89 
1902 ,-v 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
Mobning.— A man of middle years with 
gray in his hair has little business to 
dream. I shall not therefore refer to the 
pleasant .country from which I was rudely 
imported by Charlie's poker. He was stir¬ 
ring up the logs in the big stove in the 
room below us, and the light from his 
lantern sent a dim streak up through the 
register. It was time to get up and face 
the duties of another Winter’s day! As 
my mind slowly grasped the situation I 
thought how four generations of farmers 
before me in the old house had fought out 
the bed battle and either roused up and 
caught work by the throat, or turned over 
for another snooze, thus giving work the 
under hold! It was the dawning of wash 
day, and a deep sigh from the other pillow 
calls To mind the fact that on rare occa¬ 
sions the Madame rather regrets that she 
is not a millionaire’s wife. I like to edit 
this into a regret that her present husband 
is obliged to sleep with a mortgage, and 
as mortgages are not paid in bed the thing 
to do is to get up. It is dark and cheer¬ 
less outside, with a film of frost on the 
pane. The girls are up, and I turn to ad¬ 
vise the Madame to play lady for a while 
and take another nap. She has taken my 
advice before I thought it out. Sleep has 
washed out the terrors of wash day. The 
Bud and the little Scion are sound asleep 
in their bed. In the adjoining room the 
little boys are tied into a strange knot with 
the bed clothes twisted around them. It 
seems too bad to pull the Graft away 
from such sweet oblivion, but he must 
take the milk and bring Chaddie, and so 
I give him a gentle shake. You have seen 
the wriggles and twists that a boy goes 
through as he makes the passage from 
dreamland. He soon unties himself from 
the Scion, and with his clothes under his 
arm runs into the closet and bapks against 
the warm chimney. The Scion gives a few 
twists and finally decides to follow his 
partner—so he, too, runs to the chimney 
with his clothes. 
Meanwhile the Cutting and the Sprout 
have been putting heat and life into break¬ 
fast. By the time, I get downstairs It is 
ready. Charlie comes in with his great 
pail of milk, and Philip has fed the horses 
and harnessed Major to the old buggy. It 
is lighter now, and a streak of red light 
comes glaring over the hill to the east, 
where the sun is slowly crawling up. Aunt 
Emma is now on deck, the Madame has 
awakened from the nap that meant “lady” 
to the wakefulness that means laundress! 
The little girls are astir and Grandmother 
is nearly ready. Breakfast puts heart into 
all the Hope Farm folks. There is crushed 
wheat boiled to a turn, with all the milk 
and rich cream and sugar needed, apple 
sauce, fried bacon and fried potatoes, hot 
rolls and butter and coffee. The hens are 
a little shy yet. but Grandmother has her 
egg as a special present from the hen girls 
—Bud and Sprout. Old Major is tied to the 
post shaking his head impatiently. The 
Cutting must get her train and the Graft 
is to drive her to the station. He will de¬ 
liver the milk on the way and bring Chad¬ 
die back. As they drive 'out of the gate 
they meet the carpenters who have eome 
to work on the new house. 
Charlie has already fed the cows. He 
gave each a packed bushel basket full of 
shredded corn fodder and a measure of 
wheat bran with a handful of oil meal in 
It. Over the fodder he pours a pint of 
waste molasses diluted with water. As 
Philip goes into the hoghouse he is greet¬ 
ed with a shrill chords. The grade sows 
stand on their hind legs and look over the 
side of their pens. The purebreds are a 
little too hightoned for such a perform¬ 
ance. Even Billy Berk adds his voice to 
the breakfast song of his wives. I do not 
want a fat porker to squeal, but it does 
not hurt a brood sow to sing for her 
meals. Philip has a bushel of yellow tur¬ 
nips hot in the cooker—a bone or two is 
often cooked with them. The sows get 
tlje cooked turnips and a fair share of the 
pot liquor stiffened with equal parts of 
bran and middlings. The box of wood 
ashes is kept full. 
The Sprout and the Bud go out to feed 
their hens. They take equal parts of bran 
and middlings (the brewers’ grains are all 
gone) and mix in the table scraps and hot 
water. This is fed outside, and the little 
Bud loves to open the doors and see the 
hens run for their breakfast. The girls 
have their hens so tame that usually they 
will follow all about, but this morning 
there is a flutter and excitement. Two 
strange-looking objects walk about. They 
are two young roosters which seem to have 
run against the newly painted barn, and 
are smeared with red from head to tail. 
