382 
March 5, 1921 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
- — 
There were four leading characters in 
the following little farm drama: 
Bfonon Langly —A well-to-do farmer of 
middle age. lie was known as a “close,” 
opinionated and obstinate man until the 
great change came over him. 
Jane Langly —His wife, a patient, quiet 
woman who made the mistake, when she 
was first married, of thinking that Simon 
carried about with him the elements of a 
natural hero and great man. 
A lice Langly —Their daughter, a fine 
girl, driven from home by her father’s 
meanness and penurious spirit, who had 
come back home because her mother need¬ 
ed her. 
Henry Jackson —The hired man. A 
student at an agricultural college who had 
dropped out of school to work for -Simon, 
and who had come to feel that he would 
gladly work 70 years for Alice, without 
making any bargain for the cattle. 
Take these four characters and a dra¬ 
matist could develop a drama of farm life 
that would play any tune you can think 
of on your heartstrings. I am not a 
dramatist, so I can only give you the sim¬ 
ple story as Alice and Henry told it to 
me. 
* * If! * * 
The best of plays seem to work back¬ 
ward. They start off with the finish and 
then go back somewhere and work up to 
and prove the beginning! I will start my 
tale that way. Last Summer I went to 
visit the Langlys. They have a beautiful 
hpme, with all the conveniences that are 
practical in a country house. Vines creep 
over the house; a fine lawn stretched in 
front and behind ; the farm buildings are 
screened by shrubs and trees. Out back 
of the house was a flower garden fairly 
ablaze with color. I have rarely seen 
anything finer. It was Henry who took 
me to the barn and showed his purebred 
cattle and pointed out the big crops of 
corn and potatoes. Alice, his wife, came 
too, leading her little black-eyed daughter 
—for Henry had worked out his task. 
When T came back, Simon and Jane were 
waiting for me, and they pulled me off to 
that flower garden. There never was a 
happier woman than Jane among her 
flowers. With her white dress and gray 
hair and face pink with pleasure she 
seemed to me a model of what a middle- 
aged farmer’s wife should be. While they 
were showing their garden a light truck 
drove into the yard. The florist in the 
town 10 miles away had come for flowers. 
They fairly quarreled with him rather 
than give up their 'beauties, but finally 
they cut a great basketful and he paid 
them the price of four cans of milk and 
more. He offered Simon a dollar for 
one extra fine flower, bat the old man 
said “No!” He cut it later and gave it to 
his wife. Late in the afternoon there 
came a ’phone call for more flowers; there 
was to be a banquet in town, and these 
farm posies were wanted for decorations. 
And Simon and Jane went out like two 
lovers to cut the flowers. They sat on 
the porch to sort them and finally drove 
off in the car to deliver—Jane still wear¬ 
ing Simon’s big red flower. I sat on the 
porch with Henry and Alice as the even¬ 
ing came on. 
“What a blessing it must be,” I said, 
“to have such parents. They are ideal; 
have chey always been so?” 
Henry shifted uneasily in his chair and 
glanced at Alice. She pulled the little 
brown head of her daughter up closer and 
smiled. 
“Tell him, Henry,” she said. “Tell him 
how father was once the meanest man in 
this county—and what cured him !’’ 
And so, as the shadows came in upon 
us, Henry told his story. 
* * * * * 
“When 1 first came here to work father 
was justly called the meanest man in 
these parts. It was the way he was 
brought up—to dominate everyone and 
grab everything for himself. Mother 
loved him. but she made the mistake of 
making herself too cheap. She should 
have made a fight for what she needed, 
but instead of doing that she gave way 
and father did as he pleased about the 
house and farm. The habit grew on him, 
as it always does. Money came to be his 
god, and he knew of only one way to make 
it—grind it out cent by cent. I struck 
this farm one evening, and the first thing 
I saw was mother and Alice pulling water 
from an old-fashioned well and carrying it 
20 rods to water the stock. At that time 
mother was a thin, bent, sorrowful wom¬ 
an, who had lost her spirit and was los¬ 
ing her pride. Alice had been at work in 
the city, out she knew her mother was 
breaking, and she had come back to work 
for nothing in order that mother might 
not be alone. . , 
“Father was a hard driver, and he kept 
me on the jump. The whole place was 
run down. The barns were worse than 
sheds. There was no lawn, and the po¬ 
tato field Tan up to within a rod of the 
back door. Father could not see any 
economy in a garden, and we had none. 
