The  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
997 
A  Farm  Woman’s  Notes 
Another  Kind  of  Co-operation 
A  July  thunderhead  pushed  up  from 
the  Southwest  horizon,  glowering  down 
upon  the  sweating  men  in  the  hayfields, 
who  greeted  him  with  shouts  and  new 
feats  of  endeavor.  All  day  the  country¬ 
side  had  lay  sweltering,  drooping  in  the 
path  of  storm.  Men  must  work  in  the 
breathless  heat  to  save  work,  which  is 
time  and  money,  and  to  save  the  silver- 
green  hay  from  becoming  a  tasteless 
brown  mass  in  the  floods  of  water  now 
seen  to  be  imminent.  A  few  men  worked 
because  they  foresaw  a  Winter  when  hay 
would  mean  money — the  men  who  must 
buy  hay  and  were  alarmed  at  the  extent 
of  the  acreage  which  lack  of  hands  would 
decree  uncut.  There  was  plenty  of  hay 
to  be  bought  standing,  bought  for  less 
than  the  tax  on  the  land,  but  there  was 
no  one  to  cut  such  hay  when  bought. 
The  young  potato  grower  always 
bought  his  hay.  He  had  seen  the  situa¬ 
tion  as  he  rested  on  his  cultivator  han¬ 
dles,  and  wondered,  when  public  atten¬ 
tion  was  turned  on  the  new  strength  of 
the  potato  market,  who  would  remember 
the  standing  hay.  Such  thought  had 
moved  him  to  hurry  the  cultivating  and 
dusting  with  every  art  of  efficiency — ro 
turn  haymaker. 
There  were  neighbors  within  easy  dis¬ 
tance  who  possessed  their  own  farm  ani¬ 
mals,  their  own  tools,  everything  to  do 
with,  but  were  unable  to  leave  their  work 
in  town  without  losing  it.  These  men 
needed  not  only  hay,  but  help..  It  was 
to  be  seen  that  there  was  plenty  of  eour 
age.  plenty  of  hands,  plenty,  of  hay,  but 
there  were  no  strong  arms  to  lift  it. 
It  was  on  a  farm  in  such  a  case  that 
the  young  potato  grower  and  his  man 
were  absorbed  in  a  week  of  drawing' hay. 
A  young  mother,  skillful  with  her  team, 
had  cut  and  raked  field  after  field  of  fine 
clover,  until  the  barns  of  both  helper  and 
helped  were  crammed  to  the  roof  boards. 
And  now  the  week  of  fine  weather  was 
drawn  to  a  close  with  the  roll  of  thun¬ 
der.  The  last  load  of  hay  grew  into 
fragrant  bulk  as  sharp  prongs  flashed  up¬ 
ward  with  heaps  of  the  fragrant  stuff. 
Great  skeins  that  stretched  across  the 
darkening  field  were  snatched  up  as  they 
lay.  without  the  ceremony  of  cocking. 
All  the  hay  must  be  brought  in.  Children 
armed  with  pitchforks  ran  about  in  a 
glad  ecstasy,  hoping  to  fiill  grown-ups’ 
places.  One  child  ..drove  the  straining 
team  from  the  top  of  the  ladder,  driving 
well,  in  the  pride  of  her  accomplish¬ 
ments.  As  the  last  few  wis;ps'  were  gath¬ 
ered  up,  the  factory  whistle  in  the  flash¬ 
ing  city  across  the  valley  screeched  tiv«. 
and  a  dry  crackle  from  the  heavy  clouds 
above  warned  them  to  hurry. 
At  the  dim  filled  cavern  of  the  barn  a 
mechanism  rumbled  in  the  upper  gloom 
and  spun  down  a  rope  double  harpooned 
to  the  waiting  load.  Past  smooth  run¬ 
ning  pulley,  on  the  other  end  of  the  rope, 
another  child  guided  horses  as  they  leaned 
into  harness.  Then  all  eyes  were  turned 
to  the  huge  bulk  of  hay  that  sprang  from 
the  load  to  follow  the  rope  speeding  back 
through  the  rollers  far  above.  Breath 
stopped  as  the  mass  soared  forward  into 
the  crowded  mow,  was  released  as  when 
it  dropped  just  short  of  what  looked  to  be 
havoc.  Three  more  such  bites  and  the 
rack  was  cleared  without  a  mishap.  Eager 
fingers  began  unhooking  traces,  coiling 
the  heavy  rope.  As  the  horses  trotted  to 
the  stable  the  sky  snapped  and  let  down 
water  in  huge  drops.  There  was  a  roar 
from  the  road  and  a  motor  car  came  rush¬ 
ing  into  the  open  doors  of  a  nearby  shed. 
A  man  got  out  and  cried  “Just  made  it !” 
