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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 13, 1906)
“That Is very flattering,” said she. "And Aen went bravely on~“I suppose there Isn't anything you'd stop at In order tc «aln your end.” “Nothing,’’ said I, and I compelled her *o meet my gaze. 8he drew a long breath, and I thought then* was a sob in it—like a frightened child. “But I repeat,” I went on, “that if you Wish it, I shall never try to see you again. Do you wish It?” “I—don’t—know,” she answered slowly. **1 think—not.” Aji she spoke the last word, she lifted *tu»r eyes to mine with a look of forced friendliness In them that I’d rather not bave seen there. I wished to bo blind to ber defects, to the stains and smutches with which her surroundings must have cullled her. And that friendly look ceetned to me an unmistakable hypocrisy In obedience to her mother. However, it bed the efTect of bringing her nearer to my #wn earthy level, of putting me at easo With her; and for the few remaining mln tttes we talked freely, I Indifferent wheth er my manners and conversation were cor tcct. As I helped her into their carriage, I pressed her arm slightly, and said in a ♦oice for her only, “Until tomorrow." young lady, under this coarse exterior I assure you there's hidden a rathei ' sharp outlook on human nature—and 1 —well, nerves that respond to the faint est changes In you as do mine can’t be altogether without sensitiveness. What’s the other reason—the reason'.1 That you think you love some one else?” "Thank you for saying It for me," she replied. You can’t imagine how pleased I was at having earned her gratitude, even In so little a matter. "1 have thought of that," said I. "It Is of no consequence." "But you don’t understand,” she pleaded earnestly. "On the contrary, I understand per fectly," I assured her. “And the rea son I am not disturbed Is—you are here, and you are not with him.” She lowered her head so that I had no view of her face. "You and he do not marry," I went on, "because you are both poor?” "No,” she replied. "Because he does not care for you?" "No-not that,” she said. "Because you tlioucht he hadn't enough for two?" A long pause, then—very faintly: "No—not that.” "And then it must be because he hasn't as much money as he'd like, and must find a girl who'll bring him— what he most wants.” She was silent. "That Is, while he loves you dearly, he loves money more. And he's willing to see you go to another man, be the wife of another man, be—everything to another man.” I laughed. "I'll take my chances against love of that soil." "You don’t understand.” she mur murured. "You don't realize—there are many things that mean nothing to you and that mean—oh, so much to people brought up as we are.” "Nonsense!” said I. "What do you mean by 'we'? Nature has been bring ing us up for a thousand thousand years. A few years of silly false train ing doesn’t undo her work. If you and he had cared for each other, you wouldn’t be here, apologizing for his selfish vanity.” XIV. FRESH AIR IN A GREENHOUSE. At five the next day I rang the Eller sly's bell, was taken through the draw ing room Into that same library. The curtains over the double doorway be tween the two rooms were almost flrawn. She presently entered from the hall. I admired the picture she made In the doorway—her big hat, her em broidered dress of white cloth, and that small, sweet, cold face of hers. And as I looked. I knew that nothing, noth ing—no. not ever her wish, her com mand—could stop me from trying to make her my own. That resolve must have shown In my face—It or (he pas sion that Inspired It—for she paused and paled. “What Is It?’’ I asked. "Are you •afraid of me?" She came forward proudly, a flue -tcorn In her eyes. “No," she said. “But U you knew, you might be afraid of me." “I am,” I confessed. "I nm afraid of you because you Inspire in me a feel ing that Is beyond my control. I’ve committed many follies In my life— ( have moods In which It amuses me to flefy fate. But those follies have al ways been of my own willing. You” —I laughed—“you are a folly for me. But one that compels me.” She smiled- not discouraglngly—and seated herself on a tiny sofa In the corner, a curiously impregnable ln Irefichment, as I noted—for my Impulse eras to carry her by storm. 