648 
April 30, 1921 
HOPE FARM NOTES 
We hardly need a fire tonight, but I 
started one—more from habit than any¬ 
thing else. It is now blazing up and eat¬ 
ing into a piece of apple wood about as 
little Bose is gnawing into her apple. 
The Japanese boy is painting a sign for 
a school entertainment. One of the little 
girls is just out of a hospital, where she 
left a selection of adenoids and tonsils. 
Her throat is too sore for comfort, but 
she will be all right in a few days. 
Mother is at her seemingly eternal round 
of darning stockings. Cherry-top has 
been telling me about the baseball game. 
He pitched for his nine. Before the game 
he felt sure of winning, because “the 
other side has no pitcher!” As it was, 
they beat him by two runs. ^ >Ve must all 
have an excuse, and his is old as the 
hills: “Errors in the infield beat me! 
The boys and I have just returned from 
a hunting expedition. We got some 
game—but they were Came hens. A 
neighbor some half mile away had three 
sitting hens which we need for our Black 
Jersey Giant eggs. So we tramped off 
through the fog and raided the henhouse 
—with the owner’s permission, of course . 
We found all three hens crowded into one 
nest trying to cover one single nest egg. 
The Japanese boy took the black hen 
and Cherry-top and I each took another, 
and back we came through the dark lhe 
rain had started by this time, and I fear 
that the moving and the cold bath will 
take all the desire to “sit” out of these 
hens. Still, they tell me the Games are 
game for any job they undertake. So 
with Philip’s help we got them on new 
nests, while Bruce looked gravely on and 
the black cat peered in at the door. The 
wind is rising a little, and the mercury 
is falling in the thermometer at the back 
door I noticed that as we came in, and 
it made me think that many of our apple 
trees are in full bloom. And the weather 
reports all agree that there is fieezing 
weather in the West and that tomorrow 
will be much colder! I have nothing 
against the people who live in the St. 
Lawrence Valley, but if this cold wave 
will switch at the Great Lakes and fol¬ 
low the great river to the ocean it will 
have my thanks. For we all understand 
as we sit here before our pleasant fire 
that a freeze right now would put our 
crop out of business. 
***** 
I am reading a new book, “Denmark, 
a Co-operative Commonwealth,” but it is 
hard to keep the mind away from this 
“cold wave” that is creeping on its icy 
feet in our direction. No human power 
can stop it or warm its feet if it comes 
across our farm. The book which I am 
reading states: . 
“The wealth that can be taken from 
the ground is measured by the intelligence 
of the farmer and the laws that determine 
the distribution of produce. The latter 
is by far the most important. For if the 
farmer gives up a great share^ of bis 
produce to the landlord, or if it is taken 
by speculators, by middlemen^ or others, 
agriculture is bound to decay.” 
That is as true as anything ever writ¬ 
ten. Most of our farm business troubles 
result from unbridled human agencies. 
We must overcome theni by putting the 
harness on these agencies and making 
them work for us. That is true, but what 
about this frightful “cold wave” marching 
across the country as sure and deadly and 
cruel as fate? Just the tip of a little 
finger laid in our orchard and these beau¬ 
tiful trees, pink and white in their great 
promise, will be blasted! I know from 
the signs in the air that cold weather is 
coming—but how cold will it be ? Tho¬ 
mas, who is somewhat “weather wise, 
feels that our crop is lost. I will not 
give it up until the fruit all blackens and 
falls away. The children are too young 
to worry about, it. Off by the window 
lies Bruce, the big Airedale. He is look¬ 
ing at me with big brown eyes as though 
he would like to tell me something. I 
wish I could unoerstand his message. 
As I watch him my mind goes back to 
the time I visited Seth Peterson at night. 
* * * * * 
It was a night something like this one. 
There was a cold drizzle of fog and ram, 
and something ghostly in the air which 
whispered of impending disaster. I was 
working as hired man that Summer, and 
the boss sent me over to Peterson’s to see 
if we could borrow a horse for a few days. 
Our black horse had a galled shoulder. 
So I took my lantern, tramped through 
the mud, and, as neighbors all used to do, 
walked right in the back door without 
knocking. Seth Peterson never was a 
handsome man—his wife would admit 
that—indeed, she frequently reminded 
him of the fact. Nor was Seth a man 
of great nerve. They say 'that Eve was 
made out of Adam’s backbone, which ac¬ 
counts for the wavering policy of many 
of the present sons of Adam. And Seth 
had lost much of his backbone to his wife. 
He sat in the kitchen—a very picture of 
jeetion. 
“Take anything you like,” he said, 
ien I asked for the horse; “ride him 
■ht home and keep him. What’s the 
e? Life ain’t worth living any more. 
» man ever had it harder than I’m hav- 
' right now!” 
“Why, what’s happened now? 
