Democratic Sentinel, Volume 19, Number 34, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 August 1895 — “SHE’S PLANTED, BOYS." [ARTICLE]

“SHE’S PLANTED, BOYS."

The Old Farmer's Object Lesson to the Newboys. The old man had just arrived. The odor of the barnyard on his cowhide boots and scent of ripe apples from his battered and motheaten carpetsack immediately suggested rurality. Besides there were the corroborative hayseeds on the back of the old overcoat that had faded to the color of a rusty grindstone. A crowd of newsboys had swooped down on the old man and were tugging his coat tails and pulli ig at his sleeves to attract his attention to papers, neckties, spectacles, collar buttons, flowers and matches. The old man was completely bewildered for a time, but he smiled goodnaturedly and shook the boys off. When they found he was unprofitable they started in to have some amusement at his expense. One called him Reuben and asked about the little bunch of whiskers. Another addressed him as Jasper, and inquired about the folks. “Get into the hayseed!” yelled one. The old man had retained his goodnature through it all and fairly beamed on the boys.

“Come here, boys,’’ he said, as he sat down on a trunk, placed his carpet bag between his feet and picked a wild oat straw off his sleeve. The youngest gathered around him and stood in open-mouthed curiosity. The old man placed a wild oat in the palm of his hand and said : “I may be a hayseed, but I can learn you boys something. Do you see that?” and he prodded the oat with his finger. “Well, that is a hayseed. Maybe some o’ you boys that has been in the country have wondered how hay grows wild all over the hills without being planted at all. Now I’ll tell you. The sun that ripens the oats dries up the ground makes cracks in it. Pretty soon the oat falls off, and plants itself in one of the cracks. How? Well, I’ll show you. Do you see that little thing on the end of the oat that looks like the hairspring of a watch? Well, when the rain comes it wets that like this,” and the old man moistened his finger in his mouth and applied it to the oat. “Now we’ll play this crack in the floor is the crack the sun makes in the ground.” The old man laid the oat down, and the boys watched breathlessly. The little spiral spring commenced to unwind slowly and in doing so rolled the oat over and over till it fell into the crack. “She’s planted, boys,” exclaimed the old man, and they cheered him lustily as he walked up Market street.