14 ALFALFA FARMING IN AMERICA. 
with diligence, he asked the old man: ‘‘Father, 
where is my alfalfa? Did you plant that seed that 
I sent you?’’ ‘‘Why, yes, I planted it, but it did not 
amount to anything. This is no country for alfalfa. 
It may do for you in the West, but it is of no use 
here; but come and see it, what there is of it.’? Back 
of the garden the old man had spaded a square rod 
of good clay soil and sowed his seed. He led the 
way and pointed accusingly to the stunted little 
plants scattered thinly over the ground: “Mhere, 
don’t you see that this thing is no good for Ohio?”’ 
The boy stood in amazement looking at it, so dif- 
ferent from what he had fondly hoped it might be. 
His father turned away and left him, but still he 
stood studying the situation. Soon happened along 
a flock of his mother’s fowls; they came to the 
alfalfa patch and began an eager search for leaves; 
one by one they plucked them off till nearly every 
plant was stripped bare, then walked away. ‘‘Aha!’’ 
cried the boy; ‘‘I see a light now,’’ and he went to 
the well and pumped a tub full of water, which he 
carried and emptied carefully down by the strongest 
root that he could find. It was early August and 
the land was dry. To keep away the chickens he 
took an old barrel, knocked the heads out of it and 
put it over his alfalfa plant. In a little more than 
three weeks he was ready to go back to his work on 
the ranch and he went to say good bye to his alfalfa 
patch. To his delight the stalk of alfalfa had 
thrived for its wetting and its protection and had 
grown out through the top of the barrel! Joyfully 
