846 
The RURAL NEW-YORKER 
July 1, 1928 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
The Old-fashioned Hired Man 
Part II. 
For dinner we had fried pork, potatoes 
and a bread pudding. The boss was a 
quick eater, and always judged a man's 
value as a worker by the speed with 
which lie bolted bis food. Across the 
river on one of the flats were about live 
loads of luiy ready to haul in, so we 
hitched up and made for the held. We 
drove through a ford across the river, but 
had to come bock through town with the 
load. John drove his cows up near the 
hay field and 1 "changed work" with him 
for a couple of hours. 1 mounted the 
mustang and drove the Cows down the 
river to a hunch of good feed. There was 
a peculiar thing about the prairie pas¬ 
tures. Here and there were little nooks 
or spots where the grass grew soft and 
green, while all around the prairie grass 
would be dry and hard. I never knew 
how to account for these spots, but the 
cattle kuew them and would bead di¬ 
rectly for them across the dry plains. 
Most of these cows were lazy, as cattle 
usually arc, and nut iueliued to wander. 
There was one old spotted cow gifted 
with the natural habit or gift of leader¬ 
ship. She had Leeu taken out of a herd 
of range cattle and trained for domestic 
service as a milk giver, but you cannot 
take the wildness out of brute or human 
through any change of environment. >Vc 
reached one of those green, soft spots, 
and the cows seemed fully quiet. So 1 
got off the mustang's back and sot under 
a cottonwood to try to finish my book. I 
remember that it was a volume of Buck¬ 
le’s "History of Civilization.’' though I 
confess that I could not understand it all 
at that time. But the spotted eow was 
there to prove that civilization was a 
failure. Just where the feeding was best 
she suddenly held up her head, snorted, 
and started on the run down the river. 
And those of you who think a eow cannot 
run should have seen her go. Far away 
to the limit of ordinary vision, over a lit¬ 
tle swell on the prairie, came a cloud of 
dust and a long line of red and spotted 
objects. It was a "drive” of range cattle 
coming up from the south to find Sum¬ 
mer pasture in Wyoming or Montana, 
and the spotted eow had seen in it a vis¬ 
ion of her old wild life. M hut did she 
care for Buckle's history, when the buckle 
on her own civilization strap hud broken? 
She was off to join the old gang. Do¬ 
mestic lifts had palled on her. And such 
is the strength of leadership that every 
eow in the herd stopped eating, bel¬ 
lowed and ran clumsily after their leader. 
From dignified old Lophorn to silly Frisk, 
the young heifer, they all left their good 
grass for the drought and dust of the 
range. The mustang knew his business. 
He was the head of a herd of wild horses 
before he was captured and tamed. With 
the superior intelligence of a lmrse be 
knew that the white inau’s mild form of 
slavery was better ilian the savagery of 
range life. And he could run. In a mo¬ 
ment he had me ahead of the spotted cow. 
She ran blindly on. head up and bellow¬ 
ing. until suddenly she stepped in a prai¬ 
rie dog's hole and floundered full length 
on the ground. The fall took all the 
"wildness" out of her. Sin* stood looking 
at me in a curious way, as if to say: 
"We have had a nice little exercise; 
now let's go hack and feed.’ 
The mustang knew his business. lie 
darted up behind her and bit her tail, at 
which Spot gave up all claims to leader¬ 
ship and started back at a sharp trot. 
The other cows fell in behind and walked 
sedately along. The foolish dash tor lib¬ 
erty was a closed incident. 
♦ * Kf * * 
There were no bay loaders or other 
labor-saving devices in those days. We 
forked the hay on the wagon and then 
forked it off again, through the burning 
sun of that hot afternoon. John and 
Lonzo took the herd home across the river 
and the boss and I drove the last load of 
hay buck through the town. We drove 
down Main street, and right in front of 
the bank the boss cleared his throat and 
with a nod back at me started singing 
“Leaf by Leaf the Roses Fall.” The 
street was well lined with groups of 
farmers, sheep herders, merchants and 
an occasional Indian. The local editor 
put his head out of the window and re¬ 
marked to the Methodist minister: 
“These fellows ought, to be in your 
choir.” 
But the minister shook his head, for 
the boss was noted us a "free thinker." 
We sang through the town and on out to 
the ranch, and the day seemed to be 
brighter for it. It was milking time once 
more when we reached home, and while 
the boss unhitched and fed the horses. 
