is the reason I have let yon all read it. 
Most of us would think it very strange 
to be able to go out and pick our own 
bananas, oranges, and lemons as Ruth 
ran. It only shows what a big and 
wonderful country this is that we live in. 
In some part, of it nearly everything is 
grown; nearly every kind of climate is 
to be found; and there are very many dif¬ 
ferent ways of living and making a liv¬ 
ing from the land. 
Ruth and her brother do not need a 
garden of their own, although perhaps 
some year they may have one, and I hope 
they will. But now they can share the 
big garden, taking care of some of the 
plants in which they are most interested. 
And they have other tasks to do besides. 
I am never so pleased as when I feel 
that you boys and girls are helping day 
by day to make the family life easier and 
,1 F sc fill Task 
happier. I think you know by this time 
that I don’t believe in “all work and no 
play” for boys and girls. Nor do I be¬ 
lieve in all play and no work. One ex¬ 
treme is sure to be as “dull” as the 
other after a while. Play some, work 
some, read some, sing some; learn all 
you can about the world of Nature, and 
the world of folks; then life will truly 
be worth living. 
Another from the Far West 
I read the boys’ and girls’ page for 
February and it was so interesting I de¬ 
cided to write. I know 1 am a long way 
from New York, but I like Our Page 
just the same. 
I live on a large ranch in the Bitter 
Root Valley, with high mountains on 
each side. My father has a band of 
sheep, and we have over a hundred lambs 
now. There are about ten orphans and 
they have to be fed from bottles. 
I am keeping a list of the signs of 
Spring, and I can hardly wait until gar¬ 
den time. The strange visitor that you 
told about must have been a flying squir¬ 
rel. at least that is my guess, and I 
cannot think what else it. might be. 
T have not said a word about my pony, 
.Take. He is half Shetland and as gen¬ 
tle as a kitten. In the Spring and 
Summer I ride him eight miles once a 
week to take my music lessons, and in 
Winter I hitch him to a sled and have 
great fun. 
I go to a consolidated school and have 
to ride seven miles in a big truck. 
Montana. sallie m. 
How different Sallie’s life is from 
Ruth’s in Florida or from ours in New 
York State! But how interesting it is! 
The great mountains become good friends. 
What a sight the band of sheep and all 
the lambs must be! And think of going 
eight miles on horseback for a music les¬ 
son ! Sallie loves her life, just as we 
love ours. Wherever there are big 
spaces there is beauty of some kind—the 
beauty of fields or forests, of plains or 
mountains, of lakes or rivers or the sea. 
About the music lessons—I hope that 
a good many of you are taking them, and 
are earnestly trying to learn to play. 
These are days of victrolas and player 
pianos. We may have music—good 
music, too—without ourselves being able 
lo play. But it is worth a good deal to 
be able to play and to express through 
the fingers our feeling of the music. 
When I was a small boy I had a few 
music lessons, and I dreaded them as 
most boys do. The everlasting exercises 
and practice did not seem to be leading 
anywhere. I could not see that they 
really were leading somewhere, and I 
wanted to be out with the other boys. 
But, it was not long after the lessons 
stopped that I wished very much to be 
able to play. Since then I have had to 
The RURAL NEW-YORKER 
work it out by myself, all I have, which 
is very little but enough so that I can 
read the notes and play them after a 
fashion. So if you have the chance to 
learn to play a musical instrument make 
the most of it. Some day you will be 
glad. 
Aren’t hands wonderful things! Some 
time I will tell you what I think about 
them, but I wish you would tell me first 
what you think. 
More About the Flying Squirrel 
It has surprised and pleased me a great 
deal to find how much interest has been 
taken in the flying squirrel. Both you 
boys and girls and older folk have writ¬ 
ten to me about it. On this page is a 
picture of one of these animals. You 
remember that last March I wondered 
whether anyone would send a picture. 
