44S 



GLEANINGS IN BEE CULTURE 



July 15 



Our Homes 



By a. I. Root. 



In blessing I will bless thee, and in multiplying I 

 Avill multiply thy seed as the stars of the heaven, and 

 as the sand which is upon the seashore.— Gen. 22:17. 



And the Lord brought Abram forth and said, Look 

 now toward heaven, and tell the stars, if thou be able 

 to number them; and he said unto him. So shall thy 

 seed be. And he believed in the Lord; and he counted 

 it unto him for righteousness.— Gen. 15:5, 6. 



Backward, turn backward, O Time, in thy flight; 

 Make me a child again just for to-night.* 



Yesterday was the 5th of July, although 

 we called it the "glorious Fourth," as the 

 4th fell on Sunday. Assembled on the green 

 lawn in front of Mr. Calvert's home was all 

 Rootville, and some other people who cared 

 to come and help us with our balloon ascen- 

 sions and fireworks. Rootville is not exclu- 

 sive. We are always glad to welcome our 

 friends and neighbors, high or low, rich or 

 poor, white or black. With the exception of 

 Mr. Calvert and his son Howard, our five 

 children and nine grandchildren were there 

 in that little group. Yes, I must a/so except 

 the latest arrival at Rootville. I have sever- 

 al times quoted old father Langstroth where 

 he says there can be no real healthy, normal 

 colony of bees without daily accessions of 

 hatching brood; and it has been for years 

 past a sort of joke among our five children, 

 sons-in-law and daughters-in-law, that father 

 would be grumbling if there were not one 

 or more babies somewhere in the camp; and 

 it has been my pleasant task in the years 

 that have come and gone to have daily inter- 

 course with these grandchildren as they 

 quietly step into our homes one by one. I 

 love little chickens, and some of my keenest 

 enjoyments are in getting acquainted with 

 them and letting them know that I love them 

 and receive them as a great and precious 

 gift from the loving Father above. It is not 

 only the chickens, dear friends. God knows 

 I love humanity in embryo a thousand times 

 more than I do chickens. As I grow older 

 my mind seems turning toward babies and 

 the juveniles— not only those that belong to 

 R )otville, but the babies and children every- 

 where, even away off in "heathen China," 

 as we used to call it. Perhaps you have 

 noticed, and may be many of you have felt 

 sorry, that I am gradually losing my interest 

 and enthusiasm tor high-pressure gardening. 

 I confess I have been feeling a little sad 

 about it; but it seems as if God has been tell- 

 ing me of late that I am getting too far along 

 in years to grow crops of any thing or per- 

 sonally superintend the growing of crops, or 

 even to "make money" in any other way. 



* I have in times past told you how happy I get in 

 humming over some beautiful hymn that seems to me 

 like a piece of inspiration. Well, I have never had 

 very much of a taste for poetry. It is seldom that I 

 strike on something that I can understand and appre- 

 ciate; but the lines I have given above have been run- 

 ning through my mind for some days past. I have re- 

 peated them over and over to my friends as well as to 

 my-self. and get real happy over them, especially when 

 I am looking into the faces of the dear children and 

 grandchildren that God has given to Mrs. Root and 

 myself. 



Our business manager, Mr. Calvert, tells me 

 that I have earned a right to rest and to take 

 a sort of vacation in my old age; but I hardly 

 think that, even if I live to be a hundred 

 years old, I shall enjoy any sort of vacation 

 that includes sitting still, or even reading 

 books and papers. I can enjoy the books 

 and papers for a few minutes at a time, 

 say half an hour, and then I must be up and 

 doing; and I feel proud just now to be up 

 and doing for the children. May the Lord 

 be praised for the fact that more attention is 

 being given just now to the physical and 

 mental (and I hope spiritual) welfare of our 

 children than ever before. A wonderful 

 thing has been done in the way of providing 

 better milk for the babies, especially when 

 the hot season comes on — better drinking- 

 water, not only for the babies, but for every- 

 body else. The great State of Ohio has been 

 especially active in looking into these things; 

 and my heart was made to rejoice just a few 

 days ago in noticing by the papers that the 

 great city of Cleveland not only insists on 

 good milk for the babies, but just now they 

 are inaugurating a crusade by sending ex- 

 perienced trained nurses around among the 

 babies, especially in the homes of the poor, 

 to instruct the mothers how to care for these 

 babies so that they will not get sick during 

 the hot weather; and if any sick babies are 

 found, especially where there is an unsani- 

 tary environment, the health department of 

 the city is directed to make an investigation. 

 Oh what a glorious work this is! Do you not 

 agree with me, dear friends, that the babies 

 are of more account than chickens and grow- 

 ing vegetables, bees, or any thing else? 

 Jesus said of them, "Of such is the kingdom 

 of heaven." 



Just now Mrs. Root and I Jiave our young- 

 est daughter in our own home. She and 

 her husband are getting ready to build one 

 more home in Rootville; and there is there- 

 fore a baby in our home — a girl baby 

 seven months old, and this baby and I are 

 the greatest of friends. I tell them all around 

 the neighborhood that this baby saves up 

 her most winning smiles and her cutest ways 

 for her grandpa. 



Years ago, as some of our older readers 

 may rememl3er, I used to take Blue Eyes on 

 my knees when she was just old enough to 

 stand a little while on her feet; and as I took 

 her by the hand and raised her up I would 

 say, " 'Way up high, papa's baby." I think 

 I told you, too, that every time her childish 

 face shone with enthusiasm, in getting up 

 on her feet she gave me a tremendous pull. 

 She really was getting that same papa a little 

 higher up than he had been, at just about 

 that time. He did not get " ' way up high," 

 perhaps, but that baby's face was a mighty 

 lever in getting him a little higher up. Well, 

 with this present baby, "Jean," that I have 

 been telling you about, the phraseology has 

 to be changed to " ' Way up high, grandpa's 

 baby." 



So it has been, dear reader, 6ver since 

 Ernest came into our home, almost fiftv 

 years ago. Every new comer has, through 



