Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 212, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 September 1916 — Page 2

The IDYL of TWIN FIRES

by WALTER PRICHARD EATON

SYNOPSIS. —3— I grow tired of my work M a college Instructor and buy a New England farm on sight. I Inspect my farm and go to board at Bert Temple’s. Bert helps me to hire a carpenter and a farmer. Hard Cider, the carpenter, estimates the repairs and changes necessary on the house.

How would you like to start In to work such a place as this man had saddled himself with, having no mor© knowledge of farming than he had? Will he know how and where to take hold?

CHAPTER lll—Continued. “Fine again!” cried I. “A long room with two fireplaces, and a doublefaced bookcase coming out at right angles between them, with two settles below it, one for esch fireplace! Better than I’d dreamed!" “Sult yerself,” said Hard— My front doorway had once been a thing of beauty, with two little panel ■windows at the sides, and above all. on the outside, a heavy, hand-carved broken pediment, like the top of a Governor Winthrop highboy. Hard looked at It with admiration gleaming in his eyes. “I’d ruther restore this than all the rest o’ the job,” he said, and his ugly, rum-soaked little face positively shone with enthusiasm. “Go ahead," said I; “only I want the new steps qf brick, widely spaced, with a lot of cement showing between. I’m going to terrace it here In front, too — a grass terrace for ten feet out.” “Thet’s right, thet’s right!” he exclaimed. “Now I’ll go order the lumber an’ bring yer the estimate termorrer.” “Seems to me the usual proceeding would be the other way around!” I gasped. “Well, yer want me ter do the job. don’t yer? Or don’t yer?” he said brusquely. “Of course, of course!” I amended hastily. “Go ahead!” Hard climbed into a broken-down wagon, and disappeared. ’.-Don't you worry,” said Bert. “I’ll see he treats yer right.” “It Isn’t that,” I said sadly. “It’s that I’ve just remembered I forgot to include any painters’ bills in my own estimate.”

Bert looked at me In a kind of speechless pity for a moment. Then he said slowly: “Wai, I’ll be swizzled! Wait till I tell maw! An’ her always stickin’ up fer a college education!’’ “Just for that, I’ll show you!” cried I. “I never trimmed an apple tree in my life, but I’m going to work on this orchard, and I’m going to save it, all myself. It will be better than yours in three years.” “Go to it.” laughed Bert. “Come back fer dinner, though.. Neow I’ll drive over ter the depot an’ git yer freight. They telephoned this mornin’ it had come.” “Good!” I cried. “You might bring me a bag of cement, too, and a gallon of carbolic acid.” j‘Ye ain’t tired o’ life so soon, be yer?” “No,” said I, “but I’m going to show you rubes how to treat an orchard.” Bert went off laughing, and presently I saw him driving toward town with

"Well Yer Want Me to Do the Job, Don’t Yer?"

bls heavy wagon. I walked up to the plateau field to greet Mike. As I crested the ridge the field lay before me, the great lone pine standing sentinel iat the farther side, and half of it was •frail, young green, and half rich, shining brown. "She plows tough, sor,” said Mike. aS the panting horses paused for breatli, “but she’ll barret down good. Be the seed pertaters come yit?” “Bert has gone for them,” said I. “Let me hold the plow once.” "It ain’t so azy as it looks,” said Mika. _