The hens are afraid of these gay fellows, 
and give them a wide berth. I reflect that 
there are young fellows who like to use a 
red paint brush on society. If girls and 
young women would regard those chaps as 
our hens regard these painted roosters the 
world would be better off for It. 
We expected the steam engine man to¬ 
day to run the shredder, but the roads are 
soft and he has a high hill to climb. A 
smear of mist comes over the sun, and 
almost before we know it a slow drizzle 
has set in. The carpenters were nailing 
the siding to the new house, but this drove 
them inside, and we hear the song of their 
hammers as they nail down the floors. The 
steam engine is not coming, and it is too 
wet to paint the barn, so Philip gets out 
hjs hotbed sash on the barn floor and puts 
them in shape, while Charlie goes at the 
ice house. The Graft comes back with 
Chaddie. She buried her little baby yes¬ 
terday, but the stern fipger of necessity 
holds her to the wash tub to-day. Our 
little folks cried when they heard of this 
trouble, and they went to their banks to 
raise a fund to help Chaddie. Hope Farm 
also offered Frank and the surrey to help 
at the funeral. I found that the rain had 
started a new gulley on the hillside. As 
the ground was frozen the water could not 
soak in, so it cut and gouged out a deep 
rut. We filled this with stones and cov¬ 
ered them with coarse stalks and brush to 
hold the sand back. A man can employ 
part of such a day to advantage in think¬ 
ing over the coming year’s work and plan¬ 
ning his campaign. 
Rain might interfere with our work out¬ 
doors, but wash day does not wait for 
weather. I went to the kitchen about 11 
o’clock and found a busy scene. The 
Madame had sorted out the clothes and 
was getting ready to wring out a tubful. 
Chaddie stood on a high box, scrubbing out 
some dirt that the wooden fingers of 
the washing machine had skipped. The 
Sprout was washing some handkerchiefs. 
Aunt Emma was getting dinner ready 
for the stove. Grandmother sat In her 
favorite chair by the window, sewing. The 
two little girls sat near her, at their sew¬ 
ing lesson. The Graft was out in the 
wood-shed, working with his carpenter's 
biscuits, which rapidly disappear inside 
our doughty Hope Fanciers. -'.The children 
had their supper first, and they keep quiet 
in the other room while their elders eat. 
After the everlasting dishwashing, we are 
ready for the long Winter evening. The 
children have held a conference, and, like 
good politicians, send the Bud as a com¬ 
mittee of one, to ask for a story. They 
usually get it, and then I: try to read sev¬ 
eral good bits of poetry to them every 
night. I believe this is an excellent thing 
for children. Then comes bedtime, and 
the little folks climb upstairs and are 
quickly off to the land of dreams. Do they 
go without trouble? Yes, for they realize 
that trouble on their part Will only make 
greater trouble for them. Our children are 
taught to mind instantly and without argu¬ 
ment, and they know that we shall be 
fair and just with them. That is one 
great advantage of having them off here 
on the hills alone, where they can be kept 
busy, and satisfied with simple things. 
“Good-night” gives the Madame the most 
restful part of the day. Sleep quiets a 
thousand cares, and now she may read, 
and think, and write. I look up from the 
book I am studying and glance around the 
room. The night is black and thick. We 
do not care, for all our living things are 
comfortable. There is a great pile of logs 
behind the stove, and the two old cats are 
stretched out beside it. The children have 
left their little diaries on the table. Grand¬ 
mother has gone upstairs, and Charlie and 
Aunt Emma are in their own room. The 
Sprout is figuring her chicken account, and 
the Cutting is reading. There is the 
Madame, sitting with the lamplight on 
her face, enjoying her own little share of 
a long and weary day. The first time I 
saw her the lamplight was on her face! 
So the day ends—gently and peacefully. 
We can read, or think away the cares that 
beset us, for as night closes around Hope 
Farm, we can honestly feel that we have 
tried to dedicate the day to work which 
has honest motive in it. Winter days in 
the country may be dull and unhappy if 
one will make them so. The round of 
work which brings no present cash re¬ 
turns may become the merest drudgery if 
we will have it so. The night may find us 
hopeless and bitter if we will. Are all days 
at Hope Farm passed without trouble, 
hard words and disappointment? I regret 
to say no. I might picture another day 
that brought deep shadows to the evening 
lamp, but they are few, and strong faith 
finally takes them away. h. w. c. 
