a tree at the edge of the meadow — and narrowly 

 escaped being killed with a shotgun. 



Jones had some farm help, it seems, who con- 

 tinued their European fondness for small birds as 

 a dainty dish. The little brown birds had had their 

 lesson. And now they didn't stop to bother about 

 the Hessian Fly. Six or eight days later, several 

 million larva 1 were hatched and passed down the 

 wheat stems. They settled comfortably at the second 

 joint, and ate — and ate — and ate ! 



Old man Jones, inspecting his 

 wheat one afternoon, paused, stared, 

 reached over to pluck a spear, frowned 

 — and stared some more. The closer 

 he looked, the more alarmed he became. 

 Row after row of his splendid wheat was eaten 

 through and broke off at his touch! Frenziedly he 

 rushed through the grain fields and up toward his 

 farmhouse. As he approached it, his telephone rang. 



" Hello — hello — this is Smith at the next farm ! 

 Say — there's something chewing my wheat — half 

 of one of my best fields is all going to pot — " 



" I was just about to call you up!" shouted Bill 

 Jones into the transmitter. "Same with my crop! 

 It's Hessian Flies, that's what it is — and our har- 

 vest's ruined if we can't head 'em off! " 



Farmer Smith and Farmer Jones, and their neigh- 

 bor, Farmer Robinson, and the hired men, and the 

 local Board of Trade and the nearest Chamber of 



J3 