And one really came. It was sent by 
Mr. C. C. McDermid of Michigan, and I 
am sure that we are all very grateful to 
him for his interest in Our Page. The 
picture gives the right idea of bow the 
flying squirrel looks on its leap from the 
top of one tree to the foot of another. 
This squirrel was not alive when the 
picture was taken. Indeed, it would be 
very difficult, if not impossible, to snap 
one in “flight,” especially since they are 
out only at dusk. It had been caught by 
accident in a trap, and Mr. McDermid 
spread it and posed it at the right angle 
for the photograph. 
Another grown-up person, Mr. F. T. 
Jencks of Rhode Island, a farmer and 
naturalist, was interested enough to send 
the following story of his experiences with 
flying squirrels: 
In the central portion of Rhode Island, 
which is sparsely populated, was a piece 
of old woods in which trees were in all 
stages of life and decay. Noticing a hole 
in a decayed trunk a dozen or 15 feet 
high, my curiosity was aroused to see 
what might be in there. Pushing upon 
the stump I rocked it back and forth 
until if fell. This would probably have 
been fatal to a nest of eggs had they been 
there, but to my surprise there were five 
young flying squirrels, large enough to be 
interesting. So I put them in my basket, 
for I was hunting. When well away 
from the spot I wondered what I took 
them all for, and further on I found 
another similar stump with a hole near 
the top. That, too, I rocked until it fell, 
and there were three more squirrels of 
the same size. Instead of taking them I 
put three of those I already had with 
them.. Probably the mother squirrel was 
surprised at the addition to her family 
.1 Flying Squirrel 
when she returned. The two became so 
tame that 1 carried them in my pocket, 
ami sometimes put them ou my shoulder 
when on the cars. They would run all 
over me and soon find their way back 
info my pocket, for being nocturnal, they 
did not like to stay where it was light. 
Besides the story, Mr. Jencks teaches 
us something that I think we should all 
take to heart. lie did what most of us 
would have done ou the spur of the 
moment with the first nest of squirrels, 
lie took them all. But, unlike some, he 
thought later that this had not been the 
right thing to do, and so he took the 
chance to put three of the five back where 
they would have natural care. No doubt 
the second mother squirrel was surprised, 
and probably the first one was much dis¬ 
tressed to lose all her babies. If we 
understand this lesson it is to let Nature’s 
creatures live their own lives when they 
do no injury to us. There can be no 
harm in making a pet of one now and 
then if we take good care of it. But for 
the most part we will learn much more 
and have great happiness by studying 
them in their natural haunts. 
Following is another most interesting 
Ktory : 
T know what the little animal was 
that came to see you, and I have seen 
one,, too. If, was a flying squirrel, and 
I will tell you about the one I saw. In 
the Summer time, one warm night, just at 
dusk, my two sisters had just lighted the 
lamp, and one of them took the water 
pail and werft to the pump for some 
water just as the other one set the lamp 
in a window, where the light shone full 
on the pump. There on the top of the 
pump, staring straight at the light with 
its hlack eyes, sat a rat. No, it was one 
of your little animals. It seemed to be 
dazzled by the light, and sat a long time 
and looked at it, while my two sisters and 
my father and myself had a good look at 
it. But after a time my sister started 
to call my mother to see it, and when she 
moved I.guess it broke the spell, for the 
squirrel jumped or flew off the pump into 
a rose bush, then onto the ground, ran 
along the ground until it reached a tree 
which grows near the house ; then it ran 
up the tree into a hole which it had 
gnawed into the attic just under the 
eaves of the house. There was a family 
of them living in our attic up over the 
chambers, and my father and mother 
used to see them running up and down 
the tree by their bedroom window on 
moonlight nights. 
My mother didn’t see this one on the 
pump but she had seen one and had it 
in a cage when she was a little girl. One 
night her brother went upstairs to go to 
bed, and there on the end of his dresser, 
where he had left some chestnuts, sat a 
little flying squirrel eating one. The 
bright light seemed to dazzle it until my 
uncle moved ; then it ran to the window 
and it flew right down onto my grandpa’s 
shoulder, and he caught it. It was so 
dark that it didn’t see what it was light¬ 
ing on until too late. That is how my 
mother got her pet. grace m. 
