1905. 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
7o3 
More About a Girl’s Hens. 
In continuation of my hen story on page 
527, I may record reverses as well as good 
fortune. We had a long cold rain soon 
after I bought the last Jot, and 1 was sick 
with a wretched cold. They got chilled 
at times, and died gradually. 1 really 
think some of them were almost cooked in 
the incubators before they were delivered 
to me. I lost 15 the first night for no 
cause whatever. They were warm, dry 
and not crowded, with fine ventilation. 
T he next day five more died, and then one 
night Father thought I shut them up and 
I thought he did, so neither did it. As it 
happened, there was a heavy shower about 
three in the morning, and I found 70 
drowned chicks under the brooder! 
Rut all is not loss. I have learned that 
which will profit another time. I shall 
hatch early at all cost; have a tight fence 
high enough to confine them, and look 
after them carefully in rain and shine, or 
else if my health will not stand all 
weathers I shall not invest in chickens. 
Then there are my hens, and they are do¬ 
ing nobly. It lacks two months of being 
a year since they were young pullets, and 
five months of being a year since they laid 
the first eggs. I have cleared a dollar for 
each hen so far, and that is encouraging. 
Of course this hot weather 1 find a good 
many are broody, and others just sit 
around trying to keep comfortable, and 1 
hardly blame them. 
It may be interesting to go back to my 
start with these pullets. When 1 put my 
40 pullets into the house the fifteenth day 
of last October some of my friends and 
well-wishers shook their heads and de¬ 
clared I was making a terrible mistake. 
“Now here I am with two pullets laying 
and you don't get an egg. do you?" argued 
a neighbor. 1 meekly admitted that none 
of my flock seemed inclined to provide 
eggs for my basket. “Well, that’s the dif¬ 
ference ’tween lettin* ’em run and not. 
liens need exercise." he added, patron¬ 
izingly. “Now you let them hens run 
till I hanksgtving and you'll have eggs, I 
warrant ye." I was ready to agree that 
hens need exercise, but I balked at letting 
them out. I he man of whom 1 bought 
my chicks came and viewed those pullets. 
“You are doing all right. It takes hens 
finite awhile to get used to new quarters. 
It don t do ’em any good traveling around 
in the cold. I shouldn't let ’em out again 
till Spring. However, you do as you think 
best." So I kept them in the house with 
some litter to work in. and left the door 
and windows open until it grew pretty 
cold. November came and went. Still 
no eggs, and the man with two pullets 
laying, and my grandfather getting three 
eggs a day, declared my stubbornness was 
costing me dear. 1 he first day of Decem¬ 
ber I got an egg, and I am sure I made 
even more fuss than the pullet did. After 
that eggs were no rarity. Day by day 
the eggs increased, until I was getting 
12 eggs a day. with an average of six 
eggs per diem, for the month. January 1 
I got 15 eggs, and about this time eggs 
were worth 48 cents a dozen. 
My neighbor avoided the subject of 
hens when he could, and when he couldn’t 
admitted that his “hens wa’n’t doin’ so 
well as usual." When T pressed him 
further, he answered reluctantly: "Well, 
I do know how tis, but I ain’t had an 
egg this week. Guess there must be rats 
round, though 1 ain't seen any tracks of 
’em. How many you gettin’?” “Fifteen!” 
I answered gleefully. “Well—I suppose 
you feed ’em a tonic or somethin’, don't 
ye ? "No, sir. I do not—just plain, 
wholesome grain and green stuff and clean 
warm water.” Then I allowed him to 
change the subject, much to his relief. 
1 didn’t say one word about “lettin’ ’em 
run.” I reckoned up my account the first 
I hursday of January, and found that one 
month’s eggs had paid for three months’ 
feed, and I had 48 cents toward the cost 
of fixing up the house for the hens. 