1 was as tonished at my own audacity; I was wondering where my fear of her had gone, my awV; of her superior lineness and breeding. "Mama will be down In a few minutes," she said. “I didn’t come to see your mother,” •yeplled I. "I came to see you.” Bhe flushed, then froze—and I thought I had once more "got upon” her nerves With my rude directness. How eagerly •ensltlve our nerves are to had Im pressions of one we don’t know, and bow coarsely Insensible to bad Impres sions of one we do like’ “I see I've offended again, ns usual,” oald I. “You attach so much import ance to petty little dancing-master tricks and cnperlngs. You live—always have lived—in an artificial atmosphere. Beal things act on you like fresh air on a hothouse flower.” "You are -fresh ,-alr?" she Inquired, with laughing sarcasm. “I nm that,” retorted I. “And good for you—as you'll find when you get Used to me.” I heard voices In the next room— her mother's and some man's. We ■waited until It was evident we were Cot to be disturbed. As I realized that 'tact and surmised Its meaning. I looked triumphantly at her. She drew furth >«r back Into her corner, and the al most stern firmness of her contour told me she had Bet her teeth. “I see you are nerving yourself,” said ( with a laugh. "You are perfectly certain I am going to propose to you.’’ Bhe flamed scarlet and half started 4P “Your mother—In the next room—ex •pects it, too," I went on. laughing ever more disagreeably. "Your parents need money—they have decided to sell you, Ahelr only large Income producing as jet. And I am willing to buy. What <to you say?” mapin;i iiuiiui niiii, Hue erica im patiently, lifting her head haughtily. ' The point Is, I love him—and always shall. I warn you.’’ “And I take you at. my own risk?" Her look answered “Yes!” “Well”—and T took her hand—“then, wo are engaged." Her whole body grew tense, and her hand chilled as It lay in mine. “Don't —please don’t,” I said gently. “I’m not as had as all that. If you will be as generous with me as l shall he with you, neither of us will ever regret this.” There were tears on her cheeks as I slowly released her hand. “I shall ask nothing of you that you are not ready freely to give,” I said Impulsively she stood and put out her hand, and the eyes she lifted to mine were shining and friendly. I caught her In my arms and kissed her —not once but many times. And It was not until the chill of her ice like face had cooled me that I released her, drew back rod and ashamed and stam mering apologies. Hut her Impulse of friendliness had been killed; she once more, as I saw only too plainly, felt, for me that sense of repulsion, felt for herself that sense of self degradation. “I can not marry you!” she mut tered. "You can—and will—and must," I cried, Infuriated by her look. There was a long silence. I could easily guess what was being Tought out in her mind. At last she slowly drew herself up. “I can not refuse,” she said, and her eyes sparkled with defiance that had hate In It. "You have the pow er to compel me. Use It, like the brute you refuse to let me forget that you are." She looked so young, so beauti ful, so angry- and so tempting. "So I shall!” I answered. "Children have to be taught what Is good for them. Call In your mother, and we’ll tell her the news.” Instead, she went Into the next room. I followed, saw Mrs. Eliersly seated at the tea table In the corner farthest from the library where her daughter and I had been negotiating. She was reading a letter, holding her lorgnon up to her painted eyes. "Won’t you give us tea, mother?” said Anita, on her surface not a trace of the cyclone that must still have been raging In her. “Congratulate me, Mrs. Eliersly." said I. "Your daughter has consented to marry me." »Fv.i.ivinhl mi o, UUCIBIjr began to cry—real tears. And for a moment I thought there was a real heart Inside of her somewhere. But when Bhe spoke, that delusion vanished. "You must forgive me, Mr. Black lock,” she said in her hard, smooth, politic voice. “It is the shock of re alizing I'm about to lose my daughter.” And I knew that her tears were from Joy and relief—Anita had "come up to the scratch;" the hideous menace of “genteel poverty" had been averted. "Do give us tea, mama," said Anita. Her cold, sarcastic tone cut my nerves and her mother's like a razor blade. I looked sharply at her, and wondered whether I was not making a bargain vastly different from that my passion was picturing. XV. SOME STRANGE LAPSES OF A LOVER Rut before there was time for me to get a distinct impression, that ugly shape of cynicism had disappeared. "It was a shadow I myself