238 
February 28 5 1922 
Jhe RURAL. NEW-YORKER 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
The situation was too common to be 
impressive. A cold night, without star¬ 
light or moon. A lonely place on the 
road. Snow and ice here and there. A 
car halted by the roadside with one rear 
tire as flat and flabby as a pancake 
when the cook had by mistake used cook¬ 
ing soda instead of baking powder. A 
weary individual, too large for the space 
he occupied down under the car. trying 
to jack it up with a jack that had lost 
most of its jump. A group of two women 
and four children, all Cold and hungry, 
grouped around this work, and all handing 
him varied samples of advice. Many peo¬ 
ple have expressed a desire to see the 
Hope Farm family. Could they have 
seen this group around that limping car. 
they would have decided that we have 
most of the common human qualities—to 
put it mildly. 1 had the great advantage 
of not hearing most of the advice and 
comment. Surely, I was not responsible 
for the tack or small nail which had 
punctured that tire; but is there a man 
reading this who does not know that he 
must serve as a safety valve in suen 
emergencies? At any rate, there we were, 
laid up on the road by a small tack, with¬ 
out even a flashlight or anyone who pre¬ 
tends to be a mechanic. And I had to 
laugh out loud, to the great disgust of 
my companions. 
“A pretty time to laugh, I should say.’’ 
I thought so. for I was thinking how 
Bob, our cranky old red horse, would 
have gloried in such a situation. Bob 
bated a car. He was slow and awkward, 
and young folks like to fly; but you never 
could have Crippled old Bob with any¬ 
thing short of a 10-penny spike aud a 
hammer. As for a tack! IIow Bob 
would have gloated over this much-advised 
figure under the car for dispensing with 
the services of a good, honest horse 1 
***** 
We wore speeding home from town, 
hungry and tired, aud. of course, that 
tack had to stand up straight, right under 
the tire, at just the wrong place for us. 
As Shakespeare puts it. the hole was not 
as wide a^ a church door, but it was 
enough. We finally got that corner of 
the car jacked up, aud then all hands 
tried our strength on the air pump. It 
was certainly a case of “free air"—the 
air we pumped in was free to escape, and 
so were the remarks of tin* non-pumping 
critics. Putting on a new tire in the 
dark was too much fur OUr limited skill, 
so we went crawling and limping along 
until we reached a garage, and light. 
With some help from a mechanic we got 
that punctured tire off and a new one 
in its place, my daughter and Cherry-top 
doing most of the work, with mother to 
give advice. It seems that I am not to 
be trusted with machinery or with keep¬ 
ing the fire going. Mv job is to pay the 
hills. So Rose and I walked down the 
road til! we found a baker's shop, where 
we invested in rolls and little cakes, for 
the wise man knows that the workers 
must he well fed. They finally got the 
new tire on. and off into the darkness we 
plunged for home. Mother and the chil¬ 
dren were curled up on the rear seat. 
My daughter took the wheel, and I sat 
heside her. with little Rose in my lap. 
I imagine we doubled the speed limit on 
some of those straight, smooth roads, but 
that ear seemed anxious to make up for 
lost time. It was a relief at last to 
whirl into our yard. The rest of the 
family were looking for us. and about 
as soon as we could wash our faces and 
warm our fingers, the baked beans were 
smoking on the table, with the baked ap¬ 
ples and gingerbread beside them. It 
was a good adventure. After supper, as 
We sat before the fire, little Rose gave 
as deep a sigh as her little body is capable* 
of producing, and said: 
“Did you ever have a worse trip?” 
***** 
That big log on the fire suddenly 
popped out a shower of sparks. I pre¬ 
sume the air in some cavity in that log 
heated until its explosive power spit 
something and drove out the sparks. The 
little girl’s question started UP some 
dormant cell in a cavity of ins brain, and 
I remembered another trip long before 
the d ays of gasoline. It was 40 years 
ago that I drove a supply team for a 
lumber camp far up on the west coast of 
Michigan. I would come to town once 
and sometimes twice a week, load up with 
supplies, and slowly haul them hack to 
camp. The roads were bad. and they 
always loaded my wagon with about all 
the horses could haul and then a little 
more. One wild day in January the cook 
ran out of flour, and the hoss told me to 
po for a load of supplies. I confess that I 
did not like to start, hut no Russian Czar 
ever had a more arbitrary -power under 
the law than the boss in a lonely lumber 
camp. 1 hitched up and started early 
with a hob sled loaded with shingle bolts. 
