1488 
‘Iht RURAL. NEW-YORKER 
November 20, 1024 
Things To Think About 
Whittier’s Schoolhouse 
I think Vida M. Bates is right when 
she says 'Whittier called the schoolhouse 
a “ragged beggar.” I think it reminded 
him of a ragged beggar from its worn and 
shabby appearance, standing among the 
sumachs and blackberry vines on a hot 
Summer day. My “Whittier” calls it 
“ragged beggar,” not an “idle beggar.” 
“Still sits the schoolhouse by the road, 
A ragged beggar sunning ; 
Around it still the sumachs grow’, 
.And blackberry vines are running. 
“Within the master’s desk is seen, 
Deep scarred by raps official; 
The warping floor, the battered seats. 
The jack-knife’s carved initial.” 
I admire your stand on the rural school 
question anil read everything in The R. 
N.-Y. on the subject with great interest, 
and hope the “Little red schoolhouse” will 
never be abolished. It is a greater power 
for good than most people have any idea 
of. CHARLES H. YOST. 
Pennsylvania. 
Mail Carrier’s Road Rights 
A neighbor and our mail man have had 
trouble about their line fences. The 
neighbor was going to town, met the mail 
man, and the mail man refused to give 
half the road. lie claimed a mail man, 
or a man driving a road truck, was en¬ 
titled to all the road. That certainly 
sounds unreasonable, and there is no law 
made to crowd the taxpayers off the road, 
unless the lawmakers were badly intoxi¬ 
cated when they made such a law. 
\V. E. F. 
Very likely this mail carrier is a prac¬ 
tical joker, or makes clumsy attempts at 
joking. lie has no more right to the en¬ 
tire road than you have. 
Good Philosophy 
Isn’t this a fit companion piece to little 
Rose’s “I’ve warmed it up as far as I 
go”? M. P. B. 
North Ferrisburg, Vt. 
STRUCK NO NAILS WHEN IIE FELL 
The Stanstead Journal publishes the 
following: 
Whatever may be said of Lysle Chase 
of Lowell, Vt., he cannot be considered a 
“cry baby.” He is only 3% years old, 
but he has some spunk. lie has set a 
shining example, not only to all howling 
“young-uns,” but to the rest of Christen¬ 
dom. The -other day he fell from a load 
of hay to the barn floor. Did he howl to 
heaven, raise the roof on the barn, and 
scare his father to death? Not a bit of 
it! “Are you hurt, Lysle?” inquired the 
father as he rushed to the boy. “Noo- 
oo-o,” came the faltering answer, then, 
brightening, “I fell on a board, but there 
isn’t any nails in it.” 
The story reached the Journal from a 
neighbor, who suggests that it should find 
a place in every newspaper and living 
room in the land. “If we had this baby’s 
view, we would often ‘can our growl,’ ” 
suggests our informant. We second the 
motion and pass the item on. 
The story of little Rose is a good com¬ 
panion to the above. It was during the 
famous “War Winter,” when everything 
from water pipes to human nature froze 
up. There was great suffering in many 
unheated farmhouses. Little Rose crawled 
into a big bed one night and wiggled 
about, as children do. Finally she called 
out: 
“Come on to bed. I've got it warmed 
up —as far as I go." 
Anyone who could see the difference in 
size between this little girl and the big 
bed would quickly understand the cheer¬ 
ful courage of this small philosopher. 
There is a great, lesson in this for many 
grown-up people who growl when they 
think the world has turned cold to them. 
If they would only warm it up as far 
down as they go the world would be all 
right. 
Beware the Shoddy Genteel 
Farmer 
There is one swindle worked on.coun¬ 
try farmers, which is hard to detect, and 
yet is the worst for anyone to fall into. 
I refer to these advertisements for help, 
which farmers who have had a little 
hard luck answer and are induced to sell 
their stock at auction and perhaps the 
equity in the farm, or at the least let the 
farm for a number of years, get them- 
selves out of a home, and come off down 
around these cities, and verv few know 
whom they are dealing with. I have 
heard of several who came out of the 
wrong end of the bargain and personally 
I know of three who lost what little 
thev had worked hard to save. 
