THE COTTON ROOT-LOUSE 



IT was in the spring of the year. The sun was 

 sinking on the western horizon, and trees and bushes 

 cast long shadows over the landscape. Every living 

 thing was hopeful, and the farmers of the Gardner 

 section were more hopeful than usual because the 

 spring weather had been fine ; they had all pre- 

 pared their fields well and had finished their spring 

 plantings. The cotton was just coming up and 

 with the eye, when helped a little by the imagination, 

 one could trace the rows across the fields. Every 

 one of the farmers in that section knew that a 

 cotton-crop well planted in a thoroughly prepared 

 seed-bed was half the battle. Even Si Fletcher, who 

 rarely agreed with anything, said that this was cor- 

 rect, provided good seed was planted. 



Joe Gardner was the youngest, most active, and 

 most progressive farmer of the neighborhood, and as 

 he had planted earliest of the other farmers his 

 cotton was the tallest in the community. But Joe 

 stood by the old bars at the edge of the cotton-field 

 this evening and was very angry. Joe's neighbors 

 told him that he was foolish to be so angry about 



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