Coeye-lOHT ooueLeony, PA&e O co. “I’ll do It If I haven't a rib left,” said I grhqly. And I did It. My first full furrow looked like the track of a snake under the Influence of liquor, but I reversed the plojv and came back fairly straight. I was beginning to get the hang of It. My next furrow was respectable, but not deep. On this return trip the sweat was starting from my forehead, and the smell of the horses and of the warm, fresh-turned earth ,was strong In my nostrils. 1 didn’t look at my pine. I was proud at what I had done, and my muscles gloried in the toil. Agaip I swung the plow around, and drove It across the field, feeling the reluctant grass roots fighting every muscle of my arms. “There.” said I. triumphantly, "you plow all the rest as deep as that!” “Begobs, ye’z alkrigbt!” cried Mike. I went back again down the slope with all the joy of a small boy and descended upon the orchard. I bad a couple of bulletins on pruning in my pocket, with pictures of old trees remorselessly headed down. I took a fresh look at the pictures, reread some of the text where I had marked It, and tackled the first tree, carefully repeating to myself: “Remove only a third the first year, remove only a third the first year.” This, I decided, quite naturally did not refer to dead wood. By the time I had the dead wood cut out of that first old tree, and all the water sprouts removed (as I recalled my grandfather used to call them), which didn’t seem necessary for new bearing wood, the poor thing began to look naked. On one side an old water spout or sucker had achieved the dignity of a limb and shot far into the air. I was up in the tree carefully heading this back and out when Bert came driving by with his wagon heaped to overflowing. “Hi!” he called, "yer tryin’ to kill them trees entire!” I got down and came out to the road. “You’re a fine man and a. true friend, Mr. Temple,” said I, "but T'm going to be the doctor for this orchard. A chap's got to have some say for himself, you know.” “Well, they ain’t much good, anyhow, them trees,” said Bert cheer-, fully. We now fell to unloading the wagon. We opened up the woodsheds and storehouse behind the kitchen, stou ed in the barrels of seed potatoes, the fertilizers, the various other seeds, the farm implements, sprayers, and so on. The hotbed frames and sashes were put away for future use, as.it was too late to need them now. The horse hoe Bert had not been able to bring on this trip. Next we got my books and furniture into the house or shed, and, tired, hot and dirty, we drove on up the road for dinner. As we passed the upper field, I saw that the plowing was nearly done. The brown furrows -had already lost their gloss, as my hands had already lost their whiteness.

“Well, I'm a farmer now!” said I, surveying my soil-caked boots and grimy clothes. “Yer on the- way, anyhow,” said Bert. “But yer’ll have ter cultivate thet field bard, seein’s how It oughter bev been plowed last fall.” That afternoon I went back to my orchard, got out my shiny and sharp new doubled-edged pruning saw, and sawed till both arms ached. As I worked, I thought how this orchard must be trimmed and cleaned up first, but how the fine planting weather was upon us, too, and I ought to be getting my garden seeds in. if I was to have any flowers. I thought, also, of all my manuscripts to be read. A nervous fit seized me, and I worked frantically. t , That night I managed to keep awake till eleven, and get some work done. I also rose at a compromise hour of six In the morning, and worked another hour, almost catching up with what should have been my daily stint. But I realized that hereafter I could not work on the farm all day. I must give up my mornings to my manuscript reading. “Well,” thought I, “I’ll -do it —as soon as the orchard is finished.” As sobn as the orchard w r as finished! I stood amid the litter I had made on the ground, and reflected. I bad completed the preliminary trimming of one row and part of a second. There were still over two rows and a half to do. And the worst trees were in those rows, at that. After they were trimmed, there was all the litter to clear out, and the stubs to be painted, and cement work to be done. “Good gracious!” thought I, “if I do all that, when will 1 plant, when will I make my lawn?” *■.•» • • • • Have you ever watched a small boy picking berries? He never picks r a bush clean, but rushes after this or that ‘big cluster of fruit which strikes the eye, covering half an acre of ground while you. perhaps, are stripping a single clump of bushes. And he is usually amazed when your pail fills quicker than hig.., I fear I was much like that smalTboy during my first season on the farm, or at any rate during tire first month or two. There was little “efficiency” in my methods—but, oh, much delight!