One was a good farmer with nice wife 
and daughter, who came to carry on a 
place for a wealthy man who left the 
bossing of the farm to his wife, who was 
his third venture, about 45 years old, 
about the age of the farmer, and the 
consequence was she and the farmer 
eloped and broke up two families. 
Another came to manage a farm for 
a rich man and was so set up he thought 
he could do anything and drove the farm 
tractor nearly the whole length of the 
main street, and the damage done cost 
his boss several hundred dollars and, of 
course, lost him his job. He lost three 
good places within a year by just such 
pig-headedness. 
Just at the present time I know of a 
family reputed wealthy who have induced 
a Vermont farmer to sell his stock and 
dispose of his farm, and he and his wife 
came to work for them. The pay looks 
big, and is if they paid it, but they owe 
the man who has worked for them since 
last Spring, between $150 and $175, and 
no way it can be legally collected. There 
are hundreds of just such shoddy genteel 
people living about these cities who cheat 
their help out of part or all their wages. 
W. T. M. 
Is Your Signature Distinct? 
When answering an advertisement by 
mail, do you sign your name and write 
your address so that it can be read easily? 
When you are sending letters to pros¬ 
pective customers, telling about a hat you 
have to sell, do you attach a very fancy 
signature, with lots of flourishes to it, 
that will cause a would-be buyer to 
pause, to wonder whether that “L” is a 
“T” or a “G”? 
Many people seem to like to sign a 
well-written letter with a few r short lines 
of hieroglyphics which are usually unde¬ 
cipherable. The usual idea is to have an 
original signature, one that cannot be 
copied, one that cannot be forged. One 
that cannot be read, either. There is a 
good story of a well-known manufacturer 
Whose writing was, to say the least, “rot¬ 
ten.” One day he fired an employe for 
being idle, giving him a note to the cash¬ 
ier. When the cashier looked at the 
note be soon recognized the scribble and 
asked the idle one what it was about. 
The “fired” one answered: “It says I am 
to have a raise of $5.” According to the 
story he got it and dodged the old man. 
IIow many in the poultry business have 
received valued orders which had to be 
passed to several people before the signa¬ 
ture could be told? And often an unfor¬ 
tunate guess would be made, an order 
mis-sent and delayed, and a complaint en¬ 
tered against the express company and 
seller for chicks that had died during the 
delay, or eggs that had spoiled. 
I have been in a busy creamery here 
during the shipping of an order of but¬ 
ter; many papers would have to be gone 
over 'before the “shipping name” could be 
found. Usually the order would be type¬ 
written. but the signature simply 
“scrawled.” With the address printed on 
the letterhead, this nuisance is gotten 
around all right, but the orders a poultry- 
man receives are usually hand written. 
If you would escape mistakes, see that 
your next order for chicks, butter, seed, 
airships or anything, has a legible name 
and address signed to it. S. J. 
R. N.-Y’.—We notice that a number of 
people who use typewriters are a little 
afraid of their own handwriting, so they 
sign their names and then make a copy 
of it with the typewriter so as to be sure. 
But for this many of such names might 
as well be signed in Greek. 
Indian Summer 
“What visionary tints the year puts on, 
When falling leaves falter through mo¬ 
tionless air 
Or numbly cling and shiver to he gone! 
How shimmer the low flats and pastures 
bare, 
As with her nectar Hebe Autumn fills 
The bowl between me and those distant 
hills, 
And smiles and shakes abroad her misty, 
tremulous hair!” 
—James Russell Lowell. 
November, 1924, but Lowell’s description 
of Indian Summer will always be up to 
date. Even the dreamy, half-real and half- 
fanciful mood which this time of year in¬ 
spires seems to have been the same in his 
day. Or is it that our own thoughts natur¬ 
ally color his poem into an image of our 
own minds? There seems now to be a pause 
while we may all enjoy the wonderful Au¬ 
tumn weather, the gorgeous coloring of 
the trees, the beautiful harvest moon! 
However we may dread the cold breath 
of WinW, we should certainly enjoy to 
the utmost these last lovely days. The 
crisp cool air in the morning is invigorat¬ 
ing, and there is a “step lively” sting 
about it that is quite lacking before frost. 