There was only a narrow trail through 
the woods until you struck the main road, 
where several paths or trails branched 
away in various' directions. About half 
a mile from camp I heard a strange noise 
behind me. and on pulling up the blankets 
1 found Jack, rhe little brown dog that 
made in's home at camp. The cookie 
claimed ownership in him. hut Jack was 
the friend of all—a merry, active little 
thing, who gave warning when the bears 
came out of tip* woods at night to steal 
the beans, and acted as general guardian, 
llow lie ever came to crawl into that load 
I never knew. Perhaps he wanted an 
adventure; perhaps he loved the driver; 
perhaps he knew—I cannot toll about 
that, hut. at any rate, lie was a great com¬ 
panion. I have seen many a human eye 
that veiled deceit in the brain behind it; 
many a human hand that has grasped 
mine has carried a concealed knife. But 
there was no deceit or treachery in the 
bright eyes and wagging tail of my little 
brown companion as he crawled under the 
blankets heside me. 
***** 
1 did not realize what a fearful storm 
had broken over us until we left the 
woods and struck the main road. Then 
we got the full fury of the ' last from 
Lake Michigan. Dick and Topsy, the two 
black horses, shouldered iuto the blast 
with heads held down. T pulled my fur 
cap down over my eyes, and let the horses 
keep the road. I could only imagine that 
some great giant stood ahead of us with 
a great sling hurling shot and pebbles into 
our faces. It was a struggle, but we 
made town at last and unloaded our 
shingle bolts. While the boys were load¬ 
ing the sled I rubbed Dick and Topsy 
down and gave them all the hay and oats 
they could eat. 1 had dinner with the 
storekeeper, and. if 1 must admit it, I 
ate a dinner suited to the storm. 
“If you keep that up you’ll have the 
fows.” was the man’s comment. 
“Let him eat." protested his wife. “It’s 
good to know that someone appreciates 
my cooking. I've had enough fault¬ 
finding.” 
And a big plateful of the best went out 
for Jack, curled up beside the stove in 
the store. 
“I hate to see ye start out into this,” 
said the storekeeper, “but they ain’t got 
much flour left, and you know what these 
lumberjacks is when bread runs short.” 
I knew. It was my duty to get these 
supplies out to camp, and it is the busi¬ 
ness i f every roan to get wit h ; n his duty 
and live there. So we hitch' d Dick and 
Topsy to the sled, and with Jack under 
the blankets in front, we started into the 
storm. It was not quite so bad as before. 
The wind was stronger, hut it was at our 
hacks, and really seemed to help push us 
along. But it was a hurricane. _ At one 
place we passed a great dying pine tree. 
I had often noticed it standing beside 
the road, holding its dead limbs out like 
some sick man reaching out withered 
arms for help. That day as I passed 
under it in the fast fading light it seemed 
more than ever like a sick man tottering 
through his last days. We had hardly 
gone 150 feet past it when there came a 
great crack, aud with what seemed like 
a scream of agony the giant tree swayed 
for a moment and came crashing down 
into the road behind me. Then of a sod¬ 
den the darkness seemed to drop UfKin 
os. and we were left in that whirling 
blackness. I got out mv lantern and 
found the n atch box in my pocket. My 
lingers quickly showed there were only 
five matcln-s there. Five matches and 
that howling gale! I put the blankets on 
Dick and Tops.v. and with little Jack to 
lead, walked back until I ran into that 
fallen tree. The dead limbs were full of 
pitch—almost n< jn flam able as gunpow¬ 
der. We scooped a deep hole in a snow¬ 
drift. and with my ax and knife T made 
splinters ef that pitch pine. Then, get¬ 
ting down close to it. out of the dr'ft. I 
scratched one of my old-fashioned snlphur 
matches and put the flame right on a pine 
splinter. It flamed up at once, arid al¬ 
most before you eould think that pile of 
splinters was ablaze, and I had four 
matches left! Then I cut limbs from that 
tree and piled them on the fire until the 
flames blazed high and illuminated the 
place for many rods around. We wore 
just at the place where our trail to camp 
started off from the main road. But 
where was our trail? The pine trees, 
loaded with snow, hung down like a great 
white eurtaiu all along the road- The 
trail opened somewhere beneath them— 
but where? 
