v >i. r.xxix. 
I'ublished Weekly by The Rural Publishing Co.. 
33.'5 W. SOth St.. New York. Price One Dollar a Year 
now voi!K. .Ti■ xi: 20. 1920 
tmereu 
Office at New 
.second c iaua Blatter. 
York. N. Y.. under the 
fa 
.1 
No. 4592 
in 
Faking a Chance on a Potato Crop 
The Romance of Farm Life 
I*ART I. 
ill-: 1 >K<;Ixx 1 ;R's ihsillt’siox.—I liave lived 
in the city myself. .Tim and I went to town, 
thinking to find shorter hours and the other things 
that go with city life. Perhaps you have never 
thought how easy your work looks to those who 
have to keep on for 12 hours. All who are free to 
choose have chosen, until a mere handful is left, and 
to do the chores, i was expecting rather much of 
myself in those days. It was not that I objected to 
the work itself, hut because it kept me from other 
pursuits that I thought were more fitting to my 
talents. A great many farm women are doing just 
that thing today because they see no way out. Oh, 
if you were making big money and could get away 
for a week's vacation once a year it would make 
you ask yourself a few foolish questions. “What 
have 1 accomplished?*’ is the one that hurts the 
most, unless you are of a philanthropic turn, and 
can see a certain virtue in helping to provide food 
for the world to eat. Yes. even more than that; the 
man to whom you sold your potatoes lias been able 
to sell them for a dollar more than he gave, and 
friend grocer has earned another dollar just shovel- 
Thti Bti/iiiiiiht/ of Harvest in the Vlirnii Countru, Fiji. 32 7 
' <m to admit that it was a display of common 
011 their part. A country laborer in these days 
M,s PW‘led of either being weak-minded or a fugl- 
1 1 mu justice. About all 1 can remember of our 
'' s| experiment in country life is overwork and a 
•'■•■use <>t degradation, especially when Jim was away 
1 * l temuiued at home, as some one always must. 
such a difference, hut hundreds of families just 
•scrape along, putting this year’s profits into next 
•year's expenses. If potatoes are two dollars a lmshel 
it is a year when potatoes just wouldn’t grow, and 
you may have none to sell. So you hang on until 
next year, hoping for something better, until at last 
some morning you realize you are getting old, and 
iug them out to people. However, no one pats you 
on the back for being this kind of a philanthropist 
FACTORY WORK—Having been led to expect 
too much of town life. Jim began to lie dissatisfied 
before the first year was up. Our popular maga¬ 
zines seem to carry the idea that there is a fine 
position waiting somewhere for ever} deserving 