To see the roofs and grass all silvery wila 
frost shine in the early rays of the sun is 
well worth a chilly breath or two. 
The grass crunches as I go from the 
back porch to the barn after the bucket 
of cracked corn for the chickens. These 
lively birds are ready for me; they fly to 
meet me from all directions, lighting on 
my arms and shoulders in a morning 
greeting much more enthusiastic than 
pleasant. The pullets are fearless, but 
the two or three roosters remaining out 
of the 70 we have eaten since July, are 
very wary ; they well know that there are 
times when my call “Chick-chick-chick- 
chick” has resulted fatally to their trust¬ 
ing brothers; no danger that they will 
make any blunders of that kind! No. 
indeed! When I want them at last I will 
have to spy out their roosting place and 
catch them at night. The chickens are 
fed, and I proceed to the henhouse w-ith 
the corn. Then the water dishes are 
filled and the mash hopper inspected to 
see if it needs replenishing, and, oh, yes, 
they are out of oyster shells. That won’t 
do at all! Soft-shelled eggs appear very 
soon if they don’t have the materials to 
build good hard shells. The poultry are 
ready for the day, so I must now look 
out for breakfast for the family. 
First to the milkhouse for the pail of 
milk; about a gallon a day we save for 
our family of four, and then I sometimes 
have to get an extra dishful before bed¬ 
time at night. The children are up and 
dressing and I can hear their voices as I 
come into the kitchen. There is a good 
fire, and the cereal is ready to dish. I 
hurry to wash before the girls beat me. 
Then to set the table and have things all 
ieady. Bill has just taken the last pails 
of milk into the milkhouse, and will be in 
for breakfast directly. The girls are now- 
racing back, after washing, to dive into 
their dresses and get to the table when 
Daddy does. We like to eat breakfast to¬ 
gether. 
“Breakfast!” All are ready now-. All 
the cereal in dishes and a big plate of 
hot graham muffins. Coffee for the 
grown-ups and milk for the children. A 
plate of raisin cookies. We do not care 
for a heavy meal in the morning. 
After eating I put up the big girl’s 
lunch, for she goes to school tw-o miles 
away, and rides when Bill takes the milk 
to the milk plant. The little girl is not in 
school yet. The milk is loaded, and we 
hear the engine start, so there is a scurry 
of “last minute” things to do, books to 
pack together and coat to put on ; then 
she has her lunch box and away she runs, 
“Good-by.” 
The morning work is out of the way in 
a hurry; the milkhouse swept clean and 
the miik things in a shining row on the 
rack. The water dishes are filled again 
for the hens and chickens; there cannot 
be too much clean, fresh water kept be¬ 
fore them. Here is Bill, back from town 
with the cans, which are now put on the 
rack with the rest. It is nine o’clock, 
and now we are ready for the day’s w-ork. 
Today is an ideal one to dig potatoes. 
There are nearly two acres to dig, and 
the w-ork must be done even if they are 
too cheap to hardly pay for the labor that 
has already been put into them.. That 
w-ill never get us anyw-here, to quit now. 
There is alw-ays that chance which a 
farmer is “up against” when he is grow¬ 
ing a crop; when it is ready to harvest 
there may be “no market.” The city peo¬ 
ple are often paying just as much as 
usual for a product, but there is “no mar¬ 
ket” for them on the farm. Well, we 
surely have splendid potatoes, at any rate. 
But imagine them at 75 cents a bushel, 
delivered! 
The little girl and I will get everything 
ready to get dinner and then go over to 
the potato field to help pick. Bill is al¬ 
ready digging away at them, and in a lit¬ 
tle while we can begin. 
There never was a prettier day! I 
take the little girl by the hand and we go 
down through the pasture, across the 
spring brook and up beside the woods 
w-here the potatoes are. From the hill 
we can see the beautiful red and brown 
and gold woods, both the ones here nearby 
and across the valley to the distant ones. 
The little girl runs and starts gathering 
the pretty leaves. Bill comes over and 
sits down to rest, and to get a drink from 
the pail of fresh water I brought. Indian 
Summer! Beautiful painted woods! The 
blue haze of Autumn making the distant 
hills “kinda smoky” and mysterious 
against that deep blue of the sky. That 
is the way life is, isn’t it? We must keep 
that ability to love and appreciate all the 
wonderland of beauty that Nature unrolls 
before us. and try to forget the 75-cent 
spuds and the one-sided wormy apples! 