Potatoes and turnips and carrots were the 
only vegetables we had. It was April 
when I came, and Alice and mother had 
begun their annual fight for a garden. 
There was a good piece of land for it, 
out where those flowers are, but father 
said ‘no!’ , , . 
“ ‘That’s just the place for my hog¬ 
pen. I’ve bought a pair of purebred 
Berkshires and I want them close by. 
What’s a garden compared to good hogs? 
Did a garden ever pay taxes?’ 
•Jht RURAL NEW-YORKER 
“So he hitched up his team to go and 
get the hogs, and ordered me to build a 
fence and pig-sty where the women want¬ 
ed that garden. As you see, it was less 
than 150 feet from the. back door, and 
within 3Q feet of the well. 
***** 
“It is the duty of a hired man to obey 
orders, but I was sad enough as I got out 
my tools to build that pigpen. I stood 
there looking at the piece of land when 
Alice came out of the house and stood 
there by me. 
“ ‘Henry,’ she said (never called me 
Henry before) “now and then I see you 
looking at me—well, it’s leap year any¬ 
way, and we are in awful trouble. How 
much do you think of me?’ 
“Well, sir, I was stuck and couldn’t 
say a word. She had read me right. The 
Sunday before the minister had preached 
on Jacob’s love for Rachael and I had 
gone home cursing the fate which had 
raised the great barrier between the im¬ 
pecunious hired man and the prosperous 
farmer’s daughter. 
“ ‘Henry,’ said Alice, ‘mother has brok¬ 
en down at last. She is in there crying. 
We have got to do something. I want to 
give you a test. Will you build that fence 
out in the clover field and plow and har¬ 
row this piece for our garden?’ Then she 
turned and ran into the house. Within 
10 minutes I had the old black horse out 
with the small plow. I plowed and har¬ 
rowed that ground, and made it fine as an 
ash heap. Then I built a fence in the 
clover field behind the barn. As I worked 
I saw Alice and her mother raking and 
measuring for their garden. 
***** 
“In the late afternoon father came 
driving home with the pigs in a crate. He 
drove into the barnyard and looked about 
him. First amazement and then anger 
spread over his face as he saw that plowed 
ground. 
“ ‘Hank, you lazy loafer, where’s that 
fence I told you to build?! 
“ ‘Out back of the barn—in the clover.’ 
“ ‘Didn’t I tell you to build it here?’ 
" ‘You did.’ 
“ ‘Then why in thunder didn’t you do 
what I told you?’ 
“ The women want a garden there, and 
that’s the place for it.’ 
“The blood rushed into his face until I 
thought it would burst. He moaned and 
clutched with his hands. Then of a sud¬ 
den his face turned white once more and 
he pulled off his coat. 
“ ‘Here—how much do I owe you—take 
that’—and he threw a roll of money at 
me. ‘I never fight a hired man, no mat¬ 
ter how low down he gets. Now you are 
free, and I’m going to lick you so you’ll 
crawl in the dust and build that fence and 
then sleep with those hogs.’ 
“He pulled out a wagon stake and 
started to climb down over the wheel. 
“I knew he couldn’t lick me. But I 
knew I could not hit him as I wanted to, 
for Alice did look something like him. As 
father stepped on that wheel his foot 
slipped and he fell to the ground in a 
heap. He was a heavy man, and I heard 
his head smash against a stone. He lay 
there like the dead! Alice came running 
from the house and we picked him up to¬ 
gether. She looked at me over his bleed¬ 
ing head. 
“ ‘Did you strike him?’ 
“ ‘No.’ 
“And she believed me. 