THE EVENING. REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

As I had planned to put my garden cold frames along the south of the kitchen, I decided to make my temporary seedbeds there. Mike assented to the plan as a good one, and I had him dump me a load of manure, while I brought earth from the nearest point In the garden, spaded up the soil, mixed in the garden earth and dressing, and then worked and reworked it with a rake, and finally with my hands. Ah, the joy of working eartb.with your naked hands, making it ready for planting! The ladies I had seen in their gardens always wore gloves. Even my mother, I recalled, in her little garden, had always worn gloves. Surely, thought I, they miss something —the cool, moist feel of the loam, the very sensations of the seeds themselves. At four o’clock I bad ray bed ready, and. I got my seed packets, sorted them in a tin tobacco box. and began to sow the seeds. The directions which I read with scrupulous care always said, "Press the earth

And Pumped Water on My Hands and Head.

down firmly with a board.” 1 was working with a flat mason’s trowel, so I got up and found a board. It wasn’t half so easy to work with, but I was taking no chances! Mike and Joe were unhitching the horse from the harrow as I finished. The great, brown slope of the vegetable garden, lying away from the house toward the ring of southern hills, was ready for planting. There was my farm, thence would come my profits —if profits there should be. But just at that moment the little strip of soaked seedbed behind me was more Important. It stood for the color box with which I was going to paint, for the fragrant pigments out of which I should create about my dwelling a dream of gardens. “After all,” I thought, “a country place is but half realized without its garden, even though it be primarily a farm, and. the richness of country living is but half fulfilled unless we become painters with shrub and tree and flower. I cannot draw, uor sing, nor play. Perhaps I cannot even write. But surely 1 can express myself here, about me, in color and landscape charm, and not be any the worse farmer for that. I have my work; I shall write; I ‘shall be a farmer; I shall be a gardener—an artist in flowers; I shall make my house lovely within; I shall live a rich, full life. Surely lam a happy, a fortunate, man!!’ I put the watering pot back in the shed, crossed the road to the old wooden pump by the barn on a sudden impulse, and pumped water on my hands and head, for I was hot. Mike stood in the barn door and laughed. “What are yez doin’ that for?” he asked: I stood up and shook the water from my face and hair. “Just to be a kid, I guess.” I laughed. There are .some tiling Mike couldn’t Understand. Perhaps I did not clearly understand myself. In some dim way an old pump before barn and the shock of water from its spout on my head was fraught with happy memories and with dreams. The sight of the pump at that moment had waked f the echo of their mood. But as I plodded up the road in the May twilight to supper, one of those memories came back with haunting clearness —a summer day, a long tramp, the tender wistfulness of young love shy at its own too sudden passion. the plunge of cool water from a pump, and then at twilight half-spoken words, and words unspoken, sweetei still! The amethyst glow wdnt off the hills that ring our valley, and a far blue peak faded into the gathering dusk. A light shivered off my spirit, too. I felt suddenly cold, and the cheery face o* Mrs. Temple was the face of a stran ger. I felt unutterably lonely and depressed. My farm was dust and ashes. That evening I savagely turned down a manuscript by a rather well l known author, and went to bed without confessing what was the matte* with me. The matter was, I bad pumped up a ghost. '

At least he can plow—a little. And trim trees —a little. But wait until he breaks loose In an entirely different direction and then figure out just how long his money is going te last.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Fresh Air and Pure Water Will Keep the Doctor Away

Commissioner of Health, Cleveland, Ohio. If everyone would drink as much pure water as they ought and breathe as much fresh air as they think they do, no one would have to think about a doctor. Air is the first necessity of life. It is more important than good food —it is even more important than water. We can live days without food, a considerable time without water, but we cannot do without air more than a few minutes. Air that is good for breathing purposes should be fresh, cool, have motion and the proper degree of humidity. Drafts signify danger to most people. Yet a gentle draft is one of man’s best friends. Colds do not come from drafts. They are various forms of catarrhal disease and are caused by germs. Of course too strong a draft will chill some portion of the body so much as to lower its resistance to these germs, but as a general rule air currents do more good than harm. The proper way to get good ventilation in a house is to have a crosscurrent of air. To do this you must have an entrance for fresh air and an open window or door on the opposite side of the room for the used air to go out by. When this is not practical, circulation of air can be secured by having a window open both top and bottom. Stagnant air is almost as bad as no air at all. If impossible to obtain this natural motion of air, artificial means should be employed. Electric fans are good. Hand fans help. American men could well adopt the custom of the Jap, who goes to his business with a fan in his hand. In this country there are 35,000 deaths annually from typhoid f eve r-_-most, of the cakes being caused by infected drinking water. In European cities where for many years especial care has been taken to provide safe water supplies, the annual death rate from typhoid fever seldom exceeds 10 per 100,000 people, while often the rates are lower than 5 per 100,000. The water we drink* should be wholesome, absolutely clean, and free from an excessive amount of minerals.