“That fine boy of mine went down 
th a terrible pain. I got the doctor 
d my wife and him are up there now. 
heard him scream a minute ago. I 
ow it’s typhoid or inflammation of the 
bowels (those were the pleasant days be¬ 
fore appendicitis appeared in the lan¬ 
guage) or something worse. lie’ll die 
an’ nobody knows how I hate to lose that 
boy !” 
“But why do you not go up and help?” 
“Do you suppose I could stand it to see 
that boy die? I’ll bet he’s moaning and 
struggling. The doctor is working over 
him, and my wife is crying, I'll bet. 
Could I stand and look at such a fine boy 
like that? And maybe I ain’t done my 
full duty to him, like my wife says. lie’s 
all Peterson—no Robbins about him— 
though don’t tell my wife so! And then 
look at that telegram!” 
He pointed to a yellow envelope on. the 
kitchen table. 
“That came half, an hour ago, and I 
ain't dared to open it. My brother, John, 
is in a lawsuit over his farm. They’re 
trying to get it away from him on some 
flaw in the title. I’m on his note for 
$1,500, and my wife don’t know it. I’ll 
bet they beat him and that telegram will 
show it. They’ll make me pay that 
$1,500, and I’ll probably lose my boy and 
my farm, too. I don’t dare open it.. Take 
the horse and keep him! What’s the 
use? 
No use talking, Seth Pete"”on’s soul 
was dyed in ink that night. And right 
then and there came from upstairs what 
seemed like the sound of a blow and a 
loud yell. 
“There it is,” said Seth. I’ll bet he s 
dead and throwed himself out of bed. 
Now I might as well know the worst. 
My glasses are upstairs. Open that tele¬ 
gram and read it to me!” 
There were steps on the stairs, and I 
quickly opened tbg yellow envelope, while 
Seth braced himself for the worst. 
***** 
That all comes back to me tonight as 
I sit here waiting for the “cold wave” to 
finish its march across the country. I 
can see Seth Peterson’s white face and 
the poor, cowardly soul looking out 
through his eyes. And those fateful 
steps on the stairs are coming nearer. 
I wonder if I should ever look like that 
in the face of impending calamity? I 
wonder if any of my people would be. weak 
enough to show such fear. Here is my 
big family—all the way up from Bruce 
and the black cat, calmly waiting the 
coming of the frost, because they feel con¬ 
fident that, come what may Mother and 
I will find a way to keep the fire burning 
and the home open. That being true, 
with all this loving confidence and faith 
in us, we would be weak and foolish 
creatures if we let the confidence die 
when it reaches us. If we, with all our 
faults and failings, seem strong and de¬ 
pendable to those little folks, we must in 
our turn have faith in some higher and 
finer power to carry us along. Here 
comes little Bose with her doll, to say 
good-night. The bloom may fall from the 
trees, the fruit may all be blasted, but 
will it not come out again in due season? 
Philip' has been telling me about the old 
gander. When his wife decided to volun¬ 
teer as incubator, Prof. Gander did not 
leave her to endure the long vigil alone. 
He made a nest right beside her, and 
there he has remained day after day, 
constant as the sun. We might have put 
some eggs under him. and he would have 
hatched them, for there he sticks, day 
and night, regardless of rain or snow or 
frost or heat—right there taking joy in 
his job. I would like to know what this 
loving pair have to say to each other 
during the long, waiting hours. Perhaps 
.that is what Bruce is trying to tell me as 
he observes the rather perfunctory con¬ 
versation Mother and I indulge in.. I 
think about this and forget the oncoming 
frost. Anyway, it will most likely turn 
out like Seth Peterson’s troubles. 
***** 
How did that come out? I meant to 
have told you before I switched away to 
our own affairs. Just as I read the tele¬ 
gram the door opened and Mrs. Peterson 
and the doctor came in. 
“Oh. doc,” said Seth, “he ain’t, dead, is 
he? Tell me the worst right away. He’s 
a Peterson, you know!” 
“Dead? Nonsense! All he had was 
a little bellyache. He just played ’possum 
on yon to hide what he did.” 
And then the indignant Mrs. Peterson 
took a hand. 
“Don’t you tell me a word, Seth Peter¬ 
son. That boy is a fraud. I’ll admit 
he’s all Peterson ; no Robbins would act 
like that. He vent to the pantry and 
stole 10 fried cakes and a jar of jelly 
and ate it all. Of course, he had the belly¬ 
ache. We gave him an emetic, and 
there’s the evidence right there. When I 
saw it I was so mad I turned him right 
over and spanked him.” 
“And the howling cured the bellyache,” 
put in the doctor. 
And then I got a chance to read that 
telegram : 
“We won the case hands down. Jury 
gave us $5,000 verdict.” 
And then Mrs. Peterson asserted her¬ 
self. 