All right, now w-e will go to work. 
NEW YORK STATE FARMER’S WIFE. 
Pastoral Parson and His 
Country Folks 
(Continued from page I486) 
it was landed in the shed, although Shel¬ 
ley wisely stated it was pretty cold, as 
dynamite froze at 50 degrees. The caps 
werfe even more dangerous, fcut were 
finally tucked away in a drawer in a 
writing desk. Last Saturday we got 
busy. Shelley was keen to experiment 
with the stuff. He got some wire from a 
neighbor and a hot-shot battery. He 
made the hole in the bottom of the dam 
with the crowbar, putting in three sticks, 
the cap in the middle stick. The water 
was some two feet deep over this. We 
connected it all up, taping the wire con¬ 
nections. Then we touched the two ends 
to the battery. Nothing doing. Shelley 
was quite dismayed. We went to look at 
the wires and decided to get all our wires 
out of the water by sticking in pieces of 
board. This done, goodness, off it went! 
But we were disappointed in the hole. 
The water seemed to hold down the 
charge, so we went to a place where there 
was little or no water, and made a very 
deep hole, putting in the whole five sticks, 
the cap in the middle one. These caps 
are more risky than the dynamite. We 
made the hole with a smooth, round, rake 
tooth. When these five went off it did 
make the mud fly. and made a hole, too. 
The boys will put the spring-board over 
this hole next Summer, and they cer¬ 
tainly won’t hit their heads when they 
dive. It demonstrated how one could dig 
a well with dynamite. It would seem to 
be the one best way to do it. 
The 'Western Trip. —Since writing 
the above the Parson has spoken in Gyp¬ 
sum, O., to a very large crowd in the 
schoolhouse. From all appeai-ances the 
Parson struck many a responsive chord. 
The editor of the Port Clinton Republi¬ 
can was there and promised a great write¬ 
up, and also wanted the Parson to speak 
in his town as soon as he could. He 
hopes to go to Madison, Wis., next June, 
and will plan to stop there on his way 
out. Such nice R. N.-Y. fidends as he 
stayed with. It is terribly dry out thi-ough 
there. This is a fruit section, right on 
Lake Erie, but the peaches failed this 
year and made it hard for many. The 
Community Church here seems most for¬ 
tunate in its community-minded minister, 
and many children of those working in 
the gypsum factories make a great mis¬ 
sionary field of it. One wonders whether 
those who go off in their autos to bigger 
churches in bigger towns might not be do¬ 
ing a real crying-out Christian service 
nearer home. 
Thanksgiving.— The Parson is finish¬ 
ing this in the big station at Pittsburgh, 
just before leaving for Washington. He 
will look for Geoi-ge at 7 :55 in the morn¬ 
ing. It does seem such a while since he 
went away, and we have all missed him 
so. He and dad will certainly have much 
to talk about. Mrs. Parson says he just 
must come home for Christmas. It will 
be bad enough not to have him there for 
Thanksgiving, but we will send him down 
a goose and he can imagine the squawk, 
for he has heard it enough times at home 
so as not to forget it. 
That Dinner. —And don’t have that 
Thanksgiving dinner too late—the boys 
do get so hungry! If it must be late, 
give the boy a hand-out by the kitchen 
door. And when he comes for the milk 
pails at night, give him that left-over 
wing on the side of the platter—he has 
known just where it was all the time. 
Mother’s Day. —And Thanksgiving is 
largely mother’s day. 'She will deserve 
the praise for the table and all the good 
food. Didn’t the little girl hit it right in 
her composition on men : “Men are what 
women have to manage. They drink, 
smoke, swear, and stay away from 
church. Men and women both sprang 
from the ape, but woman sprang the far¬ 
thest.” 
There has been some discussion as to the possibility of training a steer to work with 
horses. The picture shows a steer which was trained by L. J. Colvin of Port Byron, 
N. Y., to work single or double. In this picture we see him working with three horses 
to pull a large gang plow, and he is doing his full share. 