Lonzo. John and I got out our pails once 
more and went at “pulling teats." The 
flies were had and the cows were restless. 
They would not stand as they did in the 
cool morning, and how they did whisk 
their tails! Several of these cows wen* 
sure shots. They could hit the milker on 
the face or head within half au inch of 
any spot they aimed at. John tied old 
Lophorn’s tail to his bnot strap to keep it 
quiet. The white heifer butted the old 
cow and she started moving. The fasten¬ 
ing to the boot strap held and John went 
hopping on one foot, with the filled milk 
pail in his hand. We did not need all the 
milk for the night route, so most of it 
was poured into pans for cream. For 
supper we had what was left of the bread 
pudding, fried potatoes and more pan¬ 
cakes. 1 started out to deliver the night's 
milk. There was a church party in town, 
and we had a good order for cream. I 
rang my hell in front of the church, where 
l could look in and see the young folks. 
It makes little difference whether you are 
in London, with 1,000 years behind you, 
or in a prairie town with scarce 1,000 
days, the essential social feelings of 
Adam and Eve are ever the same And 
they always loom large to the rural swain. 
A church deacon came out to get the 
cream. 
“Ain't coining to the party, I s’posc?” 
"No, I've got to work!” 
“Well, I guess it's just as well. You 
wouldn't cut no figure with them girls. 
You fellers smell of the barn. You can’t 
get away from the stink. You may wash 
up and put on your black clothes, so you 
can’t smell yourself, hut the girls always 
smell the born.” 
I drove home, thinking over the old 
world problem. Here was a country ab¬ 
solutely dependent on the cow and the 
wheat for its life, yet the "smell of the 
barn” shut a man out of society. It has 
ever been the fact that the girls, or their 
ideals of life, determine the progress of 
the world. Somehow the thinkers and 
“leaders” seem to have missed that point. 
When the girl does not like "the smell of 
the barn” the boy is more than likely to 
leave the ham. A better outcome would 
he to make the barn sanitary and the girl 
sensible. 
* * * * * 
I got home as twilight was coining on. 
In that country night comes quickly when 
the sun's rays are intercepted by the high 
mountains. John had taken the cows out 
for their night herding. They usually 
had three hours of feeding after milking. 
1/onzo had pitched off the last load of 
hay. with three of thy. children to stamp 
it down on the stack. The empty wagon 
revealed a crack in one of the timbers of 
the request of the sick woman upstairs 
we postponed our musical exercises. I 
have observed that many of these good 
wives endure much ,'rom their husbands 
when they are in reasonable health, hut 
when the nerves finally give way the 
truth about the performance is sure to 
appear. 
* * * # * 
The boss was an expert dairyman; I 
was but a poor assistant, though l fear 
we could hardly pass an examination to¬ 
day. Looking hack 30 years as L now do 
I can see it all. The smoking lamp gave 
us hut a dim light, and the boss largely 
obscured it as lie stood at the table skim¬ 
ming. lie was a tall man with a long, 
red heard. He had on a pair of high 
leather hoots, blue overalls and a brown 
shirt. The cellar walls were built of 
brick and adobe, the floor was of dry 
sand, and L remember that as I trudged 
hack and forth, in and out of the shadow, 
a rh the two babies, I stirred up a dust 
which floated everywhere. A cream sepa¬ 
rator? There was no such thing in the 
world at that time, outside of the inven¬ 
tor's brain. The first cream separator 
was the calf's mouth ; the second the hu¬ 
man linger. The boss would lift a pan of 
milk to the table, run his finger around 
the rim to loosen the cream, and then 
blow off the thick, ropy covering into the 
cream pail. Whore certain particles of 
it failed to feel the wind of his breath on 
their sails he hurried them along with his 
finger. The skim-milk went into cans for 
the calves. The cream from the last skim¬ 
ming had been ripening in its can. The 
boss tested its temperature by sticking 
his finger in. and determined its acidity 
by putting a little of it in his mouth. Of 
course we use thermometers and acid 
tests now, hut 1 am not writing an essay 
on model dairying. I’m telling just what 
the hired man did for a day’s work. The 
boss poured this cream into a big dash 
churn. Then he took the babies and I 
Here are two good friends—both valuable young stock. We consider it a fine tiling 
for children to grow up on the farm surrounded by farm animals, and making much 
of them. We never did believe in the idea of letting babies or very young children 
play with big or mature animals, but it is a good thing for any girl to have a calf or 
heifer of her own. 
the hay rigging, and Lonzo was at work 
with hammer and saw, repairing the job. 