“Now, Seth Peterson, no more of your 
sniveling. Get out and do your chores 
and try to be a man.” 
And Seth tried, for as we went out he 
said: 
“I don’t know as I can spare that horse 
after all. I want to put in big work 
next week.” 
On the table beside me is a copy of 
Shakespeare. Turning to the second act 
of “Julius Caesar,” I read: 
Cowards die many times before their 
deaths, 
The valiant never taste of death but 
once. 
Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, 
Tt seems to me most strange that men 
should fear.” 
As I look away from the page I catch 
the eye of old Bruce, and it seems to me 
he is saying: 
“I do not like your human slang, but 
in dog language that gentleman you have 
just been reading said a very large mouth¬ 
ful. Are you not a little ashamed of 
yourself to sit here and worry about this 
cold wave—before it hits you?” 
TT. W. C. 
The Rural School 
Believes in Physical Training 
On page 601, under the heading of 
“Notes on Rural Schools,” an article is 
signed by Elizabeth Hollett, to which I 
should like to take some exception as re¬ 
gards physical training. The first thing 
needed for a good scholar is a healthy 
body, and that can best be obtained by 
proper exercise given by expert instruc¬ 
tors. That this has been too much 
neglected in the country in the past was 
shown by the large number of “unfits” 
called into the service during the World 
War, who had to be practically made 
over by physical training; also that a 
greater percentage of these came from 
rural districts. Experience is a great 
teacher for some, but there are some who 
do not want to progress, and believe in 
the keeping of the schools several years 
back of the standard, except as to salary 
of the teacher. I prefer to have my chil¬ 
dren physically perfect first, and the 
studies will come naturally. 
Maine. edward k. sawyer. 
Those Junior High Schools 
In response to article on page 4S9, en¬ 
titled '“ Junior High School; A New 
Suggestion,” I do not agree. I am a stu¬ 
dent of the New York State School of 
Agriculture at Canton, N. Y. This school 
is part of St. Lawrence University. It is 
here Mrs. Cornwall should come to see 
the realization of her idea. This is our 
fourteenth year as an agricultural school. 
Our school is run on the six-months plan, 
i. e., six months at school or theoretical 
work, and six months on a farm as hired 
man, during which period a labor report 
must be sent in each week, accounting for 
and recording each day’s work. 
The school farm comprises 180 acres of 
land, devoted to corn, oats, hay, vegetables 
and fruit. Variety tests for yield, early 
maturity and hardiness are being conduct¬ 
ed, and results recorded for classroom use. 
A dairv of purebred and high grade Hol- 
steins and Ayrshires furnishes opportu¬ 
nities for student instruction and prac¬ 
tice. Chester White swine, various types 
and breeds of poultry, tractors and horses 
of superior type furnish good material for 
laboratory work. The university farm of 
103 acres, located close by, is conducted 
as a commercial enterprise. Every appli¬ 
cant for admission must be at least 16 
years old and should have completed grade 
school. Three courses are offered : 
1. A three years’ course in agriculture, 
open to students who have reached the age 
of 16 years. The courses are animal hus¬ 
bandry, dairy industry, poultry or horti¬ 
culture. 
2. A two years’ course in agriculture, 
open to students graduated from agricul¬ 
tural high schools. Such students enter 
second or junior year. 
3. A 10-weeks course' in dairy industry, 
open to all persons 16 years of age or 
older. 
The domestic science department offers 
courses of instruction as follows: 
1. A two years’ normal course in home 
economics, open to students who possess 
a New York State regents’ diploma or its 
equivalent. 
2. A two years’ home-maker’s course, 
open to students who have had two or 
more years of high school. 
3. Combined normal course, open to 
students in the College of Letters and 
Science. 
4. A combined home-maker’s course, 
open to students in the College of Letters 
and Science. 
The school maintains a small house in 
which each girl is given the actual experi¬ 
ence of performing all the duties connect¬ 
ed with the home. 
Now, instead of having many small one 
or two-teacher high schools with small 
acreage, as suggested, why not more of the 
schools of agriculture, with the better of 
these small school teachers, and increase 
the acreage of school farm, as here at 
Canton? This would allow many boys 
who do not enter high school because they 
must attend school when they should be 
at home, namely, during Spring work and 
harvesting, a chance to get a better edu¬ 
cation and insight into their profession. 
W. WM. HOLBEIN. 
Two country women were arguing on 
the matter of thrift. “D’ye see that 
purse?” demanded one with a triumphant 
air. “It’s the one I bought when I was 
married 20 years ago, and it’s as good as 
new yet.” “That’s nothing!” sneered her 
friend. “You know my husband, John?” 
“Of course I do. What about him?” 
“Well, he’s my first husband, and you’ve 
had three. Don’t you preach thrift to 
me!”—Edinburgh Scotsman. 
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