cast upon her," I assured myself; and once more she seemed to me like a clear, calm lake of melted snow from the mountains. "1 can see to the pure white sand of the very bot tom," thought I. Mystery there was, but only the mystery of wonder at the appari tion of such beauty and purity in such a world as mine. True, from time to time, there showed at the surface or vaguely outlined In the depths, forms strangely out of place In those unsullied waters. But I either refused to see or refused to trust my senses. I hud a fixed Ideal of what a woman should be; this girl embodied that ideal. “If you’d only give up your cigarcts," I remember saying to her when we were a little better acquainted, “you'd be per fect." She made an impatient gesture. “Don't!” she commanded almost angrily. “You make me feel like a hypocrite. You tempt >ne to be a hypocrite. Why not be con ! tent with woman as she is—a human be ing? And—how couldl—any woman not an idiot—be alive for twenty-live years without learning—a thing or two? Why should any man want It?'' “Because to know is to be spattered and stained,” said I. “I get enough of people who know, down-town. Up-town—I want a change of atr. Of course, you think you know the world, but you haven't the re ' motest conception of what It’s really like, j Sometimes when I'm with you. I begin to | feel mean and—and unclean. And the feel j lag grows on me until it’s all I can do to ■room. She was standing, her breath coming fast, her eyes blazing. "You •re—frightful!” she exclaimed in a low voice. "Because I am frank, because I am boncst? Because I want to put things on a sound basis? I suppose. If I came lying and pretending, and let you lie Sind pretend, you would find me—almost tolerable. Well, I'm not that kind. When there's no especial reason one way or the other, I'm willing to smirk and grimace and dodder and drivel, Uke the rest of your friends, those ladies and gentlemen. But when there’s business to be transacted, I am bus iness like. Let's not begin with your thinking you are deceiving me, and so bating me and despising me and try tag to keep up the deception. Let's be gin right." She was listening; she was no longer longing to fly from the room; she was curious. I knew 1 had scored. "In any event," I continued," you would nave married for money. You’ve been brought up to It, like all these girls of your set. You'd be miserable without luxury. If you had your choice between love without luxury and luxury without love. It'd be os*easy to taretell which you'd do ns to foretell bow a starving poet would choose be tween a loaf of bread and a volume of poems. You may love love; but you love life—your kind of life—better!” She lowered her head. "It Is true,” •he said. “It Is low and vile, but It is true." "Your parents need money—" I be gan. She stopped me with a gesture. “Don’t blame them.” she pleaded, "i «ur. more guilty than they.” I was proud of her as she made that confession. "You have the making of -a. real woman In you,” said I. "I should taavw wanted you even if you hadn't. But what I now see makes what I thought a folly of mine look more like Wisdom.” •"I must warn you,” she said, and now ■he was looking directly at me. "I shall never love you.” "Never Is a long time," replied I. "I'm •Id enough to be cynical about prop hecy.” “I shall never love you,” she repeated. “T'or many reasons you wouldn't un derstand. For one you will under stand." "I understand the ’many reasons’ you •ay are beyond me," said I. "For dear restrain myself from rushing away.** She looked at me critically. "You’ve never had much to do with women, have you?" she finally said slow ly in a musing tone. "I wish that were true—almost,” replied i I. on my mettle a3 a man, and resisting | not without effort the Impulse to make j some vague “confessions”—boastings dis guised as penitential admissions-after tho i customary masculine fashion. She smiled—and one of those disquieting shapes seemed to me to be floating lazily and repellcntly downward, out of sight. "A man and a woman can be a great deal to each other, I believe,” said she; “can be—married, and all that and remain as strange to each other as if they had never met—more hopelessly strangers.” “There's always a sort of mystery,” 1 conceded. “I suppose that's one of tho things that keep married people inter ested.” She shrugged her shoulders—she was In evening dress, I recall and there was on her white skin that Intense, transparent, bluish