In those days the carpenters did not get 
even a shaving front the ordinary farm 
job. A good hired man was expected to 
use both carpenter’s and blacksmith’s 
tools. An eight-hour man of the present 
day would have waited till morning and 
thus delayed farm work a couple of hours, 
hut Lonzo got a lantern and finished his 
job that night. And we were not driven 
to this “overtime,” either. It was a com¬ 
mon understanding among all farm la¬ 
borers at that period of history that we 
mlist finish our job before sleeping, and 
we did it. A learned economist, who 
never did a stroke of farm work, has 
since told me that this willingness to work 
overtime was largely responsible for the 
troubles of farmers. They produced too 
much by doing so. and thus heat them¬ 
selves. But. on the other hand, most of 
these farmers were in debt for their laud. 
They had to pay in wheat and cattle. 
There was only one railroad to any out¬ 
side market, and the price and the dis¬ 
position of their produce were both con¬ 
trolled by people to whom they owed 
money. About all that any farmer could 
do was to hang on, work as hard as he 
could, and wait until the thicker settle¬ 
ment of the country raised the price of 
In's laud and I tins gave him easier Credit. 
When I got back with the wagon 1 found 
the boss acting as nurse for the two 
babies. The other children had gone to 
tied, but these two little ones were rest¬ 
less. Their mother had a had headache. 
•She had a towel tied around her head, and 
was anuiilng camphor in her room, I had 
orders for butter to be delivered next 
morning, and there was a good hatch of 
cream to be churned and pans to he 
skimmed. I took the children while the 
boss skimmed. We took a lump down 
cellar, where the pans stood on shelves. I 
walked back and forth with a baby on 
each arm. Under*ordiuury circumstances 
we would have favored an attentive world 
with a few choice duets. Oh. you should 
have heard us in "Near Me. Norma,” or 
"We're Coming, Father Abraham!” At 
went at the dasher and worked it up and 
down until we knew from the sound that 
the butter had "come.” The babies were 
asleep by this time, and we put them to 
bed. The butter had gathered in little 
lumps about as large as wheat, and the 
boss scooped it out and washed and mold¬ 
ed it ready for sale. It was now nearly 
i) o’clock. John had eorne hack with (he 
cattle and Lonzo had finished his car¬ 
penter job. The moon was up and the 
snowy mountain tops were shining as 
though the silver which lay on the soil 
far below them had crawled out to view 
this strange world. The old hull was 
murmuring* in his pen. the cows were dis¬ 
posing themselves about the corral, and 
something which might have been the 
hark of a dog or the howl of a coyote 
came up the river valley. The day’s work 
was done, and another was coming. I 
thought of what Macbeth said as I 
climbed on the stack and settled down 
into the fresh, sweet hay: 
“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow 
Creeps in this petty pace from day to 
day 
To tin* last syllable of recorded time. 
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
The way to dusty death." 
Yet that was the happy period of his¬ 
tory when every hired man believed that 
lie might own a home of his own. get to 
Congress, or even he President. 
We settled into the Inly, hut we were 
not to sleep yet. Along the road came a 
quartet of young people. A clerk from 
tin* dry goods store and a young lawyer 
with a couple of girls who could not en¬ 
dure “the smell of the barn.” They were 
out "enjoying the moonlight,” and youth 
must ever resort Jo music in order to give 
full expression to its feelings. So they 
began singing a round or part song very 
popular at that time: 
"The wolf is on the hill, 
I hear him howling still !” 
That noise was much like a wolf to us. 
who were trying to hold a few lambs of 
sleep. We started up together and called 
hack : 
“Heat!” 
“Shut up!” 
“Let him howl!” 
It has ever been true that in the pres¬ 
ence of the female of the species the 
young male proclaims himself ready for 
battle. So the dork and the young law¬ 
yer shouted back: 
“Shut up yourself. Come out here and 
we’ll shut you up!” 
