174 THE TIM BUNKER PAPERS. 



NO. 52. TIM BUNKER ON TOP-DRESSING AND 

 FEEDING AFTERMATH. 



A SECOND LOOK AT HOOKEKTOWN IMPKOVEMENTS. 



&quot; Bigger than twas last year,&quot; said Seth Twiggs, as he 

 looked over into the horse-pond lot where I was mowing 

 this morning. 



&quot; I declare it looks like a rye field,&quot; said Mr. Spooner, 

 as he measured a head of herds-grass, ten inches long, by 

 a small rule that he carries in his pocket. A mighty ac 

 curate man is Mr. Spooner. I expect he gets in the way 

 of exact speech, studying his sermons, for he makes the 

 joints fit so close, that they won t leak water. When he 

 says ten inches, you may know it ain t a sixteenth short. 

 I should expect to find it a quarter over. 



&quot; You see it is up to the Squire s breast, plump four 

 foot high,&quot; exclaimed Jake Frink, as he leaned over the 

 wall. &quot; Guess I was the biggest fool in town when I sold 

 that piece of land for a song.&quot; 



&quot; Not half so big a fool then as you are now, for keep 

 ing the better half of your farm as starved as this was 

 three years ago,&quot; I replied. 



It is curious to see how the minds of some people work. 

 They see no beauty or value in anything until it has 

 passed out of their hands, and begins to show its good 

 points under different treatment. This two-acre lot, that 

 was always a quagmire and an eye-sore to the neighbor 

 hood, when Jake owned it, is now a very charming spot, 

 as the grass turns out three tuns to the acre. It never 



O 



paid him the interest on ten dollars an acre. It pays me 

 ten per cent on three hundred, to say nothing of the satis 

 faction of turning a swamp into a meadow. 



Seth Twiggs is right about the size of the grass, and yet 