He  saw  the  little  group  in  the  barn  door 
and  made  that  his  objective,  running 
through  the  pelting  rain. 
“Got  through,”  said  the  young  potato 
grower.  “Looks  like  we  can’t  go  home 
for  a  few  minutes  though.  We’ve  taken 
in  some  of  the  nicest  hay  I  ever  had  in 
my  barn.  I’m  mighty  pleased  with  my 
side  of  the  bargain.”  His  eye  rested  un- 
derstandingly  on  the  tired  lines  in  the 
other  man’s  face. 
“Yes,  it  was  good  hay,”  he  admitted. 
“Thought  I’d  have  to  plow  it  under. 
That’s  about  the  only  thing  I  could  have 
done  alone.  The  stock  needed  it,  but  1 
could  have  sold  ’em  off.  Hated  to,  be¬ 
cause  I  want  ’em  for  next  year.  And  of 
course  I  was  able  to  make  the  stock  just 
about  pay  for  our  living  with  butter, 
pork  and  veal.  The  hay  means  a  lot  to 
me,  cut  and  in  the  mow.  But  I  heard  a 
fellow  say  today  that  up  in  the  heavy 
ground  where  land  runs  to  hay  you  can 
buy  it  for  next  to  nothing.  There’s  no 
help,  and  farm  stuff  is  so  cheap.” 
“We’ve  about  got  to  the  end  of  that,  I 
think,”  said  the  young  potato  grower 
hopefully.  “Looks  to  me  as  if  the  farmer 
will  come  out  of  the  next  slump  with 
more  clean  money  than  anyone  else  on 
the  job.  He  isn’t  hiring  much  high-priced 
help,  because  there’s  none  to  hire.  Every 
farm  that  stands  idle  to  let  a  farmer  fill 
a  high-priced  farm  job  is  doing  its  bit  in 
moving  up  prices.  What  the  country 
needs  is  enough  farmers  that  have  the 
grit  to  say  ‘I’ll  pick  up  some  of  these 
high  wages,  while  farm  business  is  in  a 
slump.’  It  takes  courage  for  a  man  to 
admit  that  he  needs  money,  but  I  think 
it’s  a  lot  better  to  get  it  by  working  in 
town  than  by  borrowing.  For  one  thing, 
you  never  have  to  pay  it  back.” 
The  man  who  had  come  from  the  shop 
glanced  down  at  his  greasy  clothes,  at 
his  hands,  gray  in  unwashable  grime,  and 
his  broken  nails  worn  to  the  quick.  His 
face,  pale  and  thin  from  too  little  sun. 
fell  into  grim  lines.  The  young  potato 
grower  knew  the  meaning  of  those  lines 
and  stirred  sympathetically.  But  the 
farm  shopman  spoke  gently  after  all. 
“I’m  lucky,”  he  said,  looking  out  at  the 
sheeting  rain,  “in  living  near  to  a  trol¬ 
ley  station.  If  working  in  the  factory 
over  there  meant  that  I’d  have  to  take 
my  children,  I’d  stay  here  and  starve 
first.  I  don’t  like  to  think  of  these  chil¬ 
dren  of  mine  having  to  grow  up  in  a  poor 
man’s  street.  What  would  there  be  for 
them,  then,  but  to  lean  against  a  dirty 
lamp-post  and  get  into  the  city  child’s  rut 
of  know-nothing,  do-nothing.  No,  I  had 
my  chance,  and  they’re  going  to  have 
theirs.  I  figure  they  know  a  lot  already. 
Of  course,  I  don’t  mean  to  say  they  must 
all  be  farmers;  it’s  just  the  early  farm 
training  that  I  want  for  them  especially.” 
“I  know,”  said  the  young  potato  grow¬ 
er.  “Same  thing  brought  me  back  to  the 
farm  a  while  back.  Well,  it’s  not  so  bad. 
this  bargain  of  ours.  Looks  like  I’m  help¬ 
ing  you  keep  your  wages  and  you’re  help¬ 
ing  me  keep  mine.”  mrs.  f.  ii.  tjnger. 
