THE SONS OF THE SETTLERS 
worth having—one, a con- 
struction engineer for the 
Grand Trunk Pacific, out 
somewhere in the Northwest 
now, and the other, gradu- 
ated from the School of 
Forestry two years ago, 
helping me work out my 
ideas on the old farm. They 
want him to run for the 
Legislature this fall, and I 
tell him to go in and win— 
he is one of the sort no rail- 
road’s money can buy, I tell 
you! Want to see some pic- 
tures, friend?’ he suddenly 
interjected, “something 
that'll show you what we’re 
doing up in an ‘abandoned 
farm’ district ?’? He reached 
into an inside pocket, and 
drawing forth a huge black 
wallet, spread its treasures 
before me. 
I wish now I had taken 
that man’s name that I 
might add to the weight of 
my tale the pictures he 
showed me of a New Hampshire farmhouse 
of the better sort, set, with keen appre- 
ciation of a proper building site, upon a 
hillerest and overlooking a. charming 
valley; of the practical application of 
modern ideas in forestry to the timber 
growing up about him; of the long stretch 
of well-built roadway, which he had himself 
constructed as a public duty and an object 
lesson to his neighbors. 
We parted when he left the train at a 
small station, but I continued to think of 
him and his son and the work they were 
engaged upon for long afterward. The 
impressive thing about it all was that here 
was epitomized the whole of the answer to 
the pessimistic crew who are seeing calamity 
and ruin for an immense and growing 
nation in the moral and physical degeneracy 
of a confined area. This acquaintance of 
mine was no isolated apostle of the faith: 
he was a type. I had met many of his kind 
before, I have met many since, and I tell 
you they are increasing in numbers; there is 
hope, and more than hope, for a country 
that can produce them, and I shall be 

A BIT OF EXQUISITE SENTIMENT 
The mill-stone which saw service in the mill of the present owner’s great-grand- 
father serving as a lawn seat for the Sons of the Settlers, old and young 
pleased in the succeeding articles of this 
series to introduce others no less genuine 
and convincing. One cannot speak in the 
past tense of ‘‘the good old New England 
character ’’ while types like these are to be 
met with on every hand. 
There is a common misconception that I 
wish briefly to touch upon in this mere out- 
line of a broad subject. It concerns the so- 
called ‘‘abandoned farm,” a term which 
carries with it a certain quality of reproach, 
a suggestion of hopeless struggle and ulti- 
mate defeat. Not infrequently this “‘aban- 
donment” of an old farm is the kindliest 
turn of fate imaginable, not only for the 
farm itself, which perchance has fallen into 
unworthy or inappreciative hands, but for 
its subsequent possessor, who finds there 
not only the rest and comfort and health 
denied him in modern city life, but an 
adequate livelihood from the intelligent 
development of its resources. A farm 
abandoned is often simply ‘‘left in trust” 
to old Dame Nature, who, wise in her own 
deliberate way, builds up a valuable forest 
growth in the deserted pastures, gives rest 