tinge one sees on the new snow When the sun comes out. “Mystery!” she said impatiently. “There's no mystery except what wre our selves make, its useless--perfectly use less,” she went on absently. “You’re the sort of man who, If a woman cared for him, or even showed friendship for him by being frank and human and natural with him, he’d punish her for it by—by despis ing her.” I smiled, much as one smiles at tho efforts of a precocious child to prove that it is a Methuselah in experience. “If you weren’t like an angel in com parison with the others I’ve known,” said I, “do you suppose I could care for you as l do?” I saw my remark Irritated her, and I fancied It was her vanity that was offend ed by my disbelief in her knowledge of life. I hadn't a suspicion that I had hurt and alienated her by slamming in her very face the door of friendship and frankness her honesty was forcing her to try to open for me. human like the other women and the men l had known, but a creature apart and in a class apart, J stood day after day gaping at that very door, and wondering how 1 could open it, how penetrate even to the courtyard of that vestal citadel. So long ns my old-fashioned belief that good women were more than human and bad women less than human had influenced me only to a sharper lookout In dealing with the one species of woman I I then came in contact with, no harfn to me resulted, but on the con trary good- whoever got into troubio through walking the world with sword and sword arm free? But when, under tho spell of Anita Kllcrsly, I dragged the “superhuman goodness” part of my theory down out of the clouds and. made It my guardian and guide—-really, it’s a miracle that I escaped from the pit into which that lunacy pitched me head long. 1 was not content with idealizing only her; I went on to seeing good, and only good, in everybody! The millen nium was at hand; all Wall street was my friend; whatever I wanted would hap pen. And when Roebuck, with an air like a benediction from a Bishop backed by a cathedral organ and full choir, gave mo the tip to buy coal stocks, 1 canonized him on the spot. Never did a Jersey “jay” in Sunday clothes and tallowed boots respond to a bunco steerer’s greeting with a glad der smile than mine to that pious old past-master of craft. 1 will say, in justice to myself, though it is also in excuse, that if I had known him intimately a few years earlier, I should have found it all but impossible to fool myself. For he had not long been in a position where he could keep wholly de tached from the crimes committed for his benefit and by his order, and where ho could disclaim responsibility and even knowledge. The great lawyers of tho country have been most ingenious In de veloping corporate law In the direction of making the corporation a complete and secure shield between the beneficiary of a crime and its consequences; but before a great financier can use this shield per fectly, ho must build up a system—he must find lieutenants with the necessary coolness, courage and cunning; he must teach them to understand his hints; ho must educate them, not to point out to him tho disagreeable things Involved In his orders, but to execute unquestionlngly, to efface completely the trail between him and them, whether or not they succeed in covering the roundabout and faint trail between themselves and the tools that nominally commit the crimes. (Continued Next Week.) MYSTERY OF TREE GROWTH. Whence and How It Comes No Man Can Toll. From tho Montgomery. Ala., Advertiser. One of tho most wonderful among the many incomprehensive mysteries of earth Is tree growth. Everything con nected with life and growth, animal and vegetable, is a mystery, for that matter, for all human knowledge fails to penetrate the hidden operations of nature, or to tell the why and the how of life. We see two plants growing side by side, fed from the same sources below and above the ground, so far as we can determine, yet one produces a beautiful rose and the other an ill smelling and ugly opposite. One tree produced a delicious peach and another a sour crab, yet so far as we can see the same elements sustain both. We see and realize the difference, but fail to understand it. Hut there arc some things about tree growth, aside from leaves, flowers, or fruit, that is as deep a mystery as is anything connected with animal life. An acorn, for example, is planted in tho earth and in due time it sends down roots and sends up a tