed to require. 

The house for these dogs cost $200, so I was obliged to add another $400to the interest-bearing debt. "If Jane keeps on in this fashion, "thought I, "I shall have to refund at a lower rate, "--and she did keepon. No sooner were the dogs safely kennelled than she began to think howfine it would look to be followed by this wonderful pair along thecountry roads and through the streets of Exeter. To be followed, shemust have a horse and a saddle and a bridle and a habit; and later on Ifound that these things did not grow on the bushes in our neighborhood. I drew a line at these things, however, and decided that they should notswell the farm account. Thus I keep from the reader's eye some of thefoolishness of a doting parent who has always been as warm wax in thehands of his, nearly always, reasonable children. 

In my stable were two Kentucky-bred saddlers of much more than averagequality, for they had strains of warm blood in their veins. There is noquestion nowadays as to the value of warm blood in either riding ordriving horses. It gives ability, endurance, courage, and docilitybeyond expectation. One-sixteenth thorough blood will, in many animals, dominate the fifteen-sixteenths of cold blood, and prove its virtue byunusual endurance, stamina, and wearing capacity. 

The blue-grass region of Kentucky has furnished some of the finesthorses in the world, and I have owned several which gave grand serviceuntil they were eighteen or twenty years old. An honest horseman atParis, Kentucky, has sold me a dozen or more, and I was willing to trusthis judgment for a saddler for Jane. My request to him was for alight-built horse; weight, one thousand pounds; game and spirited, butsafe for a woman, and one broken to jump. Everything else, includingprice, was left to him. 

In good time Jane's horse came, and we were well pleased with it, asindeed we ought to have been. My Paris man wrote: "I send a bay marethat ought to fill the bill. She is as quiet as a kitten, can run like adeer, and jump like a kangaroo. My sister has ridden her for fourmonths, and she is not speaking to me now. If you don't like her, sendher back. "

But I did like her, and I sent, instead, a considerable check. The marewas a bright bay with a white star on her forehead and white stockingson her hind feet, stood fifteen hands three inches, weighed 980 pounds, and looked almost too light built; but when we noted the deep chest, strong loins, thin legs, and marvellous thighs, we were free to admitthat force and endurance were promised. Jane was delighted. 

"Dad, if I live to be a hundred years old, I will never forget this day. She's the sweetest horse that ever lived. I must find a nice name forher, and to-morrow we will take our first ride, you and Tom and Alohaand I--yes, that's her name. "

We did ride the next day, and many days thereafter; and Aloha proved alland more than the Kentuckian had promised. 

CHAPTER XLVI

THE SKIM-MILK TRUST

The third quarter of the year made a better showing than any previousone, due chiefly to the sale of hogs in August. The hens did well up toSeptember, when they began to make new clothes for themselves and couldnot be bothered with egg-making. There were a few more than sevenhundred in the laying pens, and nearly as many more rapidly approachingthe useful age. The chief advantage in early chickens is that they willtake their places at the nests in October or November while the olderones are dressmaking. This is important to one who looks for a steadyincome from his hens, --October and November being the hardest months toprovide for. A few scattered eggs in the pullet runs showed that thelate February and early March chickens were beginning to have arealizing sense of their obligations to the world and to the Headman, and that they were getting into line to accept them. More cotton-seedmeal was added to the morning mash for the old hens, and the corn mealwas reduced a little and the oatmeal increased, as was also the redpepper; but do what you will or feed what you like, the hen will insistupon a vacation at this season of the year. You may shorten it, perhaps, but you cannot prevent it. The only way to keep the egg-basket full isto have a lot of youngsters coming on who will take up the laying forOctober and November. 

We milked thirty-seven cows during July, August, and September, and gotmore than a thousand pounds of milk a day. The butter sold amounted to atrifle more than $375 a month. I think this an excellent showing, considering the fact that the colony at Four Oaks never numbered lessthan twenty-four during that time, and often many more. 

I ought to say that the calves had the first claim to the skim-milk; butas we never kept many for more than a few weeks, this claim was easilysatisfied. It was like the bonds of a corporation, --the first claim, buta comparatively small one. The hens came next; they held preferredstock, and always received a five-pound, semi-daily dividend to each penof forty. The growing pigs came last; they held the common stock, whichwas often watered by the swill and dish-water from both houses and thebuttermilk and butter-washing from the dairy. I hold that the feedingvalue of skim-milk is not less than forty cents a hundred pounds, as weuse it at Four Oaks. This seems a high price when it can often be boughtfor fifteen cents a hundred at the factories; but I claim that it isworth more than twice as much when fed in perfect freshness, --certainly$4 a day would not buy the skim-milk from my dairy, for it is worth morethan that to me to feed. This by-product is essential to the smoothrunning of my factory. Without it the chickens and pigs would not growas fast, and it is the best food for laying hens, --nothing else willgive a better egg-yield. The longer my experiment continues, thestronger is my faith that the combination of cow, hog, and hen, withfruit as a filler, are ideal for the factory farm. With such a plantwell-started and well-managed, and with favorable surroundings, I do notsee how a man can prevent money from flowing to him in fair abundance. The record of the fourth quarter is as follows:--

Butter $1126. 00Eggs 351. 00Hogs 1807. 00 -------- Total $3284. 00

CHAPTER XLVII

NABOTH'S VINEYARD

>One hazy, lazy October afternoon, as my friend Kyrle and I sat on thebroad porch hitting our pipes, sipping high balls, and watching the menand machines in the corn-fields, as all toiling sons of the soil shoulddo, he said:--

"Doctor, I don't think you've made any mistake in this business. "

"Lots of them, Kyrle; but none too serious to mend. "

"Yes, I suppose so; but I didn't mean it that way. It was no mistakewhen you made the change. "

"You're right, old man. It's done me a heap of good, and Polly and theyoungsters were never so happy. I only wish we had done it earlier. "

"Do you think I could manage a farm?"

"Why, of course you can; you've managed your business, haven't you?You've grown rich in a business which is a great sight more taxing. Howhave you done it?"

"By using my head, I suppose. "

"That's just it; if a man will use his head, any business willgo, --farming or making hats. It's the gray matter that counts, and thefellow that puts a little more of it into his business than his neighbordoes, is the one who'll get on. "

"But farming is different; so much seems to depend upon winds and rainsand frosts and accidents of all sorts that are out of one's line. "

"Not so much as you think, Kyrle. Of course these things cut in, but onemust discount them in farming as in other lines of business. A totalcrop failure is an unknown thing in this region; we can count onsufficient rain for a moderate crop every year, and we know pretty wellwhen to look for frosts. If a man will do well by his land, the harvestwill come as sure as taxes. All the farmer has to do is to make the bestof what Nature and intelligent cultivation will always produce. But hemust use his gray matter in other ways than in just planning therotation of crops. When he finds his raw staples selling for a good dealless than actual value, --less than he can produce them for, he should gointo the market and buy against higher prices, for he may be absolutelycertain that higher prices will come. "

"But how is one to know? Corn changes so that one can't form much ideaof its actual value. "

"No more than other staples. You know what fur is worth, because you'vewatched the fur market for twenty years. If it should fall to half itspresent price, you would feel safe in buying a lot. You know that itwould make just as good hats as it ever did, and that the hats, in allprobability, would give you the usual profit. It's the same with cornand oats. I know their feeding value; and when they fall much below it, I fill my granary, because for my purpose they are as valuable as ifthey cost three times as much. Last year I bought ten thousand bushelsof corn and oats at a tremendously low price. I don't expect to havesuch a chance again; but I shall watch the market, and if corn goesbelow thirty cents or oats below twenty cents, I will fill my granary tothe roof. I can make them pay big profits on such prices. "

"Will you sell this plant, Williams?"

"Not for a song, you may be sure. "

"What has it cost you to date?"

"Don't know exactly, --between $80, 000 and $90, 000, I reckon; the bookswill show. "

"Will you take twenty per cent advance on what the books show? I'm onthe square. "

"Now see here, old man, what would be the good of selling this factoryfor $100, 000? How could I place the money so that it would bring me halfthe things which this farm brings me now? Could I live in a betterhouse, or have better food, better service, better friends, or a betterway of entertaining them? You know that $5000 or $6000 a year would notsupply half the luxury which we secure at Four Oaks, or give half theenjoyment to my family or my friends. Don't you see that it makes littledifference what we call our expenses out here, so long as the farm paysthem and gives us a surplus besides? The investment is not large for oneto get a living from, and it makes possible a lot of things which wouldbe counted rank extravagance in the city. Here's one of them. "

A cavalcade was just entering the home lot. First came Jessie Gordon onher thoroughbred mare Lightfoot, and with her, Laura on my Jerry. Laura's foot is as dainty in the stirrup as on the rugs, and she hasJerry's consent and mine to put it where she likes. Following them wereJane and Bill Jackson, with Jane's slender mare looking absolutelydelicate beside the big brown gelding that carried Jackson's 190 poundswith ease. The horses all looked as if there had been "something doing, "and they were hurried to the stables. The ladies laughed and screamedfor a season, as seems necessary for young ladies, and then departed, leaving us in peace. Jackson filled his pipe before remarking:--

"I've been over the ridge into the Dunkard settlement, and they have thecholera there to beat the band. Joe Siegel lost sixty hogs in threedays, and there are not ten well hogs in two miles. What do you think ofthat?"

"That means a hard 'fight mit Siegel, '" said Kyrle. 

"It ought to mean a closer quarantine on this side of the ridge, " saidI, "and you must fumigate your clothes before you appear before yourswine, Jackson. It's more likely to be swine plague than cholera at thistime of the year, but it's just as bad; one can hardly tell thedifference, and we must look sharp. "

"How does the contagion travel, Doctor?"

"On horseback, when such chumps as you can be found. You probably havesome millions of germs up your sleeve now, or, more likely, on yourback, and I wouldn't let you go into my hog pen for a $2000 note. I'm sowell quarantined that I don't much fear contagion; but there's alwaysdanger from infected dust. The wind blows it about, and any mote may bean automobile for a whole colony of bacteria, which may decide to picnicin my piggery. This dry weather is bad for us, and if we get heavy windsfrom off the ridge, I'm going to whistle for rain. "

"I say, Williams, when you came out here I thought you a tenderfoot, sure enough, who was likely to pay money for experience; but, by thejumping Jews! you've given us natives cards and spades. "

"I _was_ a tenderfoot so far as practical experience goes, but I triedto use the everyday sense which God gave me, and I find that's about alla man needs to run a business like this. "

"You run it all right, for returns, and that's what we are after; andI'm beginning to catch on. I want you to tell me, before Kyrle here, why you gave me that bull two years ago. "

"What's the matter with the bull, Jackson? Isn't he all right?"

"Sure he's all right, and as fine as silk; but why did you give him tome? Why didn't you keep him for yourself?"

"Well, Bill, I thought you would like him, and we were neighbors, and--"

"You thought I would save you the trouble of keeping him, didn't you?"

"Well, perhaps that did have some influence. You see, this is a factoryfarm from fence to fence, except this forty which Polly bosses, and theutilitarian idea is on top. Keeping the bull didn't exactly run with mynotion of economy, especially when I could conveniently have him kept sonear, and at the same time be generous to a neighbor. "

"That's it, and it's taken me two years to find it out. You're trying tofollow that idea all along the line. You're dead right, and I'm going totag on, if you don't mind. I was glad enough for your present at thetime, and I'm glad yet; but I've learned my lesson, and you may bet yourdear life that no man will ever again give me a bull. "

"That's right, Jackson. Now you have struck the key-note; stick to it, and you will make money twice as fast as you have done. Have a mark, andkeep your eye on it, and your plough will turn a straight furrow. "

Jackson sent for his horse, and just before he mounted, I said, "Areyou thinking of selling your farm?"

"I used to think of it, but I've been to school lately and can 'do mysums' better. No, I guess I won't sell the paternal acres; but who wantsto buy?"

"Kyrle, here, is looking for a farm about the size of yours, and to tellyou the truth I should like him for a neighbor. It's dollars todoughnuts that I could give him a whole herd of bulls. "

"Indeed, you can't do anything of the kind! I wouldn't take a golddollar from you until I had it tested. I'm on to your curves. "

"But seriously, Jackson, I must have more land; my stock will eat me outof house and home by the time the factory is running full steam. Whatwould you say to a proposition of $10, 000 for one hundred acres along mynorth line?"

"A year ago I would have jumped at it. Now I say 'nit. ' I need it all, Doctor; I told you I was going to tag on. But what's the matter with theold lady's quarter across your south road?"

"Nothing's the matter with the land, only she won't sell it at anyprice. "

"I know; but that drunken brute of a son will sell as soon as she'sunder the sod, and they say the poor old girl is on her last legs, --downwith distemper or some other beastly disease. I'll tell you what I'lldo. I'll sound the renegade son and see how he measures. Some one willget it before long, and it might as well be you. "

Jackson galloped off, and Kyrle and I sat on the porch and divided thewidow's 160-acre mite. It was a good strip of land, lying a fair mile onthe south road and a quarter of a mile deep. The buildings were of novalue, the fences were ragged to a degree, but I coveted the land. Itwas the vineyard of Naboth to me, and I planned its future with myfriend and accessory sitting by. I destroyed the estimable old lady'shouse and barns, ran my ploughshares through her garden and flower beds, and turned the home site into one great field of lusty corn, without somuch as saying by your leave. Thus does the greed of land grow upon one. But in truth, I saw that I must have more land. My factory would requiremore than ten thousand bushels of grain, with forage and green foods inproportion, to meet its full capacity, and I could not hope to get somuch from the land then under cultivation. Again, in a few years--a veryfew--the fifty acres of orchard would be no longer available for crops, and this would still further reduce my tillable land. With the orchardsout of use, I should have but 124 acres for all crops other than hay. IfI could add this coveted 160, it would give me 250 acres of excellentland for intensive farming. 

"I should like it on this side of the road, " said I, "but I suppose thatwill have to do. "

"What will have to do?" asked Kyrle. 

"The 160 acres over there. "

"You unconscionable wretch! Have you evicted the poor widow, and she onher deathbed? For stiffening the neck and hardening the heart, commendme to the close-to-nature life of the farmer. I wouldn't own a farm forworlds. It risks one's immortality. Give me the wicked city forpasturage--and a friend who will run a farm, at his own risk, and giveme the benefit of it. "

CHAPTER XLVIII

MAIDS AND MALLARDS

We have so rarely entered our house with the reader that he knows littleof its domestic machinery. So much depends upon this machinery that onemust always take it into consideration when reckoning the pleasures andeven the comforts of life anywhere, and this is especially true in thecountry. We have such a lot of people about that our servants cannotsing the song of lonesomeness that makes dolor for most suburbanites. They are "churched" as often as they wish, and we pay city wages; butstill it is not all clear sailing in this quarter of Polly's realm. Ifancy that we get on better than some of our neighbors; but we do notbrag, and I usually feel that I am smoking my pipe in a powder magazine. There is something essentially wrong in the working-girl world, and I amglad that I was not born to set it right. We cannot down the spirit ofunrest and improvidence that holds possession of cooks and waitresses, and we needs must suffer it with such patience as we can. 

Two of our house servants were more or less permanent; that is, theyhad been with us since we opened the house, and were as content asrestless spirits can be. These were the housekeeper and the cook, --thehub of the house. The former is a Norwegian, tall, angular, and capable, with a knot of yellow hair at the back of her head, --ostensibly forsticking lead pencils into, --and a disposition to keep things snug andclean. Her duties include the general supervision of both houses and thespecial charge of store-rooms, food cellars, and table supplies of allsorts. She is efficient, she whistles while she works, and I see butlittle of her. I suspect that Polly knows her well. 

The cook, Mary, is small, Irish, gray, with the temper of a pepper-podand the voice of a guinea-hen suffering from bronchitis, but she cancook like an angel. She is an artist, and I feel as if theseven-dollar-a-week stipend were but a "tip" to her, and that sometimeshe will present me with a bill for her services. My safeguard, and onethat I cherish, is an angry word from her to the housekeeper. Shejeeringly asserted that she, the cook, got $2 a week more than she, thehousekeeper, did. As every one knows that the housekeeper has $5 a week, I am holding this evidence against the time when Mary asks for a lumpsum adequate to her deserts. The number of things which Mary can makeout of everything and out of nothing is wonderful; and I am fullypersuaded that all the moneys paid to a really good cook are moneys putinto the bank. I often make trips to the kitchen to tell Mary that "thedinner was great, " or that "Mrs. Kyrle wants the receipt for thatpudding, " or that "my friend Kyrle asks if he may see you make a saladdressing;" but "don't do it, Mary; let the secret die with you. " Thecook cackles, like the guinea-hen that she is, but the dishes are nonethe worse for the commendation. 

The laundress is just a washerwoman, so far as I know. She undoubtedlychanges with the seasons, but I do not see her, though the clothes arealways bleaching on the grass at the back of the house. 

The maids are as changeable as old-fashioned silk. There are always twoof them; but which two, is beyond me. I tell Polly that Four Oaks is asprocket-wheel for maids, with two links of an endless chain always ontop. It makes but little difference which links are up, so the work goessmoothly. Polly thinks the maids come to Four Oaks just as lessindependent folk go to the mountains or the shore, for a vacation, or tobe able to say to the policeman, "I've been to the country. " Theirsystem is past finding out; but no matter what it is, we get our disheswashed and our beds made without serious inconvenience. The wage accountin the house amounts to just $25 a week. My pet system of an increasingwage for protracted service doesn't appeal to these birds of passage, who alight long enough to fill their crops with our wild rice andcelery, and then take wing for other feeding-grounds. This kind of lifeseems fitted for mallards and maids, and I have no quarrel with either. From my view, there are happier instincts than those which impelmigration; but remembering that personal views are best applied topersonal use, I wish both maids and mallards _bon voyage_. 

CHAPTER XLIX

THE SUNKEN GARDEN

Extending directly west from the porch for 150 feet is an open pergola, of simple construction, but fast gaining beauty from the rapid growth ofclimbers which Polly and Johnson have planted. It is floored with brickfor the protection of dainty feet, and near the western end clusterrustic benches, chairs, tables, and such things as women and gardenerslove. Facing the west 50 feet of this pergola is Polly's sunken flowergarden, which is her special pride. It extends south 100 feet, and isbuilt in the side of the hill so that its eastern wall just shows acoping above the close-cropped lawn. Of course the western wall is muchhigher, as the lawn slopes sharply; but it was filled in so as to makethis wall-enclosed garden quite level. The walls which rise above theflower beds 4½ feet, are beginning to look decorated, thanks to creepingvines and other things which a cunning gardener and Polly know. Flowersof all sorts--annuals, biennials (triennials, perhaps), andperennials--cover the beds, which are laid out in strange, irregularfashion, far indeed from my rectangular style. These beds please theeye of the mistress, and of her friends, too, if they are candid intheir remarks, which I doubt. 

While excavating the garden we found a granite boulder shaped somewhatlike an egg and nearly five feet long. It was a big thing, and not veryshapely; but it came from the soil, and Polly wanted it for the base ofher sun-dial. We placed it, big end down, in the mathematical centre ofthe garden (I insisted on that), and sunk it into the ground to make itsolid; then a stone mason fashioned a flat space on the top toaccommodate an old brass dial that Polly had found in Boston. The dialis not half bad. From the heavy, octagonal brass base rises a slenderquill to cast its shadow on the figured circle, while around this circleold English characters ask, "Am I not wise, who note only bright hours?"A plat of sod surrounds the dial, and Polly goes to it at least once aday to set her watch by the shadow of the quill, though I have told hera hundred times that it is seventeen minutes off standard time. I amconvinced that this estimable lady wilfully ignores conventional timeand marks her cycles by such divisions as "catalogue time, " "seed-buyingtime, " "planting time, " "sprouting time, " "spraying time, " "floweringtime, " "seed-gathering time, " "mulching time, " and "dreary time, " untilthe catalogues come again. I know it seemed no time at all until she hadlet me in to the tune of $687 for the pergola, walls, and garden. Shebought the sun-dial with her own money, I am thankful to say, and itdoesn't enter into this account. I think it must have cost a prettypenny, for she had a hat "made over" that spring. 

Polly has planted the lawn with a lot of shade trees and shrubs, and hasadded some clumps of fruit trees. Few trees have been planted near thehouse; the four fine oaks, from which we take our name, stand withoutrivals and give ample shade. The great black oak near the east end ofthe porch is a tower of strength and beauty, which is "seen and known ofall men, " while the three white oaks farther to the west form a clumpwhich casts a grateful shade when the sun begins to decline. The sevenacres of forest to the east is left severely alone, save where thecarriage drive winds through it, and Polly watches so closely that thefoot of the Philistine rarely crushes her wild flowers. Its sacrednessrecalls the schoolgirl's definition of a virgin forest: "One in whichthe hand of man has never dared to put his foot into it. " Polly wandersin this grove for hours; but then she knows where and how things grow, and her footsteps are followed by flowers. If by chance she brushes onedown, it rises at once, shakes off the dust, and says, "I ought to haveknown better than to wander so far from home. "

She keeps a wise eye on the vegetable garden, too, and has stores ofknowledge as to seed-time and harvest and the correct succession ofgarden crops. She and Johnson planned a greenhouse, which Nelson built, for flowers and green stuff through the winter, she said; but I think itis chiefly a place where she can play in the dirt when the weather isbad. Anyhow, that glass house cost the farm $442, and the interest andtaxes are going on yet. I as well as Polly had to do some building thatautumn. Three more chicken-houses were built, making five in all. Eachconsists in ten compartments twenty feet wide, of which each is intendedto house forty hens. When these houses were completed, I had room forforty pens of forty each, which was my limit for laying hens. Inaddition was one house of ten pens for half-grown chickens and fatteningfowls. It would take the hatch of another year to fill my pens, but onemust provide for the future. These three houses cost, in round numbers, $2100, --five times as much as Polly's glass house, --but I was not goingto play in them. 

I also built a cow-house on the same plan as the first one, but abouthalf the size. This was for the dry cows and the heifers. It cost $2230, and gave me stable room enough for the waiting stock, so that I couldcount on forty milch cows all the time, when my herd was once balanced. Forty cows giving milk, six hundred swine of all ages, putting on fat ordoing whatever other duty came to hand, fifteen or sixteen hundred henslaying eggs when not otherwise engaged, three thousand apple treesstriving with all their might to get large enough to bear fruit, --thesemade up my ideal of a factory farm; and it looked as if one year morewould see it complete. 

No rain fell in October, and my brook became such a little brook that Idared to correct its ways. We spent a week with teams, ploughs, andscrapers, cutting the fringe and frills away from it, and reducing it tosevere simplicity. It is strange, but true, that this reversion tosimplicity robbed it of its shy ways and rustic beauty, and left itboldly staring with open eyes and gaping with wide-stretched mouth atthe men who turned from it. We put in about two thousand feet of tiledrainage on both sides of what Polly called "that ditch, " and thiscompleted the improvements on the low lands. The land, indeed, was nottoo low to bear good crops, but it was lightened by under drainage andyielded more each after year. 

The tiles cost me five cents per foot, or $100 for the whole. The workwas done by my own men. 

CHAPTER L

THE HEADMAN GENERALIZES

Jackson's prophecy came true. The old lady died, and before the groundwas fairly settled around her the improvident son accepted a cash offerof $75 per acre for his homestead, and the farm was added to mine. Thiswas in November. I at once spent $640 for 2-1/2 miles of fencing toenclose it in one field, charging the farm account with $12, 640 for theland and fence. 

This transaction was a bargain, from my point of view; and it was a goodsale, from the standpoint of the other man, for he put $12, 000 away atfive per cent interest, and felt that he need never do a stroke of workagain. A lazy man is easily satisfied. 

In December I sold 283 hogs. It was a choice lot, as much alike as peasin a pod, and gave an average weight of 276 pounds; but the market wasexceedingly low. I received the highest quotation for the month, $3. 60per hundred, and the lot netted $2702. 

It seems hard luck to be obliged to sell fine swine at such a price, anda good many farmers would hold their stock in the hope of a rise; but Ido not think this prudent. When a pig is 250 days old, if he has beenpushed, he has reached his greatest profit-growth; and he should besold, even though the market be low. If one could be certain that withina reasonable time, say thirty days, there would be a marked advance, itmight do to hold; but no one can be sure of this, and it doesn't usuallypay to wait. Market the product when at its best, is the rule at FourOaks. The young hog is undoubtedly at his best from eight to nine monthsold. He has made a maximum growth on minimum feed, and from that time onhe will eat more and give smaller proportionate returns. There isdanger, too, that he will grow stale; for he has been subjected to aforcing system which contemplated a definite time limit and which cannotextend much beyond that limit without risks. Force your swine not longerthan nine months and sell for what you can get, and you will make moremoney in the long run than by trying to catch a high market. I sold inDecember something more than four hundred cockerels, which brought $215. The apples from the old trees were good that year, but not so abundantas the year before, and they brought $337, --$2. 25 per tree. The henslaid few eggs in October and November, though they resumed work inDecember; but the pullets did themselves proud. Sam said he gatheredfrom fourteen to twenty eggs a day from each pen of forty, which isbetter than forty per cent. We sold nearly eighteen hundred dozen eggsduring this quarter, for $553. The butter account showed nearlytwenty-eight hundred pounds sold, which brought $894, and the sale ofeleven calves brought $180. These sales closed the credit side of ourledger for the year. 

Apples $337. 00Calves 130. 00Cockerels 215. 001785 doz. Eggs 553. 002790 lb. Butter 894. 00283 hogs 2702. 00 -------- Total $4831. 00

In making up the expense account of that year and the previous one, Ifound that I should be able in future to say with a good deal ofexactness what the gross amount would be, without much figuring. Theinterest account would steadily decrease, I hoped, while the wageaccount would increase as steadily until it approached $5500; that yearit was $4662. Each man who had been on the farm more than six monthsreceived $18 more that year than he did the year before, and thisincrease would continue until the maximum wage of $40 a month wasreached; but while some would stay long enough to earn the maximum, others would drop out, and new men would begin work at $20 a month. Ifelt safe, therefore, in fixing $5500 as the maximum wage limit of anyyear. Time has proven the correctness of this estimate, for $5372 is themost I have paid for wages during the seven years since this experimentwas inaugurated. 

The food purchased for cows, hogs, and hens may also be definitelyestimated. It costs about $30 a year for each cow, $1 for each hog, andthirty cents for each hen. Everything else comes from the land, and iscovered by such fixed charges as interest, wages, taxes, insurance, repairs, and replenishments. The food for the colony at Four Oaks, usually bought at wholesale, doesn't cost more than $5 a month percapita. This seems small to a man who is in the habit of paying cash foreverything that enters his doors; but it amply provides for comforts andeven for luxuries, not only for the household, but also for the strangerwithin the gates. In the city, where water and ice cost money and thedaily purchase of food is taxed by three or four middlemen, one cannotrealize the factory farmer's independence of tradesmen. I do not meanthat this sum will furnish terrapin and champagne, but I do notunderstand that terrapin and champagne are necessary to comfort, health, or happiness. 

Let us look for a moment at some of the things which the factory farmerdoes not buy, and perhaps we shall see that a comfortable existence neednot demand much more. His cows give him milk, cream, butter, and veal;his swine give roast pig, fresh pork, salt pork, ham, bacon, sausages, and lard; his hens give eggs and poultry; his fields yield hulled corn, samp, and corn meal; his orchards give apples, pears, peaches, quinces, plums, and cherries; his bushes give currants, gooseberries, strawberries, raspberries, blackberries; his vines give grapes; hisforests give hickory nuts, butternuts, and hazel nuts; and, best of all, his garden gives more than twenty varieties of toothsome and wholesomevegetables in profusion. The whole fruit and vegetable product of thetemperate zone is at his door, and he has but to put forth his hand andtake it. The skilled housewife makes wonderful provision against winterfrom the opulence of summer, and her storehouse is crowded withinnumerable glass cells rich in the spoils of orchard and garden. Thereis scant use for the grocer and the butcher under such conditions. I amso well convinced that my estimate of $5 a month is liberal that I havetaxed the account with all the salt used on the farm. 

CHAPTER LI

THE GRAND-GIRLS

The click of Jane's hammer began to be heard in November, and hardly aday passed without some music from this "Forge in the Forest. " Sir Tommade a permanent station of the workshop, where he spent hours in acomfortable chair, drawing nourishment from the head of his cane andpleasure from watching the girl at the anvil. I suspect that he plantedhimself in the corner of the forge to safeguard Jane; for he had anabiding fear that she would take fire, and he wished to be near at handto put her out. He procured a small Babcock extinguisher and ahalf-dozen hand-grenades, and with these instruments he constitutedhimself a very efficient volunteer fire department. He made her promise, also, that she would have definite hours for heavy work, that he mightbe on watch; and so fond was she of his company, or rather of hispresence, for he talked but little, that she kept close to the schedule. 

Laura had a favorite corner in the forge, where she often turned a hemor a couplet. She was equally dexterous at either; and Sir Tom watchedher, too, with an admiring eye. I once heard him say:--

"Milady Laura, it is the regret of me life that I came into the world ageneration too soon. "

Laura sometimes went away--she called it "going home, " but we scoffedthe term--and the doldrums blew until she returned. Sir Tom dined withus nearly every evening through the fall and early winter; and when he, and Kate and Tom and the grand-girls, and the Kyrles, and Laura were atFour Oaks, there was little to be desired. The grand-girls were nearlyfive and seven now, and they were a great help to the Headman. Myterrier was no closer to my heels from morning to night than were theseyoungsters. They took to country life like the young animals they were, and made friends with all, from Thompson down. They must needs watch thesheep as they walked their endless way on the treadmill night andmorning; they thrust their hands into hundreds of nests and placed thespoils in Sam's big baskets; they watched the calves at their patentfeeders, which deceived the calves, but not the girls; they climbed intothe grain bins and tobogganed on the corn; they haunted the cow-barn atmilking time and wondered much; but the chiefest of their delights wasthe beautiful white pig which Anderson gave them. A little movable penwas provided for this favorite, and the youngsters fed it several timesa day with warm milk from a nursing-bottle, like any other motherlesschild. The pig loved its foster-mothers, and squealed for them most ofthe time when it was not eating or sleeping; fortunately, a pig can domuch of both. It grew playful and intelligent, and took on strangelittle human ways which made one wonder if Darwin were right in hisconclusion that we are all ascended from the ape. I have seen featuresand traits of character so distinctly piggish as to rouse my suspicionsthat the genealogical line is not free from a cross of _sus scrofa_. Thepig grew in stature and in wisdom, but not in grace, from day to day, until it threatened to dominate the place. However, it was lost duringthe absence of its friends, --to be replaced by a younger one at the nextvisit. 

"Do _your_ pigs get lost when you are away?" asked No. 1. 

"Not often, dear. "

"It's only pet pigs that runds away, " said No. 2, "and I don't care, forit rooted me. "

The pet pig is still a favorite with the grand-girls, but it always runsaway in the fall. 

Kate loved to come to Four Oaks, and she spent so much time there thatshe often said:--

"We have no right to that $1200; we spend four times as much time hereas you all do in town. "

"That's all right daughter, but I wish you would spend twice as muchtime here as you do, and I also wish that the $1200 were twice as muchas it is. "

Time was running so smoothly with us that we "knocked on wood" eachmorning for fear our luck would break. 

The cottage which had once served as a temporary granary, and which hadbeen moved to the building line two years before, was now turned into anoverflow house against the time when Jack should come home for thewinter vacation. Polly had decided to have "just as many as we can hold, and some more, " and as the heaviest duties fell upon her, the rest of uscould hardly find fault. The partitions were torn out of the cottage, and it was opened up into one room, except for the kitchen, which wasturned into a bath-room. Six single iron beds were put up, and the placewas made comfortable by an old-fashioned, air-tight, sheet-iron stovewith a great hole in the top through which big chunks and knots of woodwere fed. This stove would keep fire all night, and, while not up tolatter-day demands, it was quite satisfactory to the warm-blooded boyswho used it. The expense of overhauling the cottage was $214. Tom, Kate, and the grand-girls were to be with us, of course, and so were theKyrles, Sir Tom, Jessie Gordon, Florence, Madeline, and Alice Chase. Jack was to bring Jarvis and two other men besides Frank and Phil oflast year's party. 

The six boys were bestowed in the cottage, where they made merrywithout seriously interrupting sleep in the main house. The others foundcomfortable quarters under our roof, except Sir Tom, who would go homesome time in the night, to return before lunch the next day. 

With such a houseful of people, the cook was worked to the bone; but shegloried in it, and cackled harder than ever. I believe she gave warningtwice during those ten days; but Polly has a way with her which Marycannot resist. I do not think we could have driven that cook out of thehouse with a club when there was such an opportunity for her todistinguish herself. Her warnings were simply matters of habit. 

The holidays were filled with such things as a congenial countryhouse-party can furnish--the wholesomest, jolliest things in the world;and the end, when it came, was regretted by all. I grew to feel a littlebit jealous of Jarvis's attentions to Jane, for they looked serious, andshe was not made unhappy by them. Jarvis was all that was honest andmanly, but I could not think of giving up Jane, even to the best offellows. I wanted her for my old age. I suspect that a loving father candig deeper into the mud of selfishness than any other man, and yet feelall the time that he is doing God service. It is in accord with naturethat a daughter should take the bit in her teeth and bolt away from thisrestraining selfishness, but the man who is left by the roadside cannotalways see it in that light. 

CHAPTER LII

THE THIRD BECKONING

On the afternoon of December 31 I called a meeting of the committee ofways and means, and Polly and I locked ourselves in my office. It wasthen two and a half years since we commenced the experiment of buildinga factory farm, which was to supply us with comforts, luxuries, andpleasures of life, and yet be self-supporting: a continuous experimentin economics. 

The building of the factory was practically completed, though not all ofits machinery had yet been installed. We had spent our moneyfreely, --too freely, perhaps; and we were now ready to watch thereturns. Polly said:--

"There are some things we are sure of: we like the country, and it likesus. I have spent the happiest year of my life here. We've entertainedmore friends than ever before, and they've been better entertained, sothat we are all right from the social standpoint. You are stronger andbetter than ever before, and so am I. Credit the farm with these things, Mr. Headman, and you'll find that it doesn't owe us such an awful amountafter all. "

"Are these things worth $100, 000?"

"Now, John, you don't mean that you've spent $100, 000! What in the worldhave you done with it? Just pigs and cows and chickens--"

"And greenhouses and sunken gardens and pergolas and kickshaws, " said I. "But seriously, Polly, I think that we can show value for all that wehave spent; and the whole amount is not three times what our city housecost, and that only covered our heads. "

"How do you figure values here?"

"We get a great deal more than simply shelter out of this place, and wehave tangible values, too. Here are some of them: 480 acres of excellentland, so well groomed and planted that it is worth of any man's money, $120 per acre, or $57, 600; buildings, water-plant, etc. , all as good asnew, $40, 000; 44 cows, $4400; 10 heifers nearly two years old, $500; 8horses, $1200; 50 brood sows, $1000; 350 young pigs, $1700; 1300 layinghens, $1300; tools and machinery, $1500; that makes well over $100, 000in sight, besides all the things you mentioned before. "

"You haven't counted the six horses in my barn. "

"They haven't been charged to the farm, Polly. "

"Or the trees you've planted?"

"No, they go with the land to increase its value. "

"And my gardens, too?"

"Yes, they are fixtures and count with the acres. You see, this, landdidn't cost quite $75 an acre, but I hold it $50 better for what we'vedone to it; I don't believe Bill Jackson would sell his for less. Ioffered him $10, 000 for a hundred acres, and he refused. We've put upthe price of real estate in this neighborhood, Mrs. Williams. "

"Well, let's get at the figures. I'm dying to see how we stand. "

"I have summarized them here:--

"To additional land and development of plant $20, 353. 00To interest on previous investment 4, 220. 00Wages 4, 662. 00Food for twenty-five people 1, 523. 00Food for stock 2, 120. 00Taxes and insurance 207. 00Shoeing and repairs 309. 00 ---------- "Making in all $33, 394. 00

spent this year. 

"The receipts are:--

"First quarter $1, 297. 00Second quarter 1, 706. 00Third quarter 3, 284. 00Fourth quarter 4, 831. 00 --------- "Making $11, 118. 00

"But we agreed to pay $4000 a year to the farm for our food and shelter, if it did as well by us as the town house did. Shall we do it, Polly?"

"Why, of course; we've been no end more comfortable here. "

"Well, if we don't expect to get something for nothing, I think weought to add it. Adding $4000 will make the returns from the farm$15, 118, leaving $18, 276 to add to the interest-bearing debt. Last yearthis debt was $84, 404. Add this year's deficit, and we have $102, 680. Agood deal of money, Polly, but I showed you well over $100, 000 inassets, --at our own price, to be sure, but not far wrong. "

"Will you ever have to increase the debt?"

"I think not. I believe we shall reduce it a little next year, and eachyear thereafter. But, supposing it only pays expenses, how can you puton as much style on the interest of $100, 000 anywhere else as you canhere? It can't be done. When the fruit comes in and this factory isrunning full time, it will earn well on toward $25, 000 a year, and itwill not cost over $14, 000 to run it, interest and all. It won't takelong at that rate to wipe out the interest-bearing debt. You'll be rich, Polly, before you're ten years older. "

"You are rich now, in imagination and expectation, Mr. Headman, but I'llbank with you for a while longer. But what's the use of charging thefarm with interest when you credit it with our keeping?"

"There isn't much reason in that, Polly. It's about as broad as it islong. I simply like to keep books in that way. We charge the farm with alittle more than $4000 interest, and we credit it with just $4000 forour food and shelter. We'll keep on in this way because I like it. "

CHAPTER LIII

THE MILK MACHINE

In opening the year 1898 I was faced by a larger business propositionthan I had originally planned. When I undertook the experiment of afactory farm, I placed the limit of capital to be invested at about$60, 000. Now I found that I had exceeded that amount by a good manythousand dollars, and I knew that the end was not yet. The factory wasnot complete, and it would be several years before it would be at itsbest in output. While it had cost me more than was originallycontemplated, and while there was yet more money to be spent, there wasstill no reason for discouragement. Indeed, I felt so certain ofultimate profits that I was ready to put as much into it as couldpossibly be used to advantage. 

The original plan was for a soiling farm on which I could milk thirtycows, fatten two hundred hogs, feed a thousand hens, and wait forthirty-five hundred fruit trees to come to a profitable age. With thisin view, I set apart forty acres of high, dry land, for thefeeding-grounds, twenty acres of which was devoted to the cows; and Inow found that this twenty-acre lot would provide an ample exercisefield for twice that number. It was in grass (timothy, red-top, and bluegrass), and the cows nibbled persistently during the short hours eachday when they were permitted to be on it; but it was never reckoned aspart of their ration. The sod was kept in good condition and the fieldfree from weeds, by the use of the mowing-machine, set high, every tenor twenty days, according to the season. Following the mower, we use aspring-tooth rake which bunched the weeds and gathered or broke up thedroppings; and everything the rake caught was carted to the manure vats. Our big Holsteins do not suffer from close quarters, so far as I am ableto judge, neither do they take on fat. From thirty minutes to threehours (depending on the weather), is all the outing they get each day;but this seems sufficient for their needs. The well-ventilated stablewith its moderate temperature suits the sedentary nature of these milkmachines, and I am satisfied with the results. I cannot, of course, speak with authority of the comparative merits of soiling _versus_grazing, for I have had no experience in the latter; but in theorysoiling appeals to me, and in practice it satisfies me. 

When I found I could keep more cows on the land set apart for them, Ibuilt another cow stable for the dry cows and the heifers, and addedfour stalls to my milk stable by turning each of the hospital wards intotwo stalls. 

The ten heifers which I reserved in the spring of 1896 were now nearlytwo years old. They were expected to "come in" in the early autumn, whenthey would supplement the older herd. The cows purchased in 1895 werenow five years old, and quite equal to the large demand which we madeupon them. They had grown to be enormous creatures, from thirteenhundred to fourteen hundred pounds in weight, and they were provingtheir excellence as milk producers by yielding an average of fortypounds a day. We had, and still have, one remarkable milker, who thinksnothing of yielding seventy pounds when fresh, and who doesn't fallbelow twenty-five pounds when we are forced to dry her off. I have nodoubt that she would be a successful candidate for advanced registrationif we put her to the test. For ten months in each year these cows givesuch quantities of milk as would surprise a man not acquainted with thisnoble Dutch family. My five common cows were good of their kind, butthey were not in the class with the Holsteins. They were not "robber"cows, for they fully earned their food; but there was no great profit inthem. To be sure, they did not eat more than two-thirds as much as theHolsteins; but that fact did not stand to their credit, for the basicprinciple of factory farming is to consume as much raw material aspossible and to turn out its equivalent in finished product. The commoncows consumed only two-thirds as much raw material as the Holsteins, and turned out rather less than two-thirds of their product, while theyoccupied an equal amount of floor space; consequently they had to giveplace to more competent machines. They were to be sold during theseason. 

Why dairymen can be found who will pay $50 apiece for cows like those Ihad for sale (better, indeed, than the average), is beyond my method ofreckoning values. Twice $50 will buy a young cow bred for milk, and shewould prove both bread and milk to the purchaser in most cases. Thequestion of food should settle itself for the dairyman as it does forthe factory farmer. The more food consumed, the better for each, if theratio of milk be the same. 

My Holsteins are great feeders; more than 2 tons of grain, 2-1/2 tons ofhay, and 4 or 5 tons of corn fodder, in addition to a ton of roots orsucculent vegetables, pass through their great mouths each year. The hayis nearly equally divided between timothy, oat hay, and alfalfa; andwhen I began to figure the gross amount that would be required for my 50Holstein gourmands, I saw that the widow's farm had been purchased nonetoo quickly. To provide 100 tons of grain, 125 tons of hay, and 200 or300 tons of corn fodder for the cows alone, was no slight matter; but Ifelt prepared to furnish this amount of raw material to be transmutedinto golden butter. The Four Oaks butter had made a good reputation, andthe four oak leaves stamped on each mould was a sufficient guarantee ofexcellence. My city grocer urged a larger product, and I felt safe inpromising it; at the same time, I held him up for a slight advance inprice. Heretofore it had netted me 32 cents a pound, but from January 1, 1898, I was to have 33-1/3 cents for each pound delivered at the stationat Exeter, I agreeing to furnish at least 50 pounds a day, six days in aweek. 

This was not always easily done during the first eight months of thatyear, and I will confess to buying 640 pounds to eke out the supply forthe colony; but after the young heifers came in, there was no trouble, and the purchased butter was more than made up to our local grocer. 

It will be more satisfactory to deal with dairy matters in lump sumsfrom now on. The contract with the city grocer still holds, and, thoughhe often urges me to increase my herd, I still limit the supply to 300pounds a week, --sometimes a little more, but rarely less. I believe that38 to 44 cows in full flow of milk will make the best balance in myfactory; and a well-balanced factory is what I am after. 

I am told that animals are not machines, and that they cannot be run assuch. My animals are; and I run them as I would a shop. There is nosentiment in my management. If a cow or a hog or a hen doesn't work in asatisfactory way, it ceases to occupy space in my shop, just as wouldan imperfect wheel. The utmost kindness is shown to all animals at FourOaks. This rule is the most imperative one on the place, and the one inwhich no "extenuating circumstances" are taken into account. There aretwo equal reasons for this: the first is a deep-rooted aversion tocruelty in all forms; and the second is, _it pays_. But kindness toanimals doesn't imply the necessity of keeping useless ones or thosewhose usefulness is below one's standard. If a man will use theintelligence and attention to detail in the management of stock that isnecessary to the successful running of a complicated machine, he willfind that his stock doesn't differ greatly from his machine. The troublewith most farmers is that they think the living machine can be neglectedwith impunity, because it will not immediately destroy itself or others, and because it is capable of a certain amount of self-maintenance; whilethe dead machine has no power of self-support, and must receive carefuland punctual attention to prevent injury to itself and to otherproperty. If a dairyman will feed his cows as a thresher feeds thecylinder of his threshing-machine, he will find that the milk will flowfrom the one about as steadily as the grain falls from the other. 

Intensive factory farming means the use of the best machines pushed tothe limit of their capacity through the period of their greatestusefulness, and then replaced by others. Pushing to the limit ofcapacity is in no sense cruelty. It is predicated on the perfect healthof the animal, for without perfect condition, neither machine nor animalcan do its best work. It is simply encouraging to a high degree thespecial function for which generations of careful breeding have fittedthe animal. 

That there is gratification in giving milk, no well-bred cow or motherwill deny. It is a joyous function to eat large quantities of pleasantfood and turn it into milk. Heredity impels the cow to do this, and itwould take generations of wild life to wean her from it. As well saythat the cataleptic trance of the pointer, when the game bird lies closeand the delicate scent fills his nostrils, is not a joy to him, or thatthe Dalmatian at the heels of his horse, or the foxhound when Reynard'strail is warm, receive no pleasure from their specialties. 

Do these animals feel no joy in the performance of service which is bredinto their bones and which it is unnatural or freakish for them to lack?No one who has watched the "bred-for-milk" cow can doubt that the joysof her life are eating, drinking, sleeping, and giving milk. Pushing herto the limit of her capacity is only intensifying her life, though, possibly, it may shorten it by a year or two. While she lives she knowsall the happiness of cow life, and knows it to the full. What more canshe ask? She would starve on the buffalo grass which supports herhalf-wild sister, "northers" would freeze her, and the snow would buryher. She is a product of high cow-civilization, and as such she musthave the intelligent care of man or she cannot do her best. With thiscare she is a marvellous machine for the making of the only article offood which in itself is competent to support life in man. If myHolsteins are not machines, they resemble them so closely that I willnot quarrel with the name. 

What is true of the cow, is true also of the pork-making machine that wecall the hog. His wild and savage progenitor is lost, and we have in hisplace a sluggish animal that is a very model as a food producer. Histhree pleasures are eating, sleeping, and growing fat. He follows thesepleasures with such persistence that 250 days are enough to perfect him. It can certainly be no hardship to a pig to encourage him in a life ofsloth and gluttony which appeals to his taste and to my profit. 

Custom and interest make his life ephemeral; I make it comfortable. Fromthe day of his birth until we separate, I take watchful care of him. During infancy he is protected from cold and wet, and his mother iscoddled by the most nourishing foods, that she may not fail in her dutyto him. During childhood he is provided with a warm house, a clean bed, and a yard in which to disport himself, and is fed for growth and boneon skim-milk, oatmeal, and sweet alfalfa. During his youth, corn meal isliberally added to his diet, also other dainties which he enjoys andmakes much of; and during his whole life he has access to clean water, and to the only medicine which a pig needs, --a mixture of ashes, charcoal, salt, and sulphur. 

When he has spent 250 happy days with me, we part company with feelingsof mutual respect, --he to finish his mission, I to provide for hissuccessor. 

My early plan was to turn off 200 of this finished product each year, but I soon found that I could do much better. One can raise a crop ofhogs nearly as quickly as a crop of corn, and with much more profit, ifthe food be at hand. There was likely to be an abundance of food. I wasmore willing to sell it in pig skins than in any other packages. My planwas now to turn off, not 200 hogs each year, but 600 or more. I had 60well-bred sows, young and old, and I could count on them to farrow atleast three times in two years. The litters ought to average 7 each, say22 pigs in two years; 60 times 22 are 1320, and half of 1320 is 660. Yes, at that rate, I could count on about 600 finished hogs to sell eachyear. But if my calculations were too high, I could easily keep 10 morebrood sows, for I had sufficient room to keep them healthy. 

The two five-acre lots, Nos. 3 and 5, had been given over to the broodsows when they were not caring for young litters in the brood-house. Comfortable shelters and a cemented basin twelve feet by twelve, and onefoot deep, had been built in each lot. The water-pipe that ran throughthe chicken lot (No. 4) connected with these basins, as did also adrain-pipe to the drain in the north lane, so that it was easy to turnon fresh water and to draw off that which was soiled. Through thisdevice my brood sows had access to a water bath eight inches deep, whenever they were in the fields. My hogs, young or old, have never beenpermitted to wallow in mud. We have no mud-holes at Four Oaks to growstale and breed disease. The breeding hogs have exercise lots and baths, but the young growing and fattening stock have neither. They are kept inruns twenty feet by one hundred, in bunches of from twenty to forty, according to age, from the time they are weaned until they leave theplace for good. This plan, which I did not intend to change, opened aquestion in my mind that gave me pause. It was this: Can I hope, evenwith the utmost care, to keep the house for growing and fattening swinefree from disease if I keep it constantly full of swine?

The more I thought about it the less probable it appeared. The pig-househad cost me $4320. Another would cost as much, if not more, and I didnot like to go to the expense unless it were necessary. I worked overthis problem for several days, and finally came to the conclusion thatI should never feel easy about my swine until I had two houses for them, besides the brood-house for the sows. I therefore gave the order toNelson to build another swine-house as soon as spring opened. My planwas, and I carried it out, to move all the colonies every three months, and to have the vacant house thoroughly cleaned, sprayed with a powerfulgermicide, and whitewashed. The runs were to be turned over, when theweather would permit, and the ground sown to oats or rye. 

The new house was finished in June, and the pigs were moved into it onJuly 1st with a lease of three months. My mind has been easy on thequestion of the health of my hogs ever since; and with reason, for therehas been no epizoötic or other serious form of disease in my piggery, inspite of the fact that there are often more than 1200 pigs of alldegrees crowded into this five-acre lot. The two pig-houses and thebrood-house, with their runs, cover the whole of the lot, except thebroad street of sixty feet just inside my high quarantine fence, whichencloses the whole of it. 

CHAPTER LIV

BACON AND EGGS

Each hog turned out from my piggery weighing 270 pounds or more, haseaten of my substance not less than 500 pounds of grain, 250 pounds ofchopped alfalfa, 250 pounds of roots or vegetables, and such quantitiesof skimmed milk and swill as have fallen to his share. I could reckonthe approximate cost of these foods, but I will not do so. All but themiddlings and oil meal come from the farm and are paid for by certainfixed charges heretofore mentioned. The middlings and oil meal arecharged in the "food for animals" account at the rate of $1 a year foreach finished hog. 

The truth is that a large part of the food which enters into the makingof each 300 pounds of live pork, is of slow sale, and that for some ofit there is no sale at all, --for instance, house swill, dish-water, butter-washings, garden weeds, lawn clippings, and all sorts of coarsevegetables. A hog makes half his growth out of refuse which has novalue, or not sufficient to warrant the effort and expense of sellingit. He has unequalled facilities for turning non-negotiable scrip intoconvertible bonds, and he is the greatest moneymaker on the farm. Ifthe grain ration were all corn, and if there were a roadside market forit at 35 cents a bushel, it would cost $3. 12; the alfalfa would be worth$1. 45, and the vegetables probably 65 cents, under like conditions, making a total of $5. 22 as a possible gross value of the food which thehog has eaten. The gross value of these things, however, is far abovetheir net value when one considers time and expense of sale. The hogsaves all this trouble by tucking under his skin slow-selling remnantsof farm products and making of them finished assets which can be turnedinto cash at a day's notice. 

To feed the hogs on the scale now planned, I had to provide forsomething like 7000 bushels of grain, chiefly corn and oats, 100 tons ofalfalfa, and an equal amount of vegetables, chiefly sugar beets andmangel-wurzel. Certainly the widow's land would be needed. 

The poultry had also outgrown my original plans, and I had built withreference to my larger views. There were five houses on the poultry lot, each 200 feet long, and each divided into ten equal pens. Four of thesehouses were for the laying hens, which were divided into flocks of 40each; while the other house was for the growing chickens and forcockerels being fattened for market. 

There were now on hand more than 1300 pullets and hens, and I instructedSam to run his incubator overtime that season, so as to fill our housesby autumn. I should need 800 or 900 pullets to make our quota good, formost of the older hens would have to be disposed of in the autumn, --allbut about 200, which would be kept until the following spring to breedfrom. 

I believe that a three-year-old hen that has shown the egg habit is thebest fowl to breed from, and it is the custom at Four Oaks to reservespecially good pens for this purpose. The egg habit is unquestionably asmuch a matter of heredity as the milk or the fat producing habit, andshould be as carefully cultivated. With this end in view, Sam addedyoung cockerels to four of his best-producing flocks on January 1, andby the 15th he was able to start his incubators. 

Breeding and feeding for eggs is on the same principle as feeding andbreeding for milk. It is no more natural for a hen to lay eggs for humanconsumption than it is for the robin to do so, or for the cow to givemore milk than is sufficient for her calf. Man's necessity has madedemands upon both cow and hen, and man's intelligence has convertedindividualists into socialists in both of these races. They no longerlive for themselves alone. As the cow, under favorable conditions, findspleasure in giving milk, so does the hen under like conditions takedelight in giving eggs, --else why the joyous cackle when leaving hernest after doing her full duty? She gloats over it, and glories in it, and announces her satisfaction to the whole yard. It is something to beproud of, and the cackling hen knows it better than you or I. It can beno hardship to push this egg machine to the limit of its capacity. Itadds new zest to the life of the hen, and multiplies her opportunitiesfor well-earned self-congratulation. 

Our hens are fed for eggs, and we get what we feed for. I said of myhens that I would not ask them to lay more than eight dozen eggs eachyear, and I will stick to what I said. But I do not reject voluntarycontributions beyond this number. Indeed, I accept them with thanks, andgive Biddy a word of commendation for her gratuity. Eight dozen eggs ayear will pay a good profit, but if each of my hens wishes to present mewith two dozen more, I slip 62 cents into my pocket and say, "I am verymuch obliged to you, miss, " or madam, as the case may be. Most of myhens do remember me in this substantial way, and the White Wyandottesare in great favor with the Headman. 

The houses in which my hens live are almost as clean as the one Iinhabit (and Polly is tidy to a degree); their food is as carefullyprepared as mine, and more punctually served; their enemies are fendedoff, and they are never frightened by dogs or other animals, for thefive-acre lot on which their houses and runs are built is enclosed by asubstantial fence that prevents any interloping; book agents neverdisturb their siestas, nor do tree men make their lives hideous withlithographs of impossible fruit on improbable trees. Whether I amindebted to one or to all of these conditions for my full egg baskets, Iam unable to say; but I do not purpose to make any change, for my eggbaskets are as full as a reasonable man could wish. As nearly as I canestimate, my hens give thirty per cent egg returns as a yearlyaverage--about 120 eggs for each hen in 365 days. This is more than Iask of them, but I do not refuse their generosity. 

Every egg is worth, in my market, 2-1/2 cents, which means that theyearly product of each hen could be sold for $3. Something more than twothousand dozen are consumed by the home colony or the incubators; therest find their way to the city in clean cartons of one dozen each, witha stencil of Four Oaks and a guarantee that they are not twenty-fourhours old when they reach the middleman. 

In return for this $3 a year, what do I give my hens besides a cleanhouse and yard? A constant supply of fresh water, sharp grits, oystershells, and a bath of road dust and sifted ashes, to which is added apinch of insect powder. Twice each day five pounds of fresh skim-milk isgiven to each flock of forty. In the morning they have a warm mashcomposed of (for 1600 hens) 50 pounds of alfalfa hay cut fine and soakedall night in hot water, 50 pounds of corn meal, 50 pounds of oat meal, 50 pounds of bran, and 20 pounds of either meat meal or cotton-seedmeal. At noon they get 100 pounds of mixed grains--wheat and buckwheatusually--with some green vegetables to pick at; and at night 125 to 150pounds of whole corn. There are variations of this diet from time totime, but no radical change. I have read much of a balanced ration, butI fancy a hen will balance her own ration if you give her the chance. 

Milk is one of the most important items on this bill of fare, and allhens love it. It should be fed entirely fresh, and the crocks or earthendishes from which it is eaten should be thoroughly cleansed each day. Four ounces for each hen is a good daily ration, and we divide this intotwo feedings. 

Our 1600 hens eat about 75 tons of grain a year. Add to this the 100tons which 50 cows will require, 200 tons for the swine, and 25 tons forthe horses, and we have 400 tons of grain to provide for the stock onthe factory farm. Nearly a fourth of this, in the shape of bran, glutenmeal, oil meal, and meat meal, must be purchased, for we have no way ofproducing it. For the other 300 tons we must look to the land or to alow market. Three hundred tons of mixed grains means something like13, 000 bushels, and I cannot hope to raise this amount from my land atpresent. 

Fortunately the grain market was to my liking in January of 1898; andthough there were still more than 7000 bushels in my granary, Ipurchased 5000 bushels of corn and as much oats against a higher market. The corn cost 27 cents a bushel and the oats 22, delivered at Exeter, the 10, 000 bushels amounting to $2450, to be charged to the farmaccount. 

I was now prepared to face the food problem, for I had more than 17, 000bushels of grain to supplement the amount the farm would produce, and totide me along until cheap grain should come again, or until my landshould produce enough for my needs. The supply in hand plus that which Icould reasonably expect to raise, would certainly provide for threeyears to come, and this is farther than the average farmer looks intothe future. But I claim to be more enterprising than an average farmer, and determined to keep my eyes open and to take advantage of anyfavorable opportunity to strengthen my position. 

In the meantime it was necessary to force my trees, and to secure morehelp for the farm work. To push fruit trees to the limit of healthygrowth is practical and wise. They can accomplish as much in growth anddevelopment in three years, when judiciously stimulated, as in five orsix years of the "lick-and-a-promise" kind of care which they usuallyreceive. 

A tree must be fed first for growth and afterward for fruit, just as apig is managed, if one wishes quick returns. To plant a tree and leaveit to the tenderness of nature, with only occasional attention, is tomake the heart sick, for it is certain to prove a case of hope deferred. In the fulness of time the tree and "happy-go-lucky" nature will provethemselves equal to the development of fruit; but they will be slow indoing it. It is quite as well for the tree, and greatly to the advantageof the horticulturist, to cut two or three years out of thisunprofitable time. All that is necessary to accomplish this is: to keepthe ground loose for a space around the tree somewhat larger than thespread of its branches; to apply fertilizers rich in nitrogen; to keepthe whole of the cultivated space mulched with good barn-yard manure, increasing the thickness of the mulch with coarse stuff in the fall, soas to lengthen the season of root activity; and to draw the mulch asideabout St. Patrick's Day, that the sun's rays may warm the earth as earlyas possible. Moderate pruning, nipping back of exuberant branches, andtwo sprayings of the foliage with Bordeaux mixture, to keep fungusenemies in check, comprise all the care required by the growing tree. This treatment will condense the ordinary growth of five years intothree, and the tree will be all the better for the forcing. 

As soon as fruit spurs and buds begin to show themselves, the treatmentshould be modified, but not remitted. Less nitrogen and more phosphoricacid and potash are to be used, and the mulch should _not_ be removedin the early spring. The objects now are, to stimulate the fruit budsand to retard activity in the roots until the danger from late frosts ispast. As a result of this kind of treatment, many varieties of appletrees will give moderate crops when the roots are seven, and the trunksare six years old. Fruit buds showed in abundance on many of my trees inthe fall of 1897, especially on the Duchess and the Yellow Transparent, and I looked for a small apple harvest that year. 

CHAPTER LV

THE OLD TIME FARM-HAND

With all my industries thus increasing, the necessity for more helpbecame imperative. French and Judson had their hands more than full inthe dairy barns, and had to be helped out by Thompson. Anderson couldnot give the swine all the attention they needed, and was assisted byOtto, who proved an excellent swineherd. Sam had the aid of Lars's boyswith the poultry, and very efficient aid it was, considering the timethey could give to it. They had to be off with the market wagon at 7. 40, and did not return from school until 4 P. M. Lars was busy in thecarriage barn; and though we spared him as much as possible fromdriving, he had to be helped out by Johnson at such times as the lattercould spare from his greenhouse and hotbeds. Zeb took care of the farmteams; but the winter's work of distributing forage and grain, gettingup wood and ice, hauling manure, and so forth, had to be done in adesultory and irregular manner. The spring work would find us wofullybehindhand if I did not look sharp. I had been looking sharp sinceJanuary set in, and had experienced, for the first time, realdifficulties in finding anything like good help. Hitherto I had beenespecially fortunate in this regard. I had met some reverses, but in themain good luck had followed me. I had nine good men who seemed contentedand who were all saving money, --an excellent sign of stability andcontentment. Even Lars had not fallen from grace but once, and thatcould hardly be charged against him, for Jack and Jarvis had tempted himbeyond resistance; while Sam's nose was quite blanched, and he was toall appearances firmly seated on the water wagon. Really, I did not knowwhat labor troubles meant until 1898, but since then I have not hadclear sailing. 

From my previous experience with working-men, I had formed the opinionthat they were reasoning and reasonable human beings, --withpeculiarities, of course; and that as a class they were ready to givegood service for fair wages and decent treatment. In early life I hadbeen a working-man myself, and I thought I could understand the feelingsand sympathize with the trials of the laborer from the standpoint ofpersonal experience. I was sorely mistaken. The laboring man of to-dayis a different proposition from the man who did manual labor "before thewar. " That he is more intelligent, more provident, happier, or better inany way, I sincerely doubt; that he is restless, dissatisfied, and lessefficient, I believe; that he is unreasonable in his demands andregardless of the interests of his employer, I know. There are manyshining exceptions, and to these I look for the ultimate regeneration oflabor; but the rule holds true. 

I do not believe that the principles of life have changed in fortyyears. I do not believe that an intelligent, able-bodied man need be aservant all his life, or that industry and economy miss their rewards, or that there is any truth in the theory that men cannot rise out of therut in which they happen to find themselves. The trouble is with theman, not with the rut. He spends his time in wallowing rather than indiligently searching for an outlet or in honestly working his way up toit. Heredity and environment are heavy weights, but industry andsobriety can carry off heavier ones. I have sympathy for weakness ofbody or mind, and patience for those over whom inheritance has cast abaleful spell; but I have neither patience nor sympathy for a strong manwho rails at his condition and makes no determined effort to better it. 

The time and money wasted in strikes, agitations, and arbitrations, ifput to practical use, would better the working-man enough faster thanthese futile efforts do. I have no quarrel with unions or combinationsof labor, so far as they have the true interests of labor for an object;but I do quarrel with the spirit of mob rule and the evidences ofconspicuous waste, which have grown so rampant as to overshadow thehelpful hand and to threaten, not the stability of society--for in thebackground I see six million conservative sons of the soil who will lookto the stability of things when the time comes--but the unionsthemselves. 

I remember my first summer on a farm. It lasted from the first day ofApril to the thirty-first day of October, and on the evening of that dayI carried to my father $28, the full wage for seven months. I could nothave spent one cent during that time, for I carried the whole sum home;but I do not remember that I was conscious of any want. The hours on thefarm were not short; an eight-hour day would have been considered but ahalf-day. We worked from sun to sun, and I grew and knew no sorrow oroppression. The next year I received the munificent wage of $6 a month, and the following year, $8. 

In after years, in brick-yards, sawmills, lumber woods, or harvestfields, there was no arbitrary limit put upon the amount of work to bedone. If I chose to do the work of a man and a half, I got $1. 50 fordoing it, and it would have been a bold and sturdy delegate who tried tohold me from it. I felt no need of help from outside. I was fit to carefor myself, and I minded not the long hours, the hard work, or the hardbed. This life was preliminary to a fuller one, and it served its use. I know what tired legs and back mean, and I know that one need not havethem always if he will use the ordinary sense which God gives. Genius, or special cleverness, is not necessary to get a man out of the rut ofhard manual labor. Just plain, everyday sense will do. But before I hadsecured the three men for whom I was in search, I began to feel thatthis common sense of which we speak so glibly is a rare commodity underthe working-man's hat. I advertised, sent to agencies and intelligenceoffices, interviewed and inspected, consulted friends and enemies, andso generally harrowed my life that I was fit to give up the wholebusiness and retire into a cave. 

By actual count, I saw more than one hundred men, of all ages, sizes, and colors. Eight of these were tried, of whom five were found wanting. Early in February I had settled upon three sober men to add to ourcolony. As none of these lasted the year out, I may be forgiven for notintroducing them to the reader. They served their purpose, and mine too, and then drifted on. 

CHAPTER LVI

THE SYNDICATE

I do not wish to take credit for things which gave me pleasure in thedoing, or to appear altruistic in my dealings with the people employedat Four Oaks. I tell of our business and other relations because theyare details of farm history and rightfully belong to these pages. If Idealt fairly by my men and established relations of mutual confidenceand dependence, it was not in the hope that my ways might be approvedand commended, but because it paid, in more ways than one. I wanted mymen to have a lively interest in the things which were of importance tome, that their efforts might be intelligent and direct; and I was gladto enter into their schemes, either for pleasure or for profit, withsuch aid as I could give. Cordial understanding between employee andemployer puts life into the contract, and disposes of perfunctoryservice, which simply recognizes a definite deed for a definitecompensation. Uninterested labor leaves a load of hay in the field to beinjured, just because the hour for quitting has come, while interestedlabor hurries the hay into the barn to make it safe, knowing that theextra half-hour will be made up to it in some other way. 

It pays the farmer to take his help into a kind of partnership, notalways in his farm, but always in his consideration. That is why myfarm-house was filled with papers and magazines of interest to the men;that is why I spent many an evening with them talking over ourindustries; that is why I purchased an organ for them when I found thatMrs. French, the dairymaid, could play on it; that is why I talkedeconomy to them and urged them to place some part of each month's wagein the Exeter Savings Bank; and that is why, early in 1898, I formulateda plan for investing their wages at a more profitable rate of interest. I asked each one to give me a statement of his or her savings up todate. They were quite willing to do this, and I found that the aggregatefor the eight men and three women was $2530. Anderson, who saved most ofhis wages, had an account in a city savings bank, and did not join us inour syndicate, though he approved of it. 

The money was made up of sums varying from $90, Lena's savings, to $460owned by Judson, the buggy man. My proposition was this: Pool the funds, buy Chicago, Rock Island, and Pacific stock, and hold it for one or twoyears. The interest would be twice as much as they were getting fromthe bank, while the prospect of a decided advance was good. I said tothem:--

"I have owned Chicago, Rock Island, and Pacific stock for more thanthree years. I commenced to buy at fifty-seven, and I am still buying, when I can get hold of a little money that doesn't have to go into thisblessed farm. It is now eighty-one, and it will go higher. I am so sureof this that I will agree to take the stock from each or all of you atthe price you pay for it at any time during the next two years. There isno risk in this proposition to you, and there may be a very handsomereturn. "

They were pleased with the plan, and we formed a pool to buy thirtyshares of stock. Thompson and I were trustees, and the certificate stoodin our names; but each contributor received a pro-rata interest; Lena, one thirtieth; Judson, five-thirtieths; and the others between theseextremes. The stock was bought at eighty-two. I may as well explain nowhow it came out, for I am not proud of my acumen at the finish. A littlemore than a year later the stock reached 122, and I advised thesyndicate to sell. They were all pleased at the time with the handsomeprofit they had made, but I suspect they have often figured what theymight have made "if the boss hadn't been such a chump, " for we have seenthe stock go above two hundred. 

This was not the only enterprise in which our colony took a small share. The people at Four Oaks are now content to hold shares in one of thegreat trusts, which they bought several points below par, and which pay1¾. Per cent every three months. Even Lena, who held only one share ofthe C. , R. I. , & P. Five years ago, has so increased her income-bearingproperty that she is now looked upon as a "catch" by her acquaintances. If I am correctly informed, she has an annual income of $105, independent of her wages. 

CHAPTER LVII

THE DEATH OF SIR TOM

At 7. 30 on the morning of March 16, Dr. High telephoned me that SirThomas O'Hara was seriously ill, and asked me to come at once. It tookbut a few minutes to have Jerry at the door, and, breasting a cold, thinrain at a sharp gallop, I was at my friend's door before the clockstruck eight. Dr. High met me with a heavy face. 

"Sir Tom is bad, " said he, "with double pneumonia, and I am awfullyafraid it will go hard with him. "

I remembered that my friend's pale face had looked a shade paler thanusual the evening before, and that there had been a pinched expressionaround the nose and mouth, as if from pain; but Sir Tom had many twingesfrom his old enemy, gout, which he did not care to discuss, and I tooklittle note of his lack of fitness. He touched the brandy bottle alittle oftener than usual, and left for home earlier; but his voice wasas cheery as ever, and we thought only of gout. He was taken with a hardchill on his way home, which lasted for some time after he was put tobed; but he would not listen to the requests of William and the faithfulcook that the doctor be summoned. At last he fell into a heavy sleepfrom which it was hard to rouse him, and the servants followed their owndesire and called Dr. High. He came as promptly as possible, and did allthat could be done for the sick man. 

A hurried examination convinced me that Dr. High's opinion of thegravity of the case was correct, and we telephoned at once for aspecialist from the city, and for a trained nurse. After a shortconsultation with Dr. High I reëntered my friend's room, and I fear thatmy face gave me away, for Sir Tom said:--

"Be a man, Williams, and tell the whole of it. "

"My dear old man, this is a tough proposition, but you must buck up andmake a game fight. We have sent for Dr. Jones and a nurse, and we willpull you through, sure. "

"You will try, for sure, but I reckon the call has come for me to cashin me checks. When that little devil Frost hit me right and left in mechest last night, I could see me finish; and I heard the banshee in mesleep, and that means much to a Sligo man. "

"Not to this Sligo man, I hope, " said I, though I knew that we were indeep waters. 

The wise man and the nurse came out on the 10. 30 train, the nursebringing comfort and aid, but the physician neither. After thoroughlyexamining the patient, he simply confirmed our fears. 

"Serious disease to overcome, and only scant vital forces; no reasonableground for hope. "

Sir Tom gave me a smile as I entered the room after parting from thespecialist. 

"I've discounted the verdict, " said he, "and the foreman needn't drawsuch a long face. I've had my fling, like a true Irishman, and I'm readyto pay the bill. I won't have to come back for anything, Williams;there's nothing due me; but I must look sharp for William and the oldgirl in the kitchen, --faithful souls, --for they will be strangers in astrange land. Will you send for a lawyer?"

The lawyer came, and a codicil to Sir Thomas's will made the servantscomfortable for life. All that day and the following night we hungaround the sick bed, hoping for the favorable change that never came. Onthe morning of the 17th it was evident that he would not live to see thesun go down. We had kept all friends away from the sick chamber; butnow, at his request, Polly, Jane, and Laura were summoned, and theycame, with blanched faces and tearful eyes, to kiss the brow and holdthe hands of this dear man. He smiled with contentment on the group, andsaid:--

"Me friends have made such a heaven of this earth that perhaps I havehad me full share. "

"Sir Tom, " said I, "shall I send for a priest?"

"A priest! What could I do with a priest? Me forebears were on theOrange side of Boyne Water, and we have never changed color. "

"Would you like to see a clergyman?"

"No, no; just the grip of a friend's hand and these angels around me. Asking pardon is not me long suit, Williams, but perhaps the time hascome for me to play it. If the good God will be kind to me I will thankHim, as a gentleman should, and I will take no advantage of Hiskindness; but if He cannot see His way clear to do that, I will takewhat is coming. "

"Dear Sir Tom, " said Jane, with streaming eyes, "God cannot be hard withyou, who have been so good to every one. "

"If there's little harm in me life, there's but scant good, too; I can'tfind much credit. Me good angel has had an easy time of it, more's thepity; but Janie, if you love me, Le Bon Dieu will not be hard on me. Hecannot be severe with a poor Irishman who never stacked the cards, pulled a race, or turned his back on a friend, and who is loved by anangel. "

I asked Sir Tom what we should do for him after he had passed away. 

"It would be foine to sleep in the woods just back of Janie's forge, where I could hear the click of her hammer if the days get lonely; butthere's a little castle, God save the mark, out from Sligo. Me forebearsare there, --the lucky ones, --and me wish is to sleep with them; but Idoubt it can be. "

"Indeed it can be, and it shall be, too, " said Polly. "We will all gowith you, Sir Tom, when June comes, and you shall sleep in your ownground with your own kin. "

"I don't deserve it, Mrs. Williams, indeed I don't, but I would lieeasier there. That sod has known us for a thousand years, and it's thegreenest, softest, kindest sod in all the world; but little I'll mindwhen the breath is gone. I'll not be asking that much of you. "

"My dear old chap, we won't lose sight of you until that green sodcovers the stanchest heart that ever beat. Polly is right. We'll go withyou to Sligo, --all of us, --Polly and Jane and Jack and I, and Kate andthe babies, too, if we can get them. You shall not be lonesome. "

"Lonesome, is it? I'll be in the best of company. Me heart is at restfrom this moment, and I'll wait patiently until I can show you Sligo. This is a fine country, Mrs. Williams, and it has given me the truestfriends in all the world, but the ground is sweet in Sligo. "

His breath came fainter and faster, and we could see that it would sooncease. After resting a few minutes, Sir Tom said:--

"Me lady Laura, do you mind that prayer song, the second verse?"

Laura's voice was sobbing and uncertain as it quavered:--

 "Other refuge have I none, "

but it gained courage and persuasiveness until it filled the room andthe heart of the man with, --

 "Cover my defenceless head, With the shadow of Thy wing. "

A gentle smile and the relaxing of closed hands completed the story ofour loss, though the real weight of it came days and months later. 

It was long before we could take up our daily duties with anything likethe familiar happiness. Something had gone out of our lives that couldnever be replaced, and only time could salve the wounds. The dear manwho had gone was no friend to solemn faces, and living interests mustbury dead memories; but it was a long time before the click of Jane'shammer was heard in her forge; not until Laura had said, "It will please_him_, Jane. "

CHAPTER LVIII

BACTERIA

January, February, and March passed with more than the usual snow andrain, --fully ten inches of precipitation; but the spring proved neithercold nor late. During these three months we sold butter to the amount of$1283, and $747 worth of eggs; in all, $2030. 

The ploughs were started in the highest land on the 11th of April, andwere kept going steadily until they had turned over nearly 280 acres. 

I decided to put the whole of the widow's field into corn, lots 8, 12, and 15 (84 acres) into oats, and 50 acres of the orchards into roots andsweet fodder corn. Number 13 was to be sown with buckwheat as soon asthe rye was cut for green forage. I decided to raise more alfalfa, forwe could feed more to advantage, and it was fast gaining favor in myestablishment. It is so productive and so nutritious that I wonder it isnot more generally used by farmers who make a specialty of feedingstock. It contains as much protein as most grains, and is wholesome andhighly palatable if properly cured. It should be cut just as it iscoming into flower, and should be cured in the windrow. The leaves arethe most nutritious part of the plant, and they are apt to fall off ifthe cutting be deferred, or if the curing be _done carelessly_. 

Lot No. 9 was to be fitted for alfalfa as soon as the season wouldpermit. First, it must receive a heavy dressing of manure, to beploughed under. The ordinary plough was to be followed in this case by asubsoiler, to stir the earth as deep as possible. When the seed wassown, the land was to receive five hundred pounds an acre of high-gradefertilizer, and one hundred pounds an acre of infected soil. 

The peculiar bacterium that thrives on congenial alfalfa soil isessential to the highest development of the plant. Without its presencethe grass fails in its chief function--the storing of nitrogen--andmakes but poor growth. When the alfalfa bacteria are abundant, the plantflourishes and gathers nitrogen in knobs and bunches in its roots and inthe joints of its stems. 

I sent to a very successful alfalfa grower in Ohio for a thousand poundsof soil from one of his fields, to vaccinate my field with. This is notalways necessary, --indeed, it rarely is, for alfalfa seed usually carryenough bacteria to inoculate favorable soils; but I wished to see ifthis infected soil would improve mine. I have not been able to discoverany marked advantage from its use; the reason being that my soil was sorich in humus and added manures that the colonies of bacteria on theseeds were quite sufficient to infect the whole mass. Under lessfavorable conditions, artificial inoculation is of great advantage. 

Wonderful are the secrets of nature. The infinitely small things seem towork for us and the infinitely large ones appear suited to our use; andyet, perhaps, this is all "seeming" and "appearing. " We may ourselves besimply more advanced bacteria, working blindly toward the solution of aninfinite problem in which we are concerned only as means to an end. 

"Why should the spirit of mortal be proud, " until it has settled itsrelative position with both Sirius and the micro-organisms, or hasestimated its stature by view-points from the bacterial world and fromthe constellation of Lyra. Until we have been able to compare opinionsfrom these extremes, if indeed they be extremes, we cannot expect tomake a correct estimate of our value in the economy of the universe. Ifancy that we are apt to take ourselves too seriously, and that we willsometime marvel at the shadow which we did not cast. 

CHAPTER LIX

MATCH-MAKING

The home lot took on a home look in the spring of 1898. The lawn lostits appearance of newness; the trees became acquainted with each other;the shrubs were on intimate terms with their neighbors, and broke intofriendly rivalry of blossoms; the gardens had a settled-down look, as ifthey had come to stay; and even the wall flowers were enjoyingthemselves. These efforts of nature to make us feel at ease werethankfully received by Polly and me, and we voted that this was morelike home than anything else we had ever had; and when the fruit treesput forth their promise of an autumn harvest in great masses ofblossoms, we declared that we had made no mistake in transformingourselves from city to country folk. 

"Aristocracy is of the land, " said Polly. "It always has been andalways will be the source of dignity and stability. I feel twice asgreat a lady as I did in the tall house on B---- Street. "

"So you don't want to go back to that tall house, madam?"

"Indeed I don't. Why should I?"

"I don't know why you should, only I remember Lot's wife looked backtoward the city. "

"Don't mention that woman! She didn't know what she wanted. You won'tcatch me looking toward the city, except once a week for three or fourhours, and then I hurry back to the farm to see what has happened in mygarden while I've been away. "

"But how about your friends, Polly?"

"You know as well as I that we haven't lost a friend by living out here, and that we've tied some of them closer. No, sir! No more city life forme. It may do for young people, who don't know better, but not for me. It's too restricted, and there's not enough excitement. "

"Country life fits us like paper on the wall, " said I, "but how aboutthe youngsters? If we insist on keeping children, we must take them intoour scheme of life. "

"Of course we must, but children are an unknown quantity. They are _x_in the domestic problem, and we cannot tell what they stand for untilthe problem is worked out. I don't see why we can't find the value of_x_ in the country as easily as in the city. They have had city andschool life, now let them see country life; the _x_ will stand for wideexperience at least. "

"Jane likes it thus far, " said I, "and I think she will continue; but Idon't feel so sure about Jack. "

"You're as blind as a bat--or a man. Jane loves country life becauseshe's young and growing; but there's a subconscious sense which tellsher that she's simply fitting herself to be carried off by that handsomegiant, Jim Jarvis. She doesn't know it, but it's the truth all the same, and it will come as sure as tide; and when it does come, her life willbe run into other moulds than we have made, no matter how carefully. "

"I wonder where this modern Hercules is most vulnerable. I'll slay himif I find him mousing around my Jane. "

"You will slay nothing, Mr. Headman, and you know it; you will just takewhat's coming to you, as others have done since the world was young. "

"Well, I give fair warning; it's 'hands off Jane, ' for lo, these manyyears, or some one will be brewing 'harm tea' for himself. "

"You bark so loud no one will believe you can bite, " said this saucy, match-making mother. 

"How about Jack?" said I. "Have you settled the moulds he is to be runin?"

"Not entirely; but I am not as one without hope. Jack will be throughcollege in June, and will go abroad with us for July and August; he willbe as busy as possible with the miners from the moment he comes back; heis much in love with Jessie, the Gordon's have no other child, theproperty is large, Homestead Farm is only three miles, and--"

"Slow up, Polly! Slow up! Your main line is all right, but yourterminal facilities are bad. Jack is to be educated, travelled, employed, engaged, married, endowed with Homestead Farm, and all that;but you mustn't kill off the Gordons. I swing the red lantern in frontof that train of thought. Let Jack and Jessie wait till we are throughwith Four Oaks and the Gordons have no further use for Homestead Farm, before thinking of coupling that property on to this. "

"Don't be a greater goose than you can help, " said Polly. "You know whatI mean. Men are so short-sighted! Laura says, 'the Headman ought to havea small dog and a long stick'; but no matter, I'll keep an eye on thechildren, and you needn't worry about country life for them. They'lltake to it kindly. "

"Well, they ought to, if they have any appreciation of the fitness ofthings. Did you ever see weather made to order before? I feel as if Ihad been measured for it. "

"It suits my garden down to the ground, " said Polly, who hates slang. 

"It was planned for the farmer, madam. If it happens to fit therose-garden mistress, it is a detail for you to note and be thankfulfor, but the great things are outside the rose gardens. Look at thatcorn-field! A crow could hide in it anywhere. "

"What have crows hiding got to do with corn, I'd like to know?"

"When I was a boy the farmers used to say, 'If it will cover a crow'sback on the Fourth of July, it will make good corn, ' and I am farmeringwith old saws when I can't find new ones. "

"It's all of three weeks yet to the Fourth of July, and your corn willcover a turkey by that time. "

"I hope so, but we shan't be here to see it, more's the pity, as Sir Tomwould say. "

"Do you know, Kate says she won't go over. She doesn't think it wouldpay for so short a trip. Why do you insist upon eight weeks?"

"Well, now, I like that! When did I ever insist on anything, Mrs. Williams? Not since I knew you well, did I? But be honest, Polly. Whohas done the cutting down of this trip? You and the youngsters may stayas long as you please, but I will be back here September 1st unless the_Normania_ breaks a shaft. "

"I wish we could go _over_ on a German boat. I hate the Cunarders. "

"So do I, but we must land at Queenstown. We must put Sir Tom under thesod at that little castle out from Sligo. Then we can do Holland andBelgium, and have a week or ten days in London. "

"That will be enough. I do hope Johnson will take good care of myflowers; it's the very most important time, you know, and if he neglectsthem--"

"He won't neglect them, Polly; even if he does, they can be easilyreplaced. But the hay harvest, now, that's different; if they spoil thetimothy or cut the alfalfa too late!"

"Bother your alfalfa! What do I care for that? Kate's coming out withthe babies, and I'm going to put her in full charge of the gardens. She'll look after them, I'm sure. I'll tell you another bit of news: JimJarvis is bound to go with us, Jack says, and he has asked if we'll lethim. "

"How long have you had that up your sleeve, young woman? I don't like ita little bit! That is why you talked so like an oracle a little whileago! What does Jane say?"

"She doesn't say much, but I think she wouldn't object. "

"Of course she can't object. You sick a big brute of a man on to alittle girl, and she don't dare object; but I'll feed him to the fishesif he worries her. "

"To be sure you will, Mr. Ogre. Anybody would be sure of that to hearyou talk. "

"Don't chaff me, Polly. This is a serious business. If you sell my girl, I'm going to buy a new one. I'll ask Jessie Gordon to go with us and, ifJack is half the man I take him to be, he'll replenish our stock ofgirls before we get back. "

"Who is match-making now?"