DOLLARS or DIMES 
It is but slight exaggeration to say . 
SUCCESS 
WEEDER 
ANTI- 
_CLOG 
and thorough preparation of the soil before planting 
crops, will cause your farm to produce dollars where 
you are now getting dimes. If you are satisfied with 
dimes, all right, but of course you prefer dollars. 
CAUTION.—The fiat tooth in our Weederis pat¬ 
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Wenow have suit pending in United States Court 
against Keystone Farm Machine Co. of York, Pa. 
A ak your denier for SueceMw Antl-CIojc Weeder 
and insist on having it. Ifhewillnot get it for you we 
will sell you one. Full information for the asking. 
HALLOCK WEEDER CO., York, Pa. 
I 
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tools. He had piled the wood box full. 
“Now,” said the Madame. “You are just 
in time to turn this wringer!” 
So, turn it was, and after that the wash¬ 
ing machine was well loaded for me. The 
way the Hope Farm raiment took a hot 
bath was a caution. The Bud and the 
Scion came and turned the wringer to 
“rest mother,” and old Dirt must have 
felt dirt cheap! 
Noon. — The carpenters have stopped 
hammering, and we see them going, pails 
in hand, to the little room by the barn, 
where Philip has a fire. The Graft runs 
out to the barn to tell the menfolks that 
dinner is ready, for Hope Farm does not 
boast a big bell yet. Aunt Emma tells ua 
she has a “picked-up” dinner, but we have 
no trouble in putting it down. It is a 
pleasant sight to a hungry farmer to see 
the housekeeper stand on one foot and 
wipe the bottom of a steaming dish over 
her knee. We are not going to starve with 
a cold slice of one of our departed Berk- 
shires, a dish of hot stew, boiled potatoes, 
cabbage and celery, with all the bread and 
butter we can eat! As though that were 
not enough, the Sprout brings in an apple 
pie. It’s one of those great pies with a 
mere paper shell of crust and about three 
inches of fat Greening apples! There is a 
big pitcher of cream, so thick it will stand 
alone, and you may pour all you like on 
your pie! 
The drizzle has grown stronger, and the 
weather is gloomy and gray, but the ham¬ 
mers begin to pound again, for the days 
are short and the job is long. Philip goes 
to husking out the seed corn, and Charlie 
mends the harness. Aunt Emma and the 
Sprout wash the dishes, while Grand¬ 
mother clears the table and then takes up 
her sewing again. Chaddie has her clothes 
out on the line by the time the Madame 
rings her bell for school. She has changed 
her dress and tied up her hair, and started 
a fire in the sitting room. The three chil¬ 
dren from the next neighbor’s come, and 
with our four little ones, make about as 
bright and clean a set of youngsters as 
you could hope to see. As I see these 
little folks, singing their songs and strug¬ 
gling with their lessons, pure, and hopeful, 
and unspoiled, I realize more and more that 
which I have often said half in jest, is 
true as gospel—that the best crop one can 
raise on the farm is a pure, healthy, coun¬ 
try-loving boy or girl. Yes, and the peo¬ 
ple who do most for their country are not 
those who perfect machinery or manipu¬ 
late money, but rather the self-denying 
women or men who put permanent and 
enduring character into children. 
Night.— The short day closes earlier than 
usual. There are no shadows, but the 
gloom gradually thickens until objects are 
blotted from sight. The girls feed their 
hens early. They give a mixture of corn 
and wheat. The children shelled the corn 
themselves during their school recess. 
Charlie milks early. The cows are fed 
and given each a warm nest for the night. 
The sows curl contentedly up in their 
nests, the horses stretch themselves with 
satisfaction, and the hens snuggle up on 
the roosts. The lamps are started early 
in the house. It is long after dark when 
the Cutting comes home. She brings the 
mail, and it is usually heavy, for the 
Hope Farmers write many letters. The 
women folks are preparing supper — that 
never-ending round of organizing a square 
meal To-night we have homemade soup, 
the last of the stew for those who want 
it, canned cherries, apple sauce, bread and 
butter. The Sprout is baking bread, and 
she fixed up part of her dough into hot 
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IV 
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