FILM FAVORITE

Anita Stewart.

Movie star who recently has built a magnificent country home near New York, out of some of her-earnings on the silent stage.

All Around the World.

El ectrica 1 ma ch i n cry has been tnstalled in the world’s richest iron mine, which is in Lapland. T. E. Wilson, once an office boy, now draws $200,000 a year as head of a New York corporation. A calculator that shows the money values of one country in the terms of several others and applies the values to various weights and measures has been invented by an Englishman. The records of the American consulate at Grenoble, Erance, show shipments of women’s gloves to the United States during 1915 to the value of $1,168,819, compared with $1,875,185 In 1914. ’ According to a French scientist, digestion proceeds more swiftly when persons are recumbent than when erect because in the process of evolution the stomach has not advanced as rapidly as other organs. • Americans In Shanghai, China, are planning to form an American Country club. As there are 1,500 members of the American colony it is expected that the venture will be successful. Shanghai Americans already have a chamber of commerce, an Association for China, a bar association, a volunteer company, university club, women’s club, and other organizations.

Belgium’s Queen a Worker.

Carmen Sylvia was not the only queen capable of earning her own living if necessity drove her to such a course. The queen of the Belgians has taken a medical degree at Leipzig, and prior to her marriage assisted her father, Duke Charles Theodore of Bavaria, in £is. practice as an oculist. She is. however, a skilled motor driver, and in the days before the war. used to make a point of doing all the minor repairs to her cars. Another versatile sovereign is Queen Maud of Norway, who paints admirably, trims hats in a style that would Insure her a good salary from any high-class milliner; and is a bookbinder of more than average skill.—London Chronicle

By DR. R. H. BISHOP, JR

Old-Time Parlor Has Gone Into the Discard; Living Room Has Taken Its Place.

That we are becoming a parlorless nation Is one of the interesting developments in modern domestic architecture. This disappearance of the parlor and the evolution of the living room Is typical of the new social feeling and marks the change from the conventional and superficial to the more informal and intimate intercourse of the present day.

This movement, begun in the apartment house and developed in the bungalow, was probably brought about by the limitations of space, as well as by the Increased cost of building a house. The praiseworthy desire of simplifying the house may have contributed also to the result. But, whatever the cause, the fact surely remains that, however large the house or numerous the rooms, there seems to be no place for the parlor. So the parlor, which was once the most Important room In the house, is now crowded out or else relegated to a corner of the hall, with two chairs and a palm. The living room Is all that Its name suggests. Comfortably furnished, well lighted and with no useless ornaments to be sidestepped or knocked down, it belongs to the man quite as much as to the woman, which is, perhaps, the finest thing about it.

Questioning His Motives. “Dubwaite seems to be 'a publicspirited citizen.” “Yes?” “He’s always writing letters to the editor of his local paper, criticizing the city authorities.” “Well, 1 don’t want to do Dubwaite an injustice, but 1 happen to remember that he was an aiderman before the commission form of government was adopted.”

A Wasted Lesson. “My friend,” said the reformer to the youth who was smoking a cigarette, “do you realize that you are courting destruction?” “Whaddy yer mean?” “Why, that cigarette.” “G’wan. There ain’t no gunpowder around here that I know of, an’ I’m fully 20 feet from th’ nearest gasoline tank.”

Fashionable Neighborhood. “Why did you move?” “We were too conspicuous in that neighborhood.” “Didn’t own a car, eh?” “Oh, yes. I have a car. but somehow or other the secret got out that my wife could dress without the assistance of a French maid.

Not Vindictive. “Doing anything to your car these days?” asked the man w|io was giving his “flivver” a rub-down. “No,” answered the amateur motor- ...... I - _

A FEW SMILES

Creatinq “Atmosphere"

“Did I understand you to say )rhat you have been rusticating in the country?” “Not in the country,” answered the flat dweller, “I’ve ; simply been sitting around home, smoking a corncob I pipq, and reading a farm magazine.”

POULTRY POINTERS

Sudden fright and excitement at once tells on the egg crop. Never allow strange dogs about where the hena are. Don’t relax the care of the chicks. They will become Inactive and diseased. Market the broilers and all the roosters that you don’t want to keep tor breeding purposes. Uniform products command the best prices. Purebred fowls produce uniform products. When selling the eggs to the country merchant or cash buyer. Insist that the transaction be on a quality basis. After one lot of chickens is removed from the brooder house, clean thoroughly and spray with a disinfectant Clean up the Incubator; use a good disinfectant; empty the oil and throw the wick away. Allow the machine to dry thoroughly before closing the door up tight Regularity of feeding means much. Those who feed spasmodically are likely either to injure the fowls by overfeeding or not give enough, perhaps both. The birds should have their feed regularly. Eggs are easily affected by bad odors. Do not keep in a musty grain! bin, or tn the vegetable cellar, or where they can absorb the odors of* kerosene and gasoline. Marketing must be done at the right time and in the right manner. This is very important for it will be the final test of profitable poultry raising. There should be method in marketing. Not only should feeding be regular, but the quantitiy should be ample. It would be waste .of feed to give too much, but enough should be given and just enough. Surely this requires method. Method has much to do with poultry raising even where fanners have small flocks. Just as method is responsible for .much in general farming so is it important in raising poultry.

Mexican Cactus, at Once a Pest and a Joy, Is One of Most Curious of All Plants.

Of all the curious plants in the world’s vast array of vegetation, there is none around which center so many different beliefs, so many conflicting opinions and so many degrees of appreciation as the cactus of Mexico, whose names are legion and whose varieties number into the thousands. This peculiar plant is at once considered a pest and a joy, for it is the bane of the traveler, the eyesore to the ranchman and the treasure of the peon, to whom it is a source of livelihood, a food and drink. Mexico is particularly rich in its range of cactus plants. Owing to its climatic and soil conditions it has countless varieties of all sizes and shapes and all colors of flowers and fruits. The peon is concerned chiefly with the species of the cactus or prickly pear .that is edible, and this he cultivates and harvests In precisely the same fashion today as his ancient Aztec forbears did before Cortez marched his conquering hosts across Montezuma’s domains and set up the standard of Spain upon the royal palace to proclaim his conquest.

Ist, with a pained look. “My nature Is not vindictive. If it were I certainly would try to retaliate for some of the things my car has done to me.” The Optimist. “What are you doing there?” “Picking out the best route for • motor trip across the continent.” “I didn’t know you had a car.” “I haven’t one now, but by practicing rigid economy for the next five years I’ll, have enough money to buy one.”- ——~“

Sad Disillusion. “Tough luck for a pretty nurse.” “What happened to her?” “While one of her patients was delirious he babbled continuously of his wealth.” “Just so.” “She married him and discovered later that he was wortn, all told, about $12.80.”,

Spoiling Mis Day.*

“Ah 1 Cultivating your iiiliid, I see,” remarked the cheerful bore. “What makes you think so?” “Why er the book in your hand.” “Uniph! This book contains the * latest statistics on the high cost of living as compared with prices tn my grandfather’s day. What rm cultlvat- 4 ing at the present grouch.”

Hardships of Travel. “Boss, could yer give a dime to a flood sufferer?” asked the tramp. “How could the floods have injured you?’! said the cautious philanthropist. “1 dare say you bad no property to ba destroyed.” “No, sir. But I wuz on me way up nort’ an’ freight trains has been M delayed by de high water dat dey ain't no teilin* when I'll reach me deatfwa tion.” ' .__