Zb ALFALFA FARMING IN AMERICA. 



the rich dry hill, full of limestone pebbles. Down 

 by the stream the alfalfa was weak, sickly, soon 

 taken by the crowding grasses and weeds. Back on 

 the flat wet poor clay it amounted to very little. On 

 the dry rich soil full of carbonate of lime it thrived 

 beautifully. So there the boy stood and pondered; 

 the lesson was plain, though unwlecome. "It is evi- 

 dent that this farm is not ready for alfalfa," he 

 said. "I'll make it ready. I'll drain the wet land. 

 I'll enrich the poor land. I'll grow alfalfa; some 

 day I'll have 40 acres of it, but not so soon as I 

 thought I would." So then began the work of lay- 

 ing tile underdrains in earnest. The father had laid 

 many in his day, but not nearly enough, judging by 

 the new standard that alfalfa set up. 



And that fall the kind old father died, died in a 

 peaceful and happy sort of way, as almost anyone 

 would be glad to die. He had been fairly well that 

 summer, and had insisted in helping in the hay field, 

 raking with the horse rake and cheerily, almost glee- 

 fully, showing the men that he was by no means 

 worn out. One morning he arose early, as was his 

 habit, and went out to work in his garden before 

 the breakfast time, and there the boy had his last 

 talk with the old man, and arranged with him about 

 going to the fair soon to come off. After breakfast 

 the father went to the barn and hitched his gentle 

 mare Daisy to a spring wagon and got ready to go 

 to the village on some errand, probably to take some 

 vegetables to market. When the horse stopped at 

 the front gate, coming from the barn, no one seemed 