Publishing  a  New  Book 
We  have  received  a  number  of  letters 
lately  from  people  who  say  they  have 
written  a  book,  and  they  desire  to  have 
it  published.  Most  of  these  people  seem 
to  have  a  very  fine  opinion  of  their  own 
manuscript,  and  evidently  they  feel  that 
some  publisher  will  consider  it  a  great 
privilege  to  have  an  opportunity  of  pub¬ 
lishing  it.  They  want  to  know,  in  a  gen¬ 
eral  way,  how  much  is  usually  paid  for 
such  manuscripts,  and  whether  it  is  bet¬ 
ter  to  take  a  lump  sum  in  advance  or  to 
accept  a  royalty.  If  the  latter,  how  large 
a  royalty  is  generally  paid?  It  always 
embarrasses  us  to  try  to  tell  the  truth 
about  such  matters,  but  the  fact  is  that 
all  publishers  are  swamped  with  manu¬ 
scripts  and  can  only  handle  a  compara¬ 
tive  few  among  the  flood  that  is  directed 
to  them.  Unless  the  author  is  well 
known  and  has  a  considerable  following 
among  book  readers,  there  is  hardly  one 
chance  in  10  that  a  new  book  will  sell 
well  enough  to  pay  the  cost  of  publica¬ 
tion.  This,  of  course,  will  be  rather  hard 
medicine  for  many  of  the  people  who  are 
writing  us  about  their  manuscripts,  hut 
long  experience  in  the  publishing  business 
convinces  us  that  the  statement  is  cor¬ 
rect.  The  average  publisher  will  rarely 
take  up  a  manuscript  for  publication  un¬ 
less  he  feels  sure  that  there  will  be  a 
reasonable  sale,  or  unless  he  is  guaran¬ 
teed  against  loss.  The  usual  plan  with 
new  authors  is  to  make  a  contract  under 
which  they  agree  to  take  a  certain  num¬ 
ber  of  copies  of  the  book,  or  be  respon¬ 
sible  for  something  like  $1,500  before  the 
work  is  started.  Publishers  rarely,  if 
ever,  buy  manuscripts  outright,  except,  it 
may  be,  with  some  well-known  author 
who,  for  some  reason,  wants  to  handla 
the  business  in  that  way.  Iu  arranging 
for  publication  with  a  new  author,  the 
usual  plan  is  for  him  to  sign  a  contract 
agreeing  to  be  responsible  for  the  cost  of 
publication,  or  at  least  the  principal  part 
of  it.  The  publisher  must  be  sure  of  that 
before  he  starts. 
A  royalty  of  10  to  15  per  cent  on  the 
publisher’s  price  is  usually  given.  That 
means  that  twice  a  year  the  full  sales  of 
the  book  are  figured  out,  and  the  author 
receives  10  per  cent  of  the  publisher’s 
price,  depending,  of  course,  on  the  num¬ 
ber  of  copies  which  have  been  handled. 
It  usually  hurts  the  feelingj  of  a  new 
author  to  realize  that  his  manuscript  has 
little,  if  any,  financial  value,  and  that  he 
is  expected  to  guarantee  the  cost  of  pub¬ 
lication.  That,  however,  is  the  usual 
method  of  doing  business,  and  the  pub¬ 
lisher  is  justified  iu  protecting  himself 
against  loss  unless  he  is  willing  to  take 
a  chance  on  it,  feeling  that  the  book  is 
strong  enough  to  develop  a  good  sale.  It 
will  give  some  of  our  would-be  “authors” 
a  shock  when  they  learn  that  these  hard¬ 
hearted  publishers  propose  to  handle  their 
manuscripts  that  way,  if  at  all,  but  in 
order  to  be  safe  they  are  obliged  to  op¬ 
erate  in  that  way,  and,  as  we  have  stated, 
there  is  a  perfect  flood  of  manuscript 
pouring  upon  these  publishers  all  the 
time. 
A  Vacation  in  the  Berry  Field 
I  have  been  reading  again  the  “Hope 
Farm  Notes”  in  The  R.  N.-Y.  for  June 
23.  Your  plan  for  a  vacation  does  not 
strike  me  at  all;  when  you’ve  got  those 
strawberries  up  and  coming,  someone’s 
got  to  pick  them,  and  of  all  knee-aching 
and  back-breaking  that  holds  the  belt! 
I’d  rather  have  a  little  shop  down  by  the 
sea,  or  up  on  a  mountain,  and  make  fur¬ 
niture.  H.  W.  S 
Connecticut. 
We  never  expected  to  pick  these  ber¬ 
ries.  Our  “vacation”  would  be  confined 
to  hoeing  them.  There  would  be  several 
acres,  and  that  would  require  a  small 
army  of  pickers.  The  work  we  planned 
to  do  alone  is  the  hoeing. 
This  little  lady  is  probably  the  youngest  present  reader  of  The  R.  N.-Y.  She  is  Miss  Kathleen  Marcia  Miller  of 
Dolgeville,  N.  Y.  She  was  12  months  and  two  weeks  old  when  this  picture  was  taken.  The  issue  of  The  It.  N.-Y. 
which  Miss  Kathleen  is  reading  is  No.  473S.  It  is  our  sincere  wish  that  she  may  live  to  read  and  enjoy  No. 
10,000.  That  will  only  take  her  about  to  the  year  2020,  and  with  the  proper  use  of  vitamines  and  all  the  coming 
aids  to  health,  this  young  lady  should  be  a  sprightly  dame  at  100  years!  . 