"I don't care what you call it. I shall take out letters of marque andreprisal. I won't raise girls to be carried off by the first privateerthat makes sail for them, without making some one else suffer. IfJarvis goes, Jessie goes, that's flat. "

"I think it will be an excellent plan, Mr. Bad Temper, and I've no doubtthat we can manage it. "

"Don't say 'we' when you talk of managing it. I tell you I'm entirely onthe defensive until some one robs me, then I'll take what is myneighbor's if I can get it. If it were not for my promise to Sir Tom, Iwouldn't leave the farm for a minute! And I would establish a quarantineagainst all giants for at least five years. "

"You know you like Jarvis. He is one of the best. "

"That's all right, Polly. He's as fine as silk, but he isn't fine enoughfor our Jane yet. "

CHAPTER LX

"I TOLD YOU SO"

It may be the limitless horizon, it may be the comradery of confinement, it may be the old superstition of a plank between one and eternity, orit may be some occult influence of ship and ocean; but certain it isthat there is no such place in all the world as a deck of atransatlantic liner for softening young hearts, until they lose allsemblance of shape, and for melting them into each other so that out oftwain there comes but one. I think Polly was pleased to watch thismelting process, as it began to show itself in our young people, fromthe safe retreat of her steamer chair and behind the covers of her book. I couldn't find that she read two chapters from any book during thewhole voyage, or that she was miserable or discontented. She justwatched with a comfortable "I told you so" expression of countenance;and she never mentioned home lot or garden or roses, from dock to dock. 

It is as natural for a woman to make matches as for a robin to buildnests, and I suppose I had as much right to find fault with the one aswith the other. I did not find fault with her, but neither could Iunderstand her; so I fretted and fumed and smoked, and walked the deckand bet on everything in sight and out of sight, until the soothinginfluence of the sea took hold of me, and then I drifted like the restof them. 

No, I will not say "like the rest of them, " for I could not forgive thiswaste of space given over to water. In other crossings I had not notedthe conspicuous waste with any feeling of loss or regret; but othercrossings had been made before I knew the value of land. I could not getaway from the thought that it would add much to the wealth of the worldif the mountains were removed and cast into the sea. Not only that, butit would curb to some extent the ragings of this same turbulent sea, which was rolling and tossing us about for no really good reason that Icould discover. The Atlantic had lost much of its romance and mysteryfor me, and I wondered if I had ever felt the enthusiasm which I heardexpressed on all sides. 

"There she spouts!" came from a dozen voices, and the whole passengerlist crowded the port rail, just to see a cow whale throwing up streamsof water, not immensely larger than the streams of milk which my cowHolsteins throw down. The crowd seemed to take great pleasure in thissight, but to me it was profitless. 

I have known the day when I could watch the graceful leaps and dives ofa school of porpoises, as it kept with easy fin, alongside of our oceangreyhound, with pleasure unalloyed by any feeling of non-utility. Butnow these "hogs of the sea" reminded me of my Chester Whites, and thecomparison was so much in favor of the hogs of the land, that I turnedfrom these spectacular, useless things, to meditate upon the price ofpork. Even Mother Carey's chickens gave me no pleasure, for theyreminded me of a far better brood at home, and I cheerfully thanked thenoble Wyandottes who were working every third day so that I could have atrip to Europe. To be sure, I had European trips before I hadWyandottes; to have them both the same year was the marvel. 

Before we reached Queenstown, Jarvis had gained some ground by twicepicking me out of the scuppers; but as I resented his steadiness of footand strength of hand, it was not worth mentioning. I could see, however, that these feats were great in Jane's eyes. The double rescue of abeloved parent, from, not exactly a watery grave, but a damp scupper, would never be forgotten. The giant let her adore his manly strength andbeauty, and I could only secretly hope that some wave--tidal ifnecessary--would take him off his feet and send him into the scuppers. But he had played football too long to be upset by a watery wave, and Iwas balked of my revenge. 

Jack and Jessie were rather a pleasure to me than otherwise. Theysettled right down to the heart-softening business in suchmatter-of-fact fashion that their hearts must have lost contour beforethe voyage was half over. Polly dismissed them from her mind with a sighof satisfaction, and I then hoped that she would find some time todevote to me, but I was disappointed. She assured me that those two weresafely locked in the fold, but that she could not "set her mind at rest"until the other two were safe. After that she promised to take me inhand; whether for reward or for punishment left me guessing. 

The six and a half days finally came to an end, and we debarked forQueenstown. The journey across Ireland was made as quickly as slowtrains and a circuitous route would permit, and we reached Sligo on thesecond day. Sir Thomas's agent met us, and we drove at once to the"little castle out from Sligo. " It proved to be a very old littlecastle, four miles out, overlooking the bay. It was low and flat, withthick walls of heavy stone pierced by a few small windows, and a broaddoor made of black Irish oak heavily studded with iron. From one cornerrose a square tower, thirty feet or more in height, covered with wildvines that twined in and out through the narrow, unglazed windows. 

Within was a broad, low hall, from which opened four rooms of nearlyequal size. There was little evidence that the castle had been inhabitedduring recent years, though there was an ancient woman care-taker whoopened the great door for us, and then took up the Irish peasant's wailfor the last of the O'Haras. She never ceased her crooning except whenshe spoke to us, which was seldom; but she placed us at table in thestate dining room, and served us with stewed kid, potatoes, and goat'smilk. The walls of the dining room were covered with ancient pictures ofthe O'Haras, but none so recent as a hundred years. We could wellbelieve Sir Tom's words, "the sod has known us for a thousand years, "when we looked upon the score of pictures, each of which stood for atleast one generation. 

The agent told us that our friend had never lived at the castle, butthat he had visited the place as a child, and again just before leavingfor America. A wall-enclosed lot about two hundred feet square was "thekindest sod in all the world to an O'Hara, " and here we placed our dearfriend at rest with the "lucky ones" of his race. No one of the raceever deserved more "luck" than did our Sir Tom. The young clergyman whoread the service assured us that he had found it; and our minds gave thesame evidence, and our hearts said Amen, as we turned from his peacefulresting-place by the green waters of Sligo Bay. 

Two days later we were comfortably lodged at The Hague, from which weintended to "do" the little kingdom of Holland by rail, by canal, or onfoot, as we should elect. 

CHAPTER LXI

THE BELGIAN FARMER

Leaving Holland with regret, we crossed the Schelde into Belgium, thecockpit of Europe. It is here that one sees what intensive farming islike. No fences to occupy space, no animals roaming at large, nothingbut small strips of land tilled to the utmost, chiefly by hand. Littlemachinery is used, and much of the work is done after primitivefashions; but the land is productive, and it is worked to the top of itsbent. 

The peasant-farmer soils his cows, his sheep, his swine, in a way thatis economical of space and food, if not of labor, and manages to make aliving and to pay rent for his twenty-acre strip of land. His methods donot appeal to the American farmer, who wastes more grain and forage eachyear than would keep the Netherlander, his family, and his stock; butthere is a lesson to be learned from this subdivision and carefulcultivation of land. Belgian methods prove that Mother Earth can carefor a great many children if she be properly husbanded, and that thesooner we recognize her capacity the better for us. 

Abandoned farms are not known in Belgium and France, though the soilhas been cultivated for a thousand years, and was originally no betterthan our New England farms, and not nearly so good as hundreds of thosewhich are practically given over to "old fields" in Virginia. 

It is neglect that impoverishes land, not use. Intelligent use makesland better year by year. The only way to wear out land is to starve andto rob it at the same time. Food for man and beast may be taken from thesoil for thousands of years without depleting it. All it asks in returnis the refuse, carefully saved, properly applied, and thoroughly workedin to make it available. If, in addition to this, a cover crop of someleguminous plant be occasionally turned under, the soil may actuallyincrease in fertility, though it be heavily cropped each year. 

It would pay the young American farmer to study Belgian methods, crudethough they are, for the insight he could gain into the possibilities ofcontinuous production. The greatest number of people to the square milein the inhabited globe live in this little, ill-conditioned kingdom, andmost of them get their living from the soil. It has been thebattle-field of Europe: a thousand armies have harrowed it; human bloodhas drenched it from Liège to Ostend; it has been depopulated again andagain. But it springs into new life after each catastrophe, simplybecause the soil is prolific of farmers, and they cannot be kept down. Like the poppies on the field of Waterloo, which renew the blood-redstrife each year, the Belgian peasant-farmer springs new-born from thesoil, which is the only mother he knows. 

After two weeks in Holland, two in Belgium, and two in London, we wereready to turn our faces toward home. 

We took the train to Southampton, and a small side-wheel steamer carriedus outside Southampton waters, where we tossed about for thirty minutesbefore the _Normania_ came to anchor. The wind was blowing half a galefrom the north, and we were glad to get under the lee of the greatvessel to board her. 

The transfer was quickly made, and we were off for New York. The windgained strength as the day grew old, but while we were in the Solent thebluff coast of Devon and Cornwall broke its force sufficiently to permitus to be comfortable on the port side of the ship. 

As night came on, great clouds rolled up from the northwest and the windincreased. Darkness, as of Egypt, fell upon us before we passed theLizard, and the only things that showed above the raging waters were thebeacon lights, and these looked dim and far away. Occasionally a flashof lightning threw the waters into relief, and then made the darknessmore impenetrable. As we steamed beyond the Lizard and the protectingCornish coast, the full force of the gale, from out the Irish Sea, struck us. We were going nearly with it, and the good ship pitched andreared like an angry horse, but did not roll much. Pitching is harder tobear than rolling, and the decks were quickly vacated. 

I turned into my stateroom soon after ten o'clock, and then happened athing which will hold a place in my memory so long as I have one. I didnot feel sleepy, but I was nervous, restless, and half sick. I lay on mylounge for perhaps half an hour, and then felt impelled to go on deck. Iwrapped myself in a great waterproof ulster, pulled my storm cap over myears, and climbed the companionway. Two or three electric bulbs insheltered places on deck only served to make the darkness more intense. I crawled forward of the ladies' cabin, and, supporting myself againstthe donkey-engine, peered at the light above the crow's-nest and triedto think that I could see the man on watch in the nest. I did see himfor an instant, when the next flash of lightning came, and also twoofficers on the bridge; and I knew that Captain Bahrens was in the charthouse. When the next flash came, I saw the other lookout man making hisshort turns on the narrow space of bow deck, and was tempted to joinhim; why, I do not know. I crept past the donkey-engine, holding fast toit as I went, until I reached the iron gate that closes the narrowpassage to the bow deck. With two silver dollars in my teeth I staggeredacross this rail-guarded plank, and when the next flash came I wassitting at the feet of the lookout man with the two silver dollars in myoutstretched hand. He took the money, and let me crawl forward betweenthe anchors and the high bulwark of the bows. 

The sensations which this position gave me were strange beyonddescription. Darkness was thick around me; at one moment I was carriedupward until I felt that I should be lost in the black sky, and the nextmoment the downward motion was so terrible that the blacker water at thebottom of the sea seemed near. I cannot say that I enjoyed it, but Icould not give it up. 

When the great bow rose, I stood up, and, looking over the bulwark, tried to see either sky or water, but tried in vain, save when thelightning revealed them both. When the bow fell, I crouched under thebulwark and let the sea comb over me. How long I remained at this weirdpost, I do not know; but I was driven from it in such terror as I hopenever to feel again. 

An unusually large wave carried me nearer the sky than I liked to be, and just as the sharp bow of the great iron ship was balancing on itscrest for the desperate plunge, a glare of lightning made sky and sealike a sheet of flame and curdled the blood in my veins. In the troughof the sea, under the very foot of the immense steamship, lay a delicatepleasure-boat, with its mast broken flush with its deck, and itshelpless body the sport of the cruel waves. 

The light did not last longer than it would take me to count five, butin that time I saw four figures that will always haunt me. Two sailorsin yachting costume were struggling hopelessly with the tiller, and thewild terror of their faces as they saw the huge destruction that hungover them is simply unforgettable. 

The other two were different. A strong, blond man, young, handsome, andbrave I know, stood bareheaded in front of the cockpit. With a sudden, vehement motion he drew the head of a girl to his breast and held itthere as if to shut out the horrible world. There was no fear in hisface, --just pain and distress that he was unable to do more. I amthankful that I did not see the face of the girl. Her brown hair hasfloated in my dreams until I have cried out for help; what would herface have done?

In the twinkling of an eye it was over. I heard a sound as when onebreaks an egg on the edge of a cup, --no more. I screamed with horror, ran across the guarded plank, climbed the gate, and fell headlong andscreaming over the donkey-engine. Picking up my battered self, Ishouted:

"Bahrens! Bahrens! for God's sake, help! Man overboard! Stop the ship!"

I reached the ladder to the bridge just as the captain came out of thechart house. 

"For God's sake, stop the ship! You've run down a boat with fourpeople! Stop her, can't you!"

"It can't be done, man. If we've run down a boat, it's all over with itand all in it. I can't risk a thousand lives without hope of saving one. This is a gale, Doctor, and we have our hands full. "

I turned from him in horror and despair. I stumbled to my stateroom, dropped my wet clothing in the middle of the floor, and knew no moreuntil the trumpet called for breakfast. The rush of green waters waspounding at my porthole; the experience of the night came back to mewith horror; the reek of my wet clothes sickened my heart, and I rangfor the steward. 

"Take these things away, Gustav, and don't bring them back until theyare dry and pressed. "

"What things does the Herr Doctor speak for?"

"The wet things there on the floor. "

"Excuse me, but I have seen no things wet. "

"You Dutch chump!" said I, half rising, "what do you mean bysaying--Well, I'll be damned!" There were my clothes, dry and folded, onthe couch, and my ulster and cap on their hook, without evidence ofmoisture or use. 

"Gustav, remind me to give you three rix-dollars at breakfast. "

"Danke, Herr Doctor. "

Of such stuff are dreams made. But I will know those terror-strickensailors if I do not see them for a hundred years; and I am glad thedark-haired girl did not realize the horror, but simply knew that theman loved her; and I often think of the man who did the nice thing whenno one was looking, and whose face was not terrorized by the crack ofdoom. 

CHAPTER LXII

HOME-COMING

Even Polly was satisfied with our young people before we entered NewYork Bay. If anything in their "left pulmonaries" had remainedunsoftened during the voyage out and the comradery of the Netherlands, it was melted into non-resistance by the homeward trip. I could not longhold out against the evidence of happiness that surrounded me, and Igave a half-grudging consent that Jarvis and Jane might play togetherfor the next three or four years, if they would not ask to play "forkeeps" until those years had passed. They readily gave the promise, butevery one knows how such promises are kept. The children wore me out intime, as all children do in all kinds of ways, and got their own ways inless than half the contract period. I cannot put my finger on anypunishment that has befallen them for this lack of filial consideration, and I am fifteen-sixteenths reconciled. 

I was downright glad that Jack "made good" with Jessie Gordon. She wasthe sort of girl to get out the best that was in him, and I was glad tohave her begin early. Try as I might, I could not feel unhappy thatbeautiful September morning as we steamed up the finest waterway to thefinest city in the world. Deny it who will, I claim that our Empire Cityand its environments make the most impressive human show. There is morelife, vigor, utility, gorgeousness about it than can be found anywhereelse; and it has the snap and elasticity of youth, which are soattractive. No man who claims the privilege of American citizenship cansail up New York Bay without feeling pride in his country andsatisfaction in his birthright. One doesn't disparage other cities andother countries when he claims that his own is the best. 

We were not specially badly treated at the custom-house, --no worse, indeed, than smugglers, thieves, or pirates would have been; and weescaped, after some hours of confinement, without loss of life orbaggage, but with considerable loss of dignity. How can aself-respecting, middle-aged man (to be polite to myself) stand forhours in a crowded shed, or lean against a dirty post, or sit on thesharp edge of his open trunk, waiting for a Superior Being with a giltband around his hat, without losing some modicum of dignity? And how, when this Superior Being calls his number and kicks his trunk, is he toknow that he is a free-born American citizen and a lineal descendant ofRoger Williams? The evidence is entirely from within. How is he tosupport a countenance and mien of dignity while the secrets of hischest are laid bare and the contents of his trunk dumped on the dirtyfloor? And how must his eyes droop and his face take on a hang-dog lookwhen his second-best coat is searched for diamonds, and his favorite(though worn) pajamas punched for pearls. 

There are concessions to be made for one's great and glorious country, and the custom-house is one of them. Perhaps we will do better sometime, and perhaps, though this is unlikely, the customs inspectors of thefuture will disguise themselves as gentlemen. We finally passed theinquisition, and, with stuffed trunks and ruffled spirits, took cabs forthe station, and were presently within the protecting walls at FourOaks, there to forget lost dignities in the cultivation of land and newones. 

CHAPTER LXIII

AN HUNDRED FOLD

Kate declared that she had had the time of her life during her nineweeks' stay at Four Oaks. "People here every day, and the house fullover Sunday. We've kept the place humming, " said she, "and you may bethankful if you find anything here but a mortgage. When Tom and I getrich, we are going to be farm people. "

"Don't wait for that, daughter. Start your country home early and let itgrow up with the children. It doesn't take much money to buy the landand to get fruit trees started. If Tom will give it his care for threehours a week, he will make it at least pay interest and taxes, and itwill grow in value every year until you are ready to live on it. Thinkhow our orchards would look now if we had started them ten years ago!They would be fit to support an average family. "

"There, Dad, don't mount your hobby as soon as ever you get home. But we_have_ had a good time out here. Do you really think farming is all beerand skittles?"