New York. 
So my little visitor has 'given us all a 
lot of pleasure for several months. It 
has not been back since I last wrote. It 
may never come again, and no doubt it 
may be a long time before I shall see 
another. But I for one have learned 
something new and interesting, and I 
hope that you have enjoyed it all, too. 
The Pictures 
I think you would like to know a bit 
about each of the seven interesting pic¬ 
tures on Our Page this time. 
The first one of the two children at the 
rural delivery mail box was sent by an 
interested reader in Illinois. Can you 
picture this same scene in hundreds of 
places when copies of The R. N.-Y. ac¬ 
tually arrive at the ends of their jour¬ 
neys? What a big family we are to¬ 
gether ! 
The picture of the 14 children on a 
field trip was taken a couple of years ago 
up in New York State. This is a wide¬ 
awake bunch, and they know a lot about 
birds, and flowers, and trees, and weeds, 
and farm work and home life. I know 
that they do, for once I visited them and 
went along ou a trip like this. 
The third picture will appeal to the 
boys. I suppose that every fair day this 
Spring there has been a game of ball 
ou the school grounds at recess time. It 
is a good, healthy sport. Every active 
boy likes to play ball, and every manly 
boy plays fair and is clean-moutlied even 
in the most exciting moments. This pic¬ 
ture was sent to me some time ago by 
a teacher in Central New York. I sus¬ 
pect that the time of year in the picture 
is Fall instead of Spring, and there are 
several things that sharp eyes will see 
to prove it so. But that does not spoil 
the fact that when the boys first bring 
out their bats and balls and gloves it is 
a sign of Spring, does it? 
The picture of the boy sprouting po¬ 
tatoes came from Ohio. With pota¬ 
toes as high-priced as they are now and 
so scarce in many places it is necessary 
to take good care of what we have. This 
1043 
boy—and every boy who follows his ex¬ 
ample—is giving good service. 
Clinton B., of Connecticut, caught a 
two-lb. pickerel and had his picture taken. 
It is a true picture. He caught the fish 
himself with a spoon hook dragging from 
the back of a boat. Bet’s have some let¬ 
ters about fishing. 
It is never too soon to begin to be a 
gardener. The little fellow with his 
wheel-barrow means business, and really 
helps. The picture was sent by a Long 
Island reader. 
Our Gardens 
There is nothing this month about our 
gardens. I thought there would be, but 
so many other things came along that 
there was no room left. The gardens are 
not forgotten though, are they? I know 
that you go out and look at them and 
care for them each day. Soon you will 
be sending reports of the products you 
are raising. In these days of high prices 
for food a well-kept garden is worth a 
great deal to the family. If you have 
such a garden you are helping to sup¬ 
port the family just as surely as your 
father is with his larger work. Don’t 
neglect the garden. Stick to it. Never 
mind the heat. It will do your muscles 
good to ache some now and then. An 
hour a day and your garden will pay. 
A Chance to Help 
Boys and girls are always interested 
in other boys and girls. Especially 
those in a far-off country are interesting. 
I want you to look in some back num¬ 
bers of The R. N.-Y. First turn to the 
Clinton and His Pickerel 
May S issue on page 911 and read the 
last section of the “Hope Farm Notes.” 
Then go back to the April 17 issue on 
page 782, and see what it is all about. 
Lastly, go back to the issue of February 
21, on page 370 and you will have the 
whole story. And when you have done 
that I am sure that some of you—singly, 
or by families, or by schools—will want 
to help send those “bricks” to the Labra¬ 
dor orphans. 
Good-bye 
It is time to stop for this month. Now 
I shall expect a lot of letters about all 
these interesting things. Address them 
to me in care of The Rural New- 
Yorker. 333 West 30th Street, New York 
City. 
Bound for His Garden 