“We carried father into the house and 
got the doctor. It was a bad case. The 
skull was cracked. The doctor told us he 
might never regain consciousness, or he 
might live on for years—a mental wreck. 
“You should have seen the way those 
women nursed and cared for him. One 
day he opened his eyes and looked about 
him. He seemed to recognize us, but 
there vas a puzzled look in his eyes, and 
he cou.d not, or would not, talk. I used 
to carry him downstairs and put him in 
a big chair under the trees on bright days. 
There he would sit and watch the women 
in their garden—not talking, but as one 
who is puzzling over some problem which 
he cannot understand. And no one can 
tell you how that garden thrived. It was 
good soil anyway, well enriched, and 
mother and Alice dug love into it—and 
that will put bloom and beauty into any¬ 
thing. I remember when the first lettuce 
and radishes came along. Alice carried a 
dish of salad out to father as he sat under 
the tree. He looked at it wonderingly, 
and as I passed a gleam of intelligence 
passed over his face. 
“ ‘Your name’s Henry, ain’t it?’ 
“ ‘Yes,’ I said, to humor him. 
“ ‘Seems like I was going to fight you 
once—what was it about?’—and then he 
seemed to forget all about it. 
“We had to watch him carefully, and 
one afternoon mother sat beside him with 
her work, while Alice and I were at the 
barn. Mother went into the house for a 
moment, and when she came back father 
had disappeared. Where do you suppose 
we found him? Out in the garden, with 
his hoe, cleaning up a flower bed! And 
when he saw us he threw down his hoe 
and fairly shouted: 
“ ‘Ma, you look just like a rose—where 
have you been all this time?’ 
“And Alice and I got out of that garden 
like a couple of rabbits,and as I glanced 
back I saw that mother did look like a 
rose—the bloom of joy and love had filled 
the wrinkles and lighted up the eyes. And 
that was when I asked Alice if I hadn’t 
lived up to what she wanted. A garden 
on the farm! The greatest civilizing in¬ 
fluence in the world.” 
Henry was silent for a moment. Alice 
still held the little brown head close, and 
smiled as she rocked. And Henry went 
on : 
“Strange how a naturally good man 
like father had to break his head in order 
to get the greatest blessing of life into it. 
However, it was a good break for all of 
us. But here they are”—and Simon and 
Jane drove into the yard. 
“We can’t begin to fill our orders,” 
said Simon. “Talk about your purebred 
stock, Henry. I’ll take an acre of berries 
and flowers and beat any 10 cows you can 
put up. Purebred stock is ail right, 
but-” 
His eye caught the little brown head 
Behind Your Crop— 
A Crop Investment Policy 
“ Some corn, that, Mr. Mason,” remarked County Agent Jackson, casting 
an admiring glance at the straight, clean rows. 
“ Yes, it ought to shuck out a hundred bushels to the acre—it nothing 
happens. But drought or frost may catch it yet.,” 
“ Why take a chance, when you can insure it? Better put a crop invest¬ 
ment policy behind your crop. It takes the risk out of farming.” 
The Home Insurance Company, New York, is now 
prepared to issue a crop investment insurance 
policy on field and orchard crops. This policy 
covers the cost of labor, of men and teams, the 
expense of operating tractors and other labor- 
saving machinery, also the out-lay for seed, lime, 
fertilizer, spray materials, etc. It insures you 
against the loss of your investment through frost, 
winterkill, drought, excessive moisture, flood, 
insects and plant diseases. 
This Company, established in 1853, has long 
protected farmers from loss through fire, lightning, 
windstorm and hail. It has paid more than 
$200,000,000 to policy holders. Its record of fair 
dealing for nearly 70 years assures you of prompt 
and satisfactory adjustment. 
Write for particulars concerning crop invest¬ 
ment insurance and the name of the nearest 
Home agent. Take the risk out of farming. 
THE HOME C N OM^ANY NEW YORK 
Farm Department, Crop Investment Division F 
312 UNIVERSITY BLOCK HOME INSURANCE BUILDING 
Syracuse, New York 137 South La Salle Street 
Chicago, Illinois 
*V* 
Crop Investment Policy 
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