***** 
While I was puzzling over this two fig¬ 
ures came plowing through the snow out 
of the woods into the light. They came 
up to my fire—a man and woman, both 
middle age. I was not afraid, for Jack 
wagged his tail as if he had met some old 
acquaintance. 
“Well, what’s the "ood word? 
It was a foolish question. I know, but 
all 1 could think of at the moment. 
“Well, the woman and I want to get 
married. Where does the minister live?” 
An my children woolJ say. “YYl'tu d M 
you know about that?’’ But then 1 
should k ave known that love laughs at 
locksmiths and at snowstorms. T re¬ 
membered that we had a minister working 
at our eamn. H<> had left his little 
church for the Winter to earn enough 
money to buy a hell and other fixtures. 
These snowbirds beside my fire explained 
their situation. The man was spokes¬ 
man. 
“I been after this woman for some 
rears. She’s been keeping house for her 
father in a house down tin- road a piece. 
Wouldn’t get married while father needed 
her. Now the old man’s got married 
himself- I got a good farm down south 
and I came after her. Best I could get 
her to say was she’d get. married in 48 
hours or never. They say there’s a min¬ 
ister up to Cooney Camp, and I’ve got to 
get him inside of them 48 hours. Where’s 
he at? Here we he 1” 
And the would-be bride stood in the 
deep snow, blushing like a rose. I was 
younger then, and blizzards could not 
freeze out romance. I had neither the 
years nor the experience to qualify me as 
critic or protector, but I had to say some¬ 
thing, so I asked the woman : 
“I suppose you want to be married, 
too?” 
“Well, kinda. Would I be here if I 
didn't?” 
Oh, I don’t know. Cupid as usually 
pictured is dressed for very hot weather, 
but I presume he has a fur coat and wool 
boots as well. 
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We never would have found the way 
hut. for Jack. That little brown pilot 
ran along the road and finally stopped 
before what seemed a solid wall of snow 
by a tree. There he stood harking. It 
seemed absurd, but I struck the tree with 
my ax, the snow fell off. aud as the limbs 
Straightened up I saw by the firelight our 
trail winding in among the pines. The 
marriage-hunters had a horse and sleigh, 
and they followed ns as we drove into 
the woods. My lantern burned brightly, 
ami Jack sat on the seat as pilot. Be¬ 
fore we started I built a tire under the 
trunk of the fallen tree. I knew it would 
burn all night and clear the road better 
than any ax could do I have no doubt 
that Dick and Topsy nnoerstood Jack’s 
silent instructions as be guided them safely 
through the twisting trail until a light 
was seen ahead of ns. The men had 
built a great fire to guide us in. We had 
reached camp! 
***** 
I wish T had the space to give you the 
full details of that wedding. The min¬ 
ister married my snow friends in the 
cook’s shanty. The man had no wedding 
ring, and the blacksmith lighted his forge 
and made a ring out of iron wire. There 
was no bread for the wedding feast, but 
the cook made a great pile of flapjacks 
The cookie and 1 went out to the bean 
hole. Two black objects scurried away 
as we approached—bears trying to dig 
into tin- beans. For a “bean hole” is a 
hole or trench dug deep in the ground. 
You build a hot fire in it, and when this 
has died down to live coals, you put the 
filled bean pot inside, and then cover it 
all over with hoards and wet straw. 
Nothing like a bean hole to fill the larg¬ 
est human cavity. A wedding supper of 
baked beans, flapjacks and molasses, 
boiled pork, doughnuts and black coffee! 
Does anyone ask for hotter or move suit¬ 
able food? Speaking as the “best man” 
on that occasion, I answer no! And 
sneaking as one man to another, before 
this roaring fire, would you and this lady 
Who sits over there with her sewing, after 
all the experience which the years have 
brought, go out into such a storm hunting 
a minister? Eat one of those apples be¬ 
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