1 began to feel that my fortune was 
made, when word came that Grandfathe’- 
was failing, and although T hated to leave 
the hens just then 1 went to take care 
of him and Grandma. I left Father to 
keep house and take care of the bid¬ 
dies. Every day he came over with a 
report. They were dropping off on eggs, 
getting down to five, but near the end 
of January they began to gain, and my 
average for the month was 8 eggs per 
day. Then came a time of trial for us 
all, a struggle with death. After it was 
over, and Grandfather had left this “earth 
life” behind. I just simply—slumped. Be¬ 
tween the grip* e and worn-out nerves I 
stayed indoors fur four more weeks, which 
made another ir. mth. The average of 
eggs for February was 11 per day, and I 
felt quite encouraged, because of late they 
had been lucky to get enough to eat with¬ 
out any mash or green stuff, just whole 
corn and barley thrown in. I came home 
March I. The litter of leaves was all 
broken up, and my reserve supply given 
out. That meant less exercise, and still 
the snow made it impracticable to let 
them run. I began warming the whole- 
grain feeds and giving them cabha°e hung 
high enough to be hard to get. During 
the middle of the day T left the door 
open, and the sun streamed across the 
floor. The biddies would crouch to the 
door and sing and preen their feathers. 
Three or four times a day I could go out 
and bring in six or seven eggs, and the 
nests were always occupied. 
J was talking with my neighbor’s daugh¬ 
ter. lie said he didn’t know how many 
eggs he was getting. “Better ask Min¬ 
nie,” and so I did. “Oh, we get an egg 
once in a while. We haven't had enough 
to use this Winter, and as for paying ex¬ 
penses! Well, they don’t begin to do 
it, and we have had them shut up for two 
months. I suppose they will lay when 
they get ready.” That is just right! 
Those biddies are straight blood, good 
breed; White Wyandottes, but they were 
so upset ever since Fall that they couldn't 
settle down to business. A man is very 
careful about his cows; milks and feeds 
regularly, and when they come into Win¬ 
ter quarters everything is planned and 
ready, but a man will let his hens out 
one day and keep them in for a week, 
and then give them another "spree.” They 
get cold feet, and never know what is go¬ 
ing to happen next. It seems to me that 
success means system, not so much a sys¬ 
tem as some system. My plan for my 
hens, because I know my situation best, 
and your plan for yours, for the same 
reason, that you know your situation bet¬ 
ter than anyone else. Only have a plan. 
and once made, don't change if you can 
help it. I am firmly convinced that hens 
pay big interest, and good wages. As a 
side business with irregular habits they 
will not pay expenses, and will rapidly 
run the flock down. That is, to my mind, 
one reason some farmers are always want¬ 
ing a “new breed, because mine are all 
played out-" The breed I have is Rhode 
Island Red. A friend and neighbor has 
been teaching school for two years, ever 
since she married, and she told me she 
meant to leave off last June and go to 
raising chickens. She favors Barred 
Plymouth Rocks and Brahmas. 
ADAH E. COLCORD. 
Yellow Mustard Pickle.—One-half gal¬ 
lon vinegar, three dozen sliced cucum¬ 
bers, three dozen onions, one tablespoon 
turmeric, one tablespoon mustard, one- 
half cup each of sugar and flour, and 
one-third teaspoon of red pepper. Pare 
and slice cucumbers and onions, cover 
with water, add one-half cup salt and let 
stand over night. In the morning drain 
the cucumbers and onions; put vinegar on 
the stove to boil, mix the spices, sugar and 
flour in a little cold vinegar, add to the 
boiling vinegar and let boil five minutes, 
stirring constantly; then put in cucum¬ 
bers and onions, boil 15 minutes and seal 
in jars while hot. 
On Monday, October 2 Next 
the price of The Ladies’ Home Journal will 
be raised to $1.25 per year. Until that date a 
subscription for one year (but for no longer 
period) will be accepted at the present price of 
One Dollar ($1.00). 
The Curtis Publishing Company, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 
Mr. F. Hopkinson Smith in 
an Entirely New Departure 
A series of powerful stories, in which Mr. 
Smith fearlessly puts his finger on some 
of the social dangers of the day that 
threaten our girls, women and young men, 
and calls a spade a spade. “I have written 
without mitts,” says Mr. Smith. 
The Ladies’ Home Journal Enlarged— 
improved very materially — new departments — new covers in four 
colors — it’s a new JOURNAL this year. Send a dollar now — 
after October 1 we must ask more. 
The Curtis Publishing Company, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 