Following an impulse which a thou¬ 
sand times in history has driven the peas¬ 
ant out to fight the aristocracy, John and 
Lonzo and I slid off that stack and ran 
for Hu* i*i mil. The clerk and the lawyer 
never waited for us. They started for 
town with ;i story of how six men at¬ 
tacked them. The girls did not. run and 
did not scream, I have always believed 
that the Sabine women acted in much the 
same way when the Romans rushed upon 
them. I am quite sure that Lonzo, later 
on. became the lending butcher in town 
and that he married one of these very 
girls! But we were soon baek on the 
haystack and asleep. The long day had 
reached its end. We got $20 a month, 
which was a little above the average, and 
1 think we earned it. li. w. c. 
Fencing Questions 
Our neighbor A lives next door; his 
land touches ours on two sides at right 
angles. A is very well-to-do, employs a 
lawyer by the year, never makes a move 
without his advice. We have had trouble 
over a fence. Wo want a fence around 
our place to keep our stock in and his 
stock out. Can ho put his share of his 
fence up, and should he put it. o.. the 
line? Can we go ahead and put our share 
up and put it. on the line and attach our 
fencing wire to his anchor post; in other 
words, where his share of the fence ends? 
If he should put his fence over on his own 
ground six inches, just half way around 
(or just half the fence), would we be 
obliged to put ours over six inches on 
our land, and how can the fence be made 
to join so stock could not get through? 
It lie puts up his share on his own land 
over six inches from the line, is it illegal 
for us to pasture against his fence when 
our stock runs on our own land? h.p. 
()hio. 
If your neighbor A desires to set his 
fence on his own land near the line, there 
is no reason why you cannot put your 
fence on the line and connect it with his 
fiance. In tin* ease you name, he is prac¬ 
tically giving you six inches of his land 
to use. It- would not. even be necessary 
for you to attach to his fence if you did 
not want to, for an extra poet driven in 
the (i-iu. space would connect the two 
fences. n. t. 
To the Hills for Health 
In March my doctors said my lungs 
were affected with tuberculosis. They 
advised me to leave the town for the 
Summer, and go in the country and take 
the fresh-air cure. We hired an old farm¬ 
house that was empty, with a large porch, 
for $4 a month. We moved April 3, one 
small load of goods. We screened the 
porch with cloth netting, put up two cot 
beds, with mattress, and slept there all 
Summer. A few nights the rain drove us 
in. W e were only 2% miles from my 
husband's work, so he drove the ear in. I 
did very little work, as I lived out of 
doors. We took desk, library table, rock¬ 
ers, chairs, couch, and small‘kitchen table 
with white oilcloth. This answered as 
onr dining Luhle. A four-burner oil stove, 
a few dishes, not a carpet or rug. Satur¬ 
day afternoons my hiisbaud did the house¬ 
work well. We lived on vegetables, fruit 
and cereals. We used live quarts of milk 
and one pint of cream a day, I often 
baked n cake and pies. We used many 
berries 1 bought, from the neighbor's chil¬ 
dren. Husband eared for the garden in 
(own as well as if he lived there. 1 was 
not bmcesonie, as then* was a dear old 
lady who lived so near I visited her every 
day. We also bought a vietrola. 1 had 
plenty of magazines. Husband left at 
i AO, got: home at 3. There was a good 
henhouse on the place, so I was anxious 
to raise chickens. 1 bought a Rhode Is¬ 
land Red hen for $1.23 and 28 chickens 
for $5.(50. 1 raised 25 of them ; 1(5 roost¬ 
ers, nine pullets. 1 sold seven roosters, 
we ate nine, and catne buck November 1 - 
with nine pullets, oue hen. Husband 
hired a nice henhouse built for them. 1 
was very proud of them; the pullets were 
White Leghorns. They were hatched 
April 21 ; the first one laid November 2S ; 
December 3 six of them laid. The Red 
hen laid first February 2. They are still 
laying fine. 
I bought 73 chicks this year, hatched 
nine with my Rial fceu. That, made 84 ; 
I now have 71 ; they are 2R> months old. 
1 bought three Red hens and gave the 
chickens to them. 1 had the hens sit¬ 
ting on china eggs for a few days, so 
did not have any trouble having them own 
them. 
We are back in the country for the 
Summer. I have my hens herein a yard; 
tin* chickens run everywhere and grow 
very fust. I buy soar milk for them. I 
expect fo winter 25 hens, as my henhouse 
will accommodate them. I am feeling 
fine this Summer. We olive into town at 
night often, and I like to live in the coun¬ 
try very much. MBS. FREDERICK MILLARD. 
Vermont. 
