498 
7ht RURAL NEW-YORKER 
March lsr_\ 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
The Japanese boy has just piled an 
armful of apple-wood chunks on tho fire, 
and the blaze is beginning to creep up 
through them. 1 like to see the fire burst 
out against the black wall of the chim¬ 
ney. Very soon we shall be obliged to 
draw back our chairs, for the gentle bum 
of that fire will quickly grow to a savage 
roar as the flame gets a firmer bold on 
the throat of that dry wood. We really 
have no need of a fire tonight. The frost 
is out of the ground; we even started 
plowing a clover sod on March 9. It is 
raining just now. but the weather cannot 
be called cold. You would not say that 
we had any great cause for rejoicing—or 
letting off fireworks. This warm weather 
is starting the buds on the fruit trees be¬ 
fore we have them sprayed. Should there 
come a cold snap later it is more than an 
even chance that half the buds will be 
killed. That is always the danger in a 
season like this one. Then upstairs two 
of the children are down with the grip, 
their hot. impatient red heads rolling on 
the pillows. Another child has just re¬ 
covered. Mother and my daughter are up¬ 
stairs with the children. I sit here be¬ 
fore the fire with the Japanese boy for 
companion. lie is not much of a reader— 
he sits there looking at me with that 
strange questioning expression which you 
have probably noted on faces which are 
backed by an inheritance from Asia or 
Southern Europe. This boy has back of 
him long generations of skillful hand 
workers, but little of the application of 
power. lie is therefore good at fixing a 
clock or a lock or at anything requiring 
finger work : but he does not fully grasp 
the larger work of a machine propelled 
by outside power. T imagine his thought is 
much the same. lie can quickly grasp the 
details of ordinary events or emotions, but 
a complicated motive pushed into action 
by unusual conditions seems to puzzle 
him. So here he is with his round, fat 
face as expressionless as a mask, but his 
bright eyes shining with curiosity as he 
watches me. 
* St * St St 
But. he is not watching me—his eyes 
arc on this little black head curled up on 
my shoulder, and the little white, trans¬ 
parent hand holding the half-eaten Bald¬ 
win apple. I think he is trying to puzzle 
out the problem why this little black head 
can make us forget the sickness and the 
danger to the fruit and all the other dis¬ 
couraging things in the joy of having lit¬ 
tle Hose come back. The Japanese boy, 
like many Americana who are much older 
than he is, does not fully realize yet that 
the most wonderful asset on the farm or 
off it is a little child growing up through 
a clean and happy childhood. For many 
personal reasons T cannot yet tell you all 
the details of little Rose’s story. It would 
read like a romance—you would hardly 
believe it. Her parents are working peo¬ 
ple who live among humble conditions and 
are often pushed hard for rent and food. 
We first took this little girl while her 
mother was sick and unable to care for 
her. At that time we did not expect to 
keep her more than a few weeks, or until 
her mother recovered. My daughter went 
to New York and got. the little thing, and 
it was late on a Sunday night when she 
returned. 1 went out to meet them, and 
saw this rather ragged little child, fright¬ 
ened and shrinking and hungry, in the 
dim light of our front room. A genuine 
child of the tenements, she was like a 
little wild bird in her suspicions of 
strange people. No wonder she hesitated. 
“Come ou.” 1 said, “you are my little 
girl now! Come on with me and see my 
fire!” 
She looked at me for a moment and 
then held out her hand, and 1 led her 
through the house. There was a long, 
dark passage to go through, and as we 
passed it I felt that little hand tighten .on 
mine. But when we got to my warm 
room and saw the big fire blazing up the 
big brown eyes opened in wondrous joy 
and the little girl climbed on my lap and 
sat just as she is sitting now. I remem¬ 
ber how I went down cellar myself and 
got her a glass of milk, and you may he 
sure I poured in all the cream I could 
from the pan. I learned that trick when 
I was a boy and was sent to borrow milk 
from a lame woman. She told me to pour 
the milk out of a pan, and I found that by 
pouring slowly in a small stream from I 
one side of the pan the cream would pour 
off first. I know that little Rose had 
plenty ••f vitamines that night. 
