In the middle of October the well was started; it was located on the house plot northwest of the 

 house site. The trees left vacant a circle which was an admirable setting for the tank tower and a 

 protection both winter and summer. Much thought and investigation were expendf d upon the water 

 supply. The well, of course, was a necessity, but there was much to be considered in regard to the 

 method of pumping. Under ordinary circumstances a wind mill would do, but a farm should not be 

 allowed to prove a failure for lack of water in a droughty season. During the past summer, that of 

 1905, a drought struck the entire eastern section of the United States, when vegetation was making a 

 strong early growth; as a consequence many plants remained practically dormant. In case of drought 

 (and almost evcr>' spring or summer brings one of greater or less duration) water must be on hand, 

 and as a drought is usually accompanied by windless weather a windmill could not be depended upon. 

 An engine was obviously necessary, both gasoline and kerosene engines were closely investigated with 

 the result that a "Secor" kerosene oil engine was decided upon. This engine starts immediately by 

 lighting a very small quantity of gasoline by electric spark, which generates sufficient heat to vaporize 

 the kerosene when the engine is shifted to the latter fuel. Some kerosene engines must be started by 

 heating an iron ball red-hot by means of a gasoline torch, before the kerosene is vaporized; this requires 

 oftentimes 20 minutes and more. Gasoline engines are more expensive in operation and more dangerous 

 to run ; while the kerosene engine's first cost is greater it is much cheaper to operate. Another advantage 

 of the engine over windmill is that it will furnish power for cutting wood or grinding grain, shredding 

 fodder, filling silos, or lighting the buildings, a 2J4 horsepower engine running 25 16-C.P. lights easily. 



The well-driller was accompanied by a huge colored man whom the Senior Partner immediately 

 dubbed "Big Mice." Alas, he could not remain, for there was not a house in the neighborhood where 

 one with African blood in his veins could get a bed to sleep in. He returned home, leaving George, a 

 young Westerner, to do the drilling, with our 'longshoreman as a helper. It was an exciting time when 

 the well was started. It would mean so much to have all the water needed and not have to carry it the 

 long distance in small quantities at high cost. 



Then, of course, it permitted of a little sport, and many bets were made as to the depth we should 

 strike water. The site was about 100 feet above the Sound and we deemed that about the depth we 

 should have to go. The Senior Partner bet the driller we would strike water nearer GO than ICO feet; 

 the bet was for a hat against a pair of gloves, and he was so sure of winning he told me in confidence he 

 had decided upon a white "stove pipe" with a deep well band. 



Ah, the tantalizing delays about that well, first the driller ran out of pipe, when more came it was 

 the wrong size, and interminable delay, and the next lot was cracked. 



Water was finally reached at 102 feet (the hat remained a dream). A little more drilling to bed 

 the well points and strainer revealed the fact that we had struck an infold or overlap of a terminal 

 moraine, for the sand instead of being sea-wash running into gravel was as fine as emery. It would 

 never do to stop there, for the flow would be slow and the sharp stuff would wear the leather cups and 

 brass valves out in less than no time. Drilling continued through shallow layers; always water in 

 plenty, but geological conditions poor. At 149 feet a beautiful flow was struck with ideal gravel bottom; 

 we had reached that huge subterranean river which lies under Long Island and is a never failing source 

 of crj'stalline water, free from surface drainage, pure and sweet for whomsoever cares to tap it. It 

 rose to within 40 feet of the surface and was still rising when the pumps were put on and we had the 

 first sip — sweet, sparkling, cold (49° F.)- — the best drink in the world. Then, to test the supply, an 

 18-inch stroke was pulled and she never "kicked." Now the first turn of the pump throws water into 

 the tank, showing that the water stands close to the top of the pipe. 



But to return to the land, Nature smiled her sweetest upon us up to October 20th, when there was 

 a 24-hour downpour. 



"Now w'e're up against it, we won't get the rye drilled in for a week or more, and that will be too 

 late to get a good start this year," said the Senior Partner. 



"Well, if that farm is anything like our garden you can drill in rj-e to-morrow," I said. 



Hand in hand we traveled forth the next day and there were the harrows going merrily over the 

 ground, and though the soil was moist it did not cake up a bit. Rye was sown in the afternoon, thus 

 completing 3 out of the 10 acres. 



The comparison of plowing this land with land cleared in the usual way is interesting. To begin 

 with, the team and driver cost $4.00 per day, while they always charge $5.00 per day for the land when 

 stumps are left in. This land plowed at the rate of 1^ acres a day while K of an acre is the best they 

 can do in stump land. 



On October 2Sth I had the pleasure of blowing out our "king" stump, a chestnut 7>2 feet in diameter. 



Our neighbors and friends were kind and encouraging, many of them came long distances to re- 

 monstrate after this fashion: 



"Say, old man (that's not I), we're awful fond of you and you have done a lot for the Island. We'd 

 hate to see you rum yourself. For goodness sake give this thing up before it is too late. You know 

 nothing will grow here under three to six years. Honest, old man, we mean it." 



Then the Senior Partner would w\'^Jk around with them a bit and they would say, "What's that 

 green over there?" 



"Rye." 



"No, go-wan, it can't be!" 



"Go and look for yourself then," he would answer. They went away nobler and better men. 



Others would gather in the village stores and decide that we had "pizened" the soil with gases 

 from the dynamite, but as the rye grew stronger and greener they said, "Well, anyway, it wouldn't 

 live the winter through." 



As the weather grew colder the problem of handling the dynamite became a perplexing one. It 

 freezes at 44° and we were absolutely determined to get at least 10 acres cleared before snow flew. 



A magazine was made of a large dry goods case and placed in the middle of a pile of manure, the 