"It has been smooth sailing for me thus far, and I believe it is simplya business with the usual ups and downs; but I mean to make the ups thefeature in this case. "

"Are you really glad to get back to it? Didn't you want to stay longer?"

"I had a fine trip, and all that, but I give you this for true; I don'tthink it would make me feel badly if I were condemned to stay withinforty miles of this place for the rest of my life. "

"I can't go so far as that with you, Dad, but perhaps I may when I'molder. "

"Yes, age makes a difference. At forty a man is a fool or a farmer, orboth; at fifty the pull of the land is mighty; at sixty it has fullpossession of him; at seventy it draws him down with other forces thanthat which Newton discovered, and at eighty it opens for him and kindlytucks the sod around him. Mother Earth is no stepmother, but warm andgenerous to all, and I think a fellow is lucky who comes to her for longyears of bounty before he is compelled to seek her final hospitality. "

"But, Dad, we can't all be farmers. "

"Of course not, and there's the pity of it; but almost every man canhave a plot of ground on which each year he can grow some new thing, ifonly a radish or a leaf of lettuce, to add to the real wealth of theworld. I tell you, young lady, that all wealth springs out of theground. You think that riches are made in Wall Street, but they arenot; they are only handled and manipulated. Stop the work of the farmerfrom April to October of any year, and Wall Street would be a howlingwilderness. The Street makes it easier to exchange a dozen eggs forthree spools of silk, or a pound of butter for a hat pin, but that'sall; it never created half the intrinsic value of twelve eggs or sixteenounces of butter. It's only the farmer who is a wealth producer, andit's high time that he should be recognized as such. He's the husbandmanof all life; without him the world would be depopulated in three years. You don't half appreciate the profession which your Dad has taken up inhis old age. "

"That sounds all right, but I don't think the farmer would recognizehimself from that description. He doesn't live up to his possibilities, does he?"

"Mighty few people do. A farmer may be what he chooses to be. He's underno greater limitations than a business or a professional man. If he becontent to use his muscle blindly, he will probably fall under his ownharrow. So, too, would the merchant or the lawyer who failed to use hisintelligence in his business. The farmer who cultivates his mind as wellas his land, uses his pencil as often as his plough, and mixes brainswith brawn, will not fall under his own harrow or any other man's. Hewill never be the drudge of soil or of season, for to a large extent hecan control the soil and discount the season. No other following givessuch opportunity for independence and self-balance. "

"Almost thou persuadest me to become a farmer, " said Kate, as we leftthe porch, where I had been admiring my land while I lectured on theadvantages of husbandry. 

Polly came out of the rose garden, where she had been examining herflowers and setting her watch, and said:--

"Kate, you and the grand-girls must stay this month out, anyway. Itseems an age since we saw you last. "

"All right, if Dad will agree not to fire farm fancies and figures at meevery time he catches me in an easy-chair. "

"I'll promise, but you don't know what you're missing. "

Four Oaks looked great, and I was tempted to tramp over every acre ofit, saying to each, "You are mine"; but first I had a little talk withThompson. 

"Everything has been greased for us this summer, " said Thompson. "We gota bumper crop of hay, and the oats and corn are fine! I allow you've gotfifty-five bushels of oats to the acre in those shocks, and the cornlooks like it stood for more than seventy. We sold nine more calves theend of June, for $104. Mr. Tom must have a lot of money for you, for inAugust we sold the finest bunch of shoates you ever saw, --312 of them. They were not extra heavy, but they were fine as silk. Mr. Tom said theynetted $4. 15 per hundred, and they averaged a little over 260 pounds. Iwent down with them, and the buyers tumbled over each other to get them. I was mighty proud of the bunch, and brought back a check for $3407. "

"Good for you, Thompson! That's the best sale yet. "

"Some of the heifers will be coming in the last of this month or thefirst of next. Don't you want to get rid of those five scrub cows?"

"Better wait six weeks, and then you may sell them. Do you know whereyou can place them?"

"Jackson was looking at them a few days ago, and said he would give $35apiece for them; but they are worth more. "

"Not for us, Thompson, and not for him, either, if he saw things justright. They're good for scrubs; but they don't pay well enough for us, and if he wants them he can have them at that price about the middle ofOctober. "

The credit account for the second quarter of 1898 stood:--

23 calves . . . . . $270. 00Eggs . . . . . . 637. 00Butter . . . . . . 1314. 00 Total. . . . . . $2221. 00

CHAPTER LXIV

COMFORT ME WITH APPLES

September added a new item to our list of articles sold; small, indeed, but the beginning of the fourth and last product of our factoryfarm, --fruit from our newly planted orchards. The three hundred plumtrees in the chicken runs gave a moderate supply for the colony, and thedwarf-pear trees yielded a small crop; but these were hardly included inour scheme. I expected to be able, by and by, to sell $200 or $300 worthof plums; but the chief income from fruit would come from the fiftyacres of young apple orchards. 

I hope to live to see the time when these young orchards will bring meat least $5 a year for each tree; and if I round out my expectancy (asthe life-insurance people figure it), I may see them do much better. Inthe interim the day of small things must not be despised. In our climatethe Yellow Transparent and the Duchess do not ripen until earlySeptember, and I was therefore at home in time to gather and market thelittle crop from my six hundred trees. The apples were carefully picked, for they do not bear handling well, and the perfect ones were placed inhalf-bushel boxes and sent to my city grocer. Not one defective applewas packed, for I was determined that the Four Oaks stencil should be asfavorably known for fruit as for other products. 

The grocer allowed me fifty cents a box. "The market is glutted withapples, but not your kind, " said he. "Can you send more?" I could notsend more, for my young trees had done their best in producingninety-six boxes of perfect fruit. Boxes and transportation came to tencents for each box, and I received $38 for my first shipment of fruit. 

I cannot remember any small sum of money that ever pleased memore, --except the $28 which I earned by seven months of labor in myfourteenth year; for it was "first fruits" of the last of ourinterlacing industries. 

Thirty-eight dollars divided among my trees would give one cent to each;but four years later these orchards gave net returns of ninety cents foreach tree, and in four years from now they will bring more than twicethat amount. At twelve years of age they will bring an annual income of$3 each, and this income will steadily increase for ten or fifteenyears. At the time of writing, February, 1903, they are good for $1 ayear, which is five per cent of $20. 

Would I take $20 apiece for these trees? Not much, though that wouldmean $70, 000. I do not know where I could place $70, 000 so that itwould pay five per cent this year, six per cent next year, and twentyper cent eight or ten years from now. Of course, $70, 000 would be anexorbitant price to pay for an orchard like mine; but it must beremembered that I am old and cannot wait for trees to grow. 

If a man will buy land at $50 or $60 an acre, plant it to apple trees(not less than sixty-five to the acre), and bring these trees to an agewhen they will produce fruit to the value of $1. 50 each, they will nothave cost more than $1. 50 per tree for the land, the trees, and thelabor. 

I am too old to begin over again, and I wish to see a handsome incomefrom my experiment before my eyes are dim; but why on earth young men donot take to this kind of investment is more than I can see. It is assafe as government bonds, and infinitely safer than most mercantileventures. It is a dignified employment, free from the ordinary risks ofbusiness; and it is not likely to be overdone. All one needs is energy, a little money, and a good bit of well-directed intelligence. Thiscombination is common enough to double our rural population, relieve thecongestion in trades and underpaid employments, and add immensely to thewealth of the country. If we can only get the people headed for theland, it will do much toward solving the vexing labor problems, and willdraw the teeth of the communists and the anarchists; for no one is sowilling to divide as he who cannot lose by division. To the man who hasa plot of ground which he calls his own, division doesn't appeal withany but negative force. Neither should it, until all available lands areoccupied. Then he must move up and make room for another man by hisside. 

The sales for the quarter ending September 30 were as follows:--

96 half-bushel boxes of apples $38. 009 calves 104. 00Eggs 543. 00Butter 1293. 00Hogs 3407. 00 -------- Total $5385. 00

This was the best total for any three months up to date, and it made mefeel that I was getting pretty nearly out of the woods, so far asincreasing my investment went. 

Including my new hog-house and ten thousand bushels of purchased grain, the investment, thought I, must represent quite a little more than$100, 000, and I hoped not to go much beyond that sum, for Polly lookedserious when I talked of six figures, though she was reconciled to anyamount which could be stated in five. 

My buildings were all finished, and were good for many years; and ifthey burned, the insurance would practically replace them. My granarywas full enough of oats and corn to provide for deficits of years tocome; and my flocks and herds were now at their maximum, since Sam hadturned more than eight hundred pullets into the laying pens. I began tofeel that the factory would soon begin to run full time and to makematerial returns for its equipment. It would, of course, be severalyears before the fruit would make much showing, but I am a patient man, and could wait. 

CHAPTER LXV

THE END OF THE THIRD YEAR

"Polly, " said I, on the evening of December 31, "let's settle theaccounts for the year, and see how much we must credit to 'experience'to make the figures balance. "

"Aren't you going to credit anything to health, and good timesgenerally? If not, you don't play fair. "

"We'll keep those things in reserve, to spring on the enemy at acritical moment; perhaps they won't be needed. "

"I fancy you will have to bring all your reserves into action this time, Mr. Headman, for you promised to make a good showing at the end of thethird year. "

"Well, so I will; at least, according to my own estimate; but others maynot see it as I do. "

"Don't let others see it at all, then. The experiment is yours, isn'tit?"

"Yes, for us; but it's more than a personal matter. I want to prove thata factory farm is sound in theory and safe in practice, and that it willfit the needs of a whole lot of farmers. "

"I hardly think that 'a whole lot of farmers, ' or of any other kind ofpeople, will put $100, 000 into a farm on any terms. Don't you thinkyou've been a little extravagant?"

"Only on the home forty, Polly. I will expound this matter to you sometime until you fall asleep, but not to-day. We have other business onhand. I want to give you this warning to begin with: you are not to jumpto a conclusion or on to my figures until you have fairly considered twoitems which enter into this year's expense account. I've built an extrahog-house and have bought ten thousand bushels of grain, at a totalexpense of about $6000. Neither of these items was really needed thisyear; but as they are our insurance against disease and famine, Isecured them early and at low prices. They won't appear in the expenseaccount again, --at least, not for many years, --and they give me a senseof security that is mighty comforting. "

"But what if Anderson sets fire to your piggery, or lightning strikesyour granary, --how about the expense account then?"

"What do you suppose fire insurance policies are for? To paper the wall?No, madam, they are to pay for new buildings if the old ones burn up. Icharge the farm over $200 a year for this security, and it's a bindingcontract. "

"Well, I'll try and forget the $6000 if you'll get to the figures atonce. "

"All right. First, let me go over the statement for the last quarter ofthe year. The sales were: apples, from 150 old trees at $3 per tree, $450; 10 calves, $115; 360 hens and 500 cockerels, $430; 5 cows (thecommon ones, to Jackson) at $35 each, $175; eggs, $827; butter, $1311;and 281 hogs, rushed to market in December when only about eight monthsold and sold for $3. 70 per hundred to help swell this account, $2649;making a total for the fourth quarter of $5957. 

"The items of expense for the year were:--

"Interest on investment $5, 132. 00 New hog-house 4, 220. 00 10, 000 bu. Of grain 2, 450. 00 Food for colony 5, 322. 00 Food for stock 1, 640. 00 Seeds and fertilizers 2, 155. 00 Insurance and taxes 730. 00 Shoeing and repairs 349. 00 Replenishments 450. 00

"Total $22, 760. 00

"The credit account reads: first quarter, $2030; second quarter, $2221;third quarter, $5387; fourth quarter, $5957; total, $15, 595. 

"If we take out the $6670 for the extra piggery and the grain, theexpense account and the income will almost balance, even leaving out the$4000 which we agreed to pay for food and shelter. I think that's a fairshowing for the three years, don't you?"

"Possibly it is; but what a lot of money you pay for wages. It's thelargest item. "

"Yes, and it always will be. I don't claim that a factory farm can berun like a grazing or a grain farm. One of its objects is to furnishwell-paid employment to a lot of people. We've had nine men and two ladsall the year, and three extra men for seven months, three women on thefarm and five in the house, --twenty-two people to whom we've paid wagesthis year. Doesn't that count for anything? How many did we keep in thecity?"

"Four, --three women and a man. "

"Then we give employment to eighteen more people at equally good wagesand in quite as wholesome surroundings. Do you realize, Polly, that themaids in the house get $1300 out of the $5300, --one quarter of thewhole? Possibly there is a suspicion of extravagance on the home forty. "

"Not a bit of it! You know that you proved to me that it cost us $5200 ayear for board and shelter in the city, and you only credit the farmwith $4000. That other $1200 would more than pay the extra wages. Ireally don't think it costs as much to live here as it did onB----Street, and any one can see the difference. "

"You are right. If we call our plant an even $100, 000, which at five percent would mean $5000 a year, --where can you get house, lawns, woods, gardens, horses, dogs, servants, liberty, birds, and sun-dials on a wideand liberal scale for $5000 a year, except on a farm like this? Youcan't buy furs, diamonds, and yachts with such money anyhow oranywhere, so personal expenditures must be left out of all ourcalculations. No, the wage account will always be the large one, and Iam glad it is so, for it is one finger of the helping hand. "

"You haven't finished with the figures yet. You don't know what to addto our _permanent_ investment. "

"That's quickly done. _Nineteen thousand five hundred and ninety-fivedollars_ from twenty-two thousand seven hundred and sixty dollars leavesthree thousand one hundred and sixty-five dollars to charge to ourinvestment. I resent the word 'permanent, ' which you underscored justnow, for each year we're going to have a surplus to subtract from thisinterest-bearing debt. "

"Precious little surplus you'll have for the next few years, with Jackand Jane getting married, and--"

"But, Polly, you can't charge weddings to the farm, any more than we canyachts and diamonds. "

"I don't see why. A wedding is a very important part of one's life, andI think the farm ought to be _made_ to pay for it. "

"I quite agree with you; but we must add $3165 to the old farm debt, andtake up our increased burden with such courage as we may. In roundfigures it is $106, 000. Does that frighten you, Polly?"

"A little, perhaps; but I guess we can manage it. _You_ would have beenfrightened three years ago if some one had told you that you would put$106, 000 into a farm of less than five hundred acres. "

"You're right. Spending money on a farm is like other forms ofvice, --hated, then tolerated, then embraced. But seriously, a man wouldget a bargain if he secured this property to-day for what it has costus. I wouldn't take a bonus of $50, 000 and give it up. "

"You'll hardly find a purchaser at that price, and I'm glad you can't, for I want to live here and nowhere else. "

CHAPTER LXVI

LOOKING BACKWARD

With the close of the third year ends the detailed history of thefactory farm. All I wish to do further is to give a brief synopsis ofthe debit and credit accounts for each of the succeeding four years. 

First I will say a word about the people who helped me to start thefactory. Thompson and his wife are still with me, and they are well ontoward the wage limit. Johnson has the gardens and Lars the stables, andOtto is chief swineherd. French and his wife act as though they werefixtures on the place, as indeed I hope they are. They have saved a lotof money, and they are the sort who are inclined to let well enoughalone. Judson is still at Four Oaks, doing as good service as ever; butI fancy that he is minded to strike out for himself before long. He hasbeen fortunate in money matters since he gave up the horse and buggy; heinformed me six months ago that he was worth more than $5000. 

"I shouldn't have had five thousand cents if I'd stuck to that darnedold buggy, " said he, "and I guess I'll have to thank you for throwingme down that day. "

Zeb has married Lena, and a little cottage is to be built for them thiswinter, just east of the farm-house; and Lena's place is to be filled byher cousin, who has come from the old country. 

Anderson and Sam both left in 1898, --poor, faithful Anderson because hisheart gave out, and Sam because his beacon called him. 

Lars's boys, now sixteen and eighteen, have full charge of the poultryplant, and are quite up to Sam in his best days. Of course I have hadall kinds of troubles with all sorts of men; but we have such a strongforce of "reliables" that the atmosphere is not suited to the idler orthe hobo, and we are, therefore, never seriously annoyed. Of one thing Iam certain: no man stays long at our farm-house without apprehending theuses of napkin and bath-tub, and these are strong missionary forces. 

Through careful tilth and the systematic return of all waste to theland, the acres at Four Oaks have grown more fertile each year. The soilwas good seven years ago, and we have added fifty per cent to its cropcapacity. The amount of waste to return to the land on a farm like thisis enormous, and if it be handled with care, there will be no occasionto spend much money for commercial fertilizers. I now buy fertilizersonly for the mid-summer dressing on my timothy and alfalfa fields. Theapple trees are very heavily mulched, even beyond the spread of theirbranches, with waste fresh from the vats, and once a year a lightdressing of muriate of potash is applied. The trees have grown as fastas could be desired, and all of them are now in bearing. The apples fromthese young trees sold for enough last year to net ninety cents for eachtree, which is more than the trees have ever cost me. 