* * * * * 
1 cannot tell you how this little flower 
of humanity bloomed in our home. She 
gave promise of great beauty and a su¬ 
perior mind. We had her for two years 
or more, and I stood ready to have her 
developed and educated to the limit of her 
capacity. Then came family complica¬ 
tions which I cannot discuss, and little 
Rose was taken from us and carried to a 
New England city. It was hard for us 
to see this little human plant taken out of 
congenial soil and transplanted where con¬ 
ditions are hard for baby life. We could 
make no protest—we waited. I was 
greatly interested in the way many of 
our friends viewed what to us seemed a 
calamity. There were, of course, those 
who understood, but others were outspoken 
in comments like these : 
“You are well rid of her!” 
“It would have meant nothing bul trou¬ 
ble !” 
“You would have been disappointed in 
her !" 
“She probably has some dreadful dis¬ 
ease !" 
“What do you old folks want with more 
care and expense? Are you not satisfied 
with all these other children?” 
“Let her alone—she isn't worth it !” 
Mother and I paid no attention to these 
comments. They are not cruel—they only 
me.nit that those who talk that way cannot 
understand. T do not object to these crit¬ 
ics. I feel sorry for them, as I should 
feel sorry for little Rose 1 if she fell into 
their hands. 
***** 
We just waited, and with the best pa¬ 
tience we could muster we tried to keep 
track of little Rose. I suppose there is 
nothing in the world quite equal to the 
patience with which a certain type of 
woman will follow up one who has injured ] 
her, or that with which a finer type of 
woman will stand by a child that she 
loves. 1 hope that some day my daugh¬ 
ter will write the story running through 
the letters and gifts with which her moth¬ 
er held on the slender rope which dragged 
from Rose's people. I felt at times that 
the ease was hopeless, but those women 
seem to know better. Well, lust week 
mother and I were in the New England 
city that hid our little girl, and we went 
hunting for Rose. Tt. was a raw. wet day. 
and our search took us through some of 
the poorer parts of the city. Strange 
thoughts come into mind at times, and on 
that search 1 found myself glancing at this 
gray-haired, rather portly lady at my 
side, and remembering how many years 
ago T went rambling through the fields 
with ,a slip of a girl hunting wild roses! 
It came to me how this slip of a girl 
bemoaned the fact that she weighed less 
than 100 pounds and “was too thin to 
cast a shadow!” Ou this rose hunt, how¬ 
ever. she could not reasonably find fault 
with the size of her shadow! 
When my daughter writes that story 
she will picture the hard conditions un¬ 
der which those unfortunate people were 
living. It will cause some of you who 
have criticised your farm home to take a 
kindlier and more thankful view of life. 
We entered a long, dark passage. Mother 
was ahead of me. groping her way along, 
when a door opened at the end and a 
thin, pallid little face peered through the 
gloom at us. The rose hunt had ended. 
While mother sat and talked in the little 
room which served for home I took Rose 
out for a walk, and we bought fruit and 
candy and toys until our hands were full. 
***** 
And little Rose came back with ns— 
and here she is snuggled up against my 
shoulder as in the old days. She fell 
asleep on the train at night, her little 
black head on the pillow and mother and 
I stood for a moment and looked at her. 
Here she is. thin and pale, weighing only 
40 pounds, but worth 40.000. The little 
hand as lie holds it up seems as trans¬ 
parent as a rose leaf—b.ut. wait. The 
doctor says she will be all right with 
proper feeding. Milk, buttyy and eggs are 
the three most important things for her 
diet, and the cows and liens will see that 
she is well fed. No “oleo” for little Rose. 
We shall see the bloom come upon her 
cheeks and the old sparkle in her. eye, 
and tomorrow she will start at school. 
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