In 1898 these orchards yielded $38; in 1899, $165; in 1900, $530; in1901, $1117. Seven years from the date of planting these trees, whichwere then three years old, I had received in money $4720, or $1200 morethan I paid for the fifty acres of land on which they grew. If one wouldask for better returns, all he has to do is to wait; for there is a sortof geometrical progression inherent in the income from allwell-cared-for orchards, which continues in force for about fifteenyears. There is, however, no rule of progress unless the orchards arewell cared for, and I would not lead any one to the mistake of plantingan orchard and then doing nothing but wait. Cultivate, feed, prune, spray, dig bores, fight mice, rabbits, aphides, and the thousand otherenemies to trees and fruit, and do these things all the time and thenkeep on doing them, and you will win out. Omit all or any of them, andthe chances are that you will fail of big returns. 

But orcharding is not unique in this. Every form of business demandsprompt, timely, and intelligent attention to make it yield its best. Theorchards have been my chief care for seven years; the spraying, mulching, and cultivation have been done by the men, but I think I havespent one whole year, during the past seven, among my trees. Do I chargemy orchards for this time? No; for I have gotten as much good from thetrees as they have from me, and honors are easy. A meditative man in hissixth lustrum can be very happy with pruning-hook and shears among hisyoung trees. If he cannot, I am sincerely sorry for him. 

I have not increased my plant during the past four years. My stockconsume a little more than I can raise; but there are certain thingswhich a farm will not produce, and there are other things which one hadbest buy, thus letting others work their own specialties. 

If I had more land, would I increase my stock? No, unless I had enoughland to warrant another plant. My feeding-grounds are filled to theircapacity from a sanitary point of view, and it would be foolish to takerisks for moderate returns. If I had as much more land, I wouldestablish another factory; but this would double my business careswithout adding one item to my happiness. As it is, the farm gives meenough to keep me keenly interested, and not enough to tire or annoy me. So far as profits go, it is entirely satisfactory. It feeds andshelters my family and twenty others in the colony, and also thestranger within the gates, and it does this year after year withoutfriction, like a well-oiled machine. 

Not only this. Each year for the past four, it has given a substantialsurplus to be subtracted from the original investment. If I live to besixty-eight years of age, the farm will be my creditor for aconsiderable sum. I have bought no corn or oats since January, 1898. Theseventeen thousand bushels which I then had in my granary have slowlygrown less, though there has never been a day when we could not havemeasured up seven thousand or eight thousand bushels. I shall probablybuy again when the market price pleases me, for I have a horror ofrunning short; but I shall not sell a bushel, though prices jump to thesky. 

I have seen the time when my corn and oats would have brought four timesas much as I paid for them, but they were not for sale. They are the rawmaterial, to be made up in my factory, and they are worth as much to meat twenty cents a bushel as at eighty cents. What would one think of themanager of a silk-thread factory who sold his raw silk, just because ithad advanced in price? Silk thread would advance in proportion, and howdoes the manager know that he can replace his silk when needed, even atthe advanced price?

When corn went to eighty cents a bushel, hogs sold for $8. 25 a hundred, and my twenty-cent corn made pork just as fast as eighty-cent corn wouldhave done, and a great deal cheaper. 

Once I sold some timothy hay, but it was to "discount the season, " justas I bought grain. 

On July 18, 1901, a tremendous rain and wind storm beat down about fortyacres of oats beyond recovery. The next day my mowing machines, workingagainst the grain, commenced cutting it for hay. Before it was half cut, I sold to a livery-stable keeper in Exeter fifty tons of bright timothyfor $600. The storm brought me no loss, for the horses did quite as wellon the oat hay as they ever had done on timothy, and $600 more than paidfor the loss of the grain. 

During the first three years of my experiment hogs were verylow, --lower, indeed, than at any other period for forty years. It wasnot until 1899 that prices began to improve. During that year my salesaveraged $4. 50 a hundred. In 1900 the average was $5. 25, in 1901 it was$6. 10, and in 1902 it was just $7. It will be readily appreciated thatthere is more profit in pork at seven cents a pound than at three and ahalf cents; but how much more is beyond me, for it cost no more to getmy swine to market last year than it did in 1896. I charge each hog $1for bran and shorts; this is all the ready money I pay out for him. Ifhe weighs three hundred pounds (a few do), he is worth $10. 50 at $3. 50 ahundred, or $21 at $7 a hundred; and it is a great deal pleasanter tosay $1 from $21, leaves $20, than to say $1 from $10. 50 leaves $9. 50. 

Of course, $1 a head is but a small part of what the hog has cost whenready for market, but it is all I charge him with directly, for hisother expenses are carried on the farm accounts. The marked increase inincome during the past four years is wholly due to the advance in theprice of pork and the increased product of the orchards. The expenseaccount has not varied much. 

The fruit crop is charged with extra labor, packages, andtransportation, before it is entered, and the account shows only netreturns. I have had to buy new machinery, but this has been ratherevenly distributed, and doesn't show prominently in any year. 

In 1900 I lost my forage barn. It was struck by lightning on June 13, and burned to the ground. Fortunately, there was no wind, and the raincame in such torrents as to keep the other buildings safe. I had toscour the country over for hay to last a month, and the expense of this, together with some addition to the insurance money, cost the farm $1000before the new structure was completed. I give below the income and theoutgo for the last four years:--

 INCOME EXPENSES TO THE GOOD1899 $17, 780. 00 $15, 420. 00 $2, 360. 001900 19, 460. 00 16, 480. 00 2, 980. 001901 21, 424. 00 15, 520. 00 5, 904. 001902 23, 365. 00 15, 673. 00 7, 692. 00 -----------Making a total to the good of $18, 936. 00

These figures cover only the money received and expended. They take noaccount of the $4000 per annum which we agreed to pay the farm forkeeping us, so long as we made it pay interest to us. Four times $4000are $16, 000 which, added to $18, 936, makes almost $35, 000 to charge offfrom the $106, 000 of original investment. 

Polly was wrong when she spoke of it as a _permanent_ investment. Fouryears more of seven-dollar pork and thrifty apple growth will make thisbalance of $71, 000 look very small. The interest is growing rapidlyless, and it will be but a short time before the whole amount will betaken off the expense account. When this is done, the yearly balancewill be increased by the addition of $5000, and we may be able to makethe farm pay for weddings, as Polly suggested. 

CHAPTER LXVII

LOOKING FORWARD

I am not so opinionated as to think that mine is the only method offarming. On the contrary, I know that it is only one of several goodmethods; but that it is a good one, I insist. For a well-to-do, middle-aged man who was obliged to give up his profession, it offeredchange, recreation, employment, and profit. My ability to earn money bymy profession ceased in 1895, and I must needs live at ease on myincome, or adopt some congenial and remunerative employment, if suchcould be found. The vision of a factory farm had flitted through mybrain so often that I was glad of the opportunity to test my theories byputting them into practice. Fortunately I had money, and to spare; for Ihad but a vague idea of what money would be needed to carry myexperiment to the point of self-support. I set aside $60, 000 as ample, but I spent nearly twice that amount without blinking. It is quitelikely that I could have secured as good and as prompt returns withtwo-thirds of this expenditure. I plead guilty to thirty-three per centlack of economy; the extenuating circumstances were, a wish to let themembers of my family do much as they pleased and have good things andgood people around them, and a somewhat luxurious temperament of my own. 

Polly and I were too wise (not to say too old) to adopt farming as ameans of grace through privations. We wanted the good there was in it, and nothing else; but as a secondary consideration I wished to provethat it can be made to pay well, even though one-third of the moneyexpended goes for comforts and kickshaws. 

It is not necessary to spend so much on a five-hundred-acre farm, and afactory farm need not contain so many acres. Any number of acres fromforty to five hundred, and any number of dollars from $5000 to $100, 000, will do, so long as one holds fast to the rules: good clean fences forsecurity against trespass by beasts, or weeds; high tilth, and heavycropping; no waste or fallow land; conscientious return to the land ofrefuse, and a cover crop turned under every second year; the best stockthat money can buy; feed for product, not simply to keep the animalsalive; force product in every way not detrimental to the product itself;maintain a strict quarantine around your animals, and then depend uponpure food, water, air, sunlight, and good shelter to keep them healthy;sell as soon as the product is finished, even though the market doesn'tplease you; sell only perfect product under your own brand; buy when themarket pleases you and thus "discount the seasons"; remember thatinterdependent industries are the essence of factory farming; employ thebest men you can find, and keep them interested in your affairs; have adefinite object and make everything bend toward that object; plant appletrees galore and make them your chief care, as in time they will proveyour chief dependence. These are some of the principles of factoryfarming, and one doesn't have to be old, or rich, to put them intopractice. 

I would exchange my age, money, and acres for youth and forty acres, andthink that I had the best of the bargain; and I would start the factoryby planting ten acres of orchard, buying two sows, two cows, and twosetting hens. Youth, strength, and hustle are a great sight better thanmoney, and the wise youth can have a finer farm than mine before hepasses the half-century mark, even though he have but a bare forty tobegin with. 

I do not take it for granted that every man has even a bare forty; butmillions of men who have it not, can have it by a little persistentself-denial; and when an able-bodied man has forty acres of ground underhis feet, it is up to him whether he will be a comfortable, independent, self-respecting man or not. 

A great deal of farm land is distant from markets and otherwise limitedin its range of production, but nearly every forty which lies east ofthe hundredth meridian is competent to furnish a living for a family ofworkers, if the workers be intelligent as well as industrious. Farmlands are each year being brought closer to markets by steam andelectric roads; telephone and telegraphic wires give immediate service;and the daily distribution of mails brings the producer into close touchwith the consumer. The day of isolation and seclusion has passed, andthe farmer is a personal factor in the market. He is learning theadvantages of coöperation, both in producing and in disposing of hiswares; he has paid off his mortgage and has money in the bank; he is apower in politics, and by far the most dependable element in the state. Like the wrestler of old, who gained new strength whenever his foottouched the ground, our country gains fresh vigor from every man whotakes to the soil. 

In preaching a hejira to the country, I do not forget the interests ofthe children. Let no one dread country life for the young until theycome to the full pith and stature of maturity; for their chances ofdoing things worth doing in the world are four to one against those ofchildren who are city-bred. Four-fifths of the men and women who dogreat things are country-bred. This is out of all proportion to thebirth-rate as between country and city, and one is at a loss to accountfor the disproportion, unless it is to be credited to environment. Is itdue to pure air and sunshine, making redder blood and more vigorousdevelopment, to broader horizons and freedom from abnormal conventions?Or does a close relation to primary things give a newness to mind andbody which is granted only to those who apply in person?

Whatever the reason, it certainly pays to be country-bred. The citiesdraw to themselves the cream of these youngsters, which is only natural;but the cities do not breed them, except as exotics. 

If the unborn would heed my advice, I would say, By all means be born inthe country, --in Ohio if possible. But, if fortune does not prove askind to you as I could wish, accept this other advice: Choose the, country for your foster-mother; go to her for consolation andrejuvenation, take her bounty gratefully, rest on her fair bosom, and becontent with the fat of the land. 

THE RURAL SCIENCE SERIES

Includes books which state the underlying principles of agriculture inplain language. They are suitable for consultation alike by the amateuror professional tiller of the soil, the scientist or the student, andare freely illustrated and finely made. 

The following volumes are now ready:

THE SOIL. By F. H. KING, of the University of Wisconsin. 303 pp. 45illustrations. 75 cents. 

THE FERTILITY OF THE LAND. By I. P. ROBERTS, of Cornell University. Second edition. 421 pp. 45 illustrations. $1. 25. 

THE SPRAYING OF PLANTS. By E. G. LODEMAN, late of Cornell University. 399pp. 92 illustrations. $1. 00. 

MILK AND ITS PRODUCTS. By H. H. WING, of Cornell University. Thirdedition. 311 pp. 43 illustrations. $1. 00. 

THE PRINCIPLES OF FRUIT-GROWING. By L. H. BAILEY. Third edition. 516 pp. 120 illustrations. $1. 25. 

BUSH-FRUITS. By F. W. CARD, of Rhode Island College of Agriculture andMechanic Arts. Second edition. 537 pp. 113 illustrations. $1. 50. 

FERTILIZERS. By E. B. VOORHEES, of New Jersey Experiment Station. Secondedition. 332 pp. $1. 00. 

THE PRINCIPLES OF AGRICULTURE. By L. H. BAILEY. Third edition. 300 pp. 92illustrations. $1. 25. 

IRRIGATION AND DRAINAGE. By F. H. KING, University of Wisconsin. 502 pp. 163 illustrations. $1. 50. 

THE FARMSTEAD. By I. P. ROBERTS. 350 pp. 138 illustrations. $1. 25. 

RURAL WEALTH AND WELFARE. By GEORGE T. FAIRCHILD, ex-President of theAgricultural College of Kansas. 381 pp. 14 charts. $1. 25. 

THE PRINCIPLES OF VEGETABLE-GARDENING. By L. H. BAILEY. 468 pp. 144illustrations. $1. 25. 

THE FEEDING OF ANIMALS. By W. H. JORDAN, of New York State ExperimentStation. $1. 25 _net_. 

FARM POULTRY. By GEORGE C. WATSON, of Pennsylvania State College. $1. 25_net_. 

CARE OF ANIMALS. By N. S. MAYO, of Connecticut Agricultural College. $1. 25 _net_. 

New volumes will be added from time to time to the RURAL SCIENCE SERIES. The following are in preparation:

PHYSIOLOGY OF PLANTS. By J. C. ARTHUR, Purdue University. 

BREEDING OF ANIMALS. By W. H. BREWER, of Yale University. 

PLANT PATHOLOGY. By B. T. GALLOWAY and associates of U. S. Department ofAgriculture. 

Comprises practical hand-books for the horticulturist, explaining andillustrating in detail the various important methods which experiencehas demonstrated to be the most satisfactory. They may be called manualsof practice, and though all are prepared by Professor Bailey, of CornellUniversity, they include the opinions and methods of successfulspecialists in many lines, thus combining the results of theobservations and experiences of numerous students in this and otherlands. They are written in the clear, strong, concise English and in theentertaining style which characterize the author. The volumes arecompact, uniform in style, clearly printed, and illustrated as thesubject demands. They are of convenient shape for the pocket, and aresubstantially bound in flexible green cloth. 

THE HORTICULTURIST'S RULE-BOOK. By L. H. Bailey. Fourthedition. 312 pp. 75 cts. 

THE NURSERY-BOOK. By L. H. Bailey. Fourth edition. 365 pp. 152illustrations. $1. 00. 

PLANT-BREEDING. By L. H. Bailey. 293 pp. 20 illustrations. $1. 00. 

THE FORCING-BOOK. By L. H. Bailey. 266 pp. 88 illustrations. $1. 00. 

GARDEN MAKING. By L. H. Bailey. Third edition. 417 pp. 256illustrations. $1. 00. 

THE PRUNING-BOOK. By L. H. Bailey. Second edition. 545 pp. 331illustrations. $1. 50. 

THE PRACTICAL GARDEN-BOOK. By C. E. Hunn and L. H. Bailey. 250 pp. Many marginal cuts. $1. 00. 

The Garden of a Commuter's Wife

Recorded by the Gardener

WITH EIGHT PHOTOGRAVURE ILLUSTRATIONS

Cloth 12mo $1. 50

"In brief, the book is delightfully sketchy and chatty, thoroughlyfeminine and entrancing. The writer represents herself as a doctor'sdaughter in a country town, who has married an Englishman, and after twoyears abroad has come home to live. Both husband and wife prefer thecountry to the city, and they make of their modest estate a mundaneparadise of which it is a privilege to have a glimpse. Surely it is noexaggeration to characterize this as one of the very best books of theholiday season, thus far. "--_Providence Journal. _

"It is written with charm, and is more than a mere treatise on what maybe raised in the small lot of the suburban resident. 

"The author has not only learned to appreciate nature from intimateassociation, but has achieved unusual power of communicating these factsto others. There is something unusually attractive about thebook. "--_The Philadelphia Inquirer. _

 * * * * *

A Woman's Hardy Garden

By HELENA RUTHERFORD ELY

With many Illustrations from Photographs taken in the Author's Garden byProfessor C. F. CHANDLER

Cloth 12MO $1. 75 net

"It Is never for a moment vague or general, and Mrs. Ely is certainlyinspiring and helpful to the prospective gardener. "--_Boston Herald. _

"Mrs. Ely gives copious details of the cost of plants, the exact datesof planting, the number of plants required in a given space for beautyof effect and advantage to free growth, the protection needed from sunand frost, the precautions to take against injury from insects, thesatisfaction to be expected from the different varieties of plants inthe matter of luxuriant bloom and length of time for blossoming, andmuch information to be appreciated only by those who have raised ahealthy garden by the slow teachings of personal experience. "--_New YorkTimes Saturday Review. _

 * * * * *

THE MACMILLAN COMPANY

66 Fifth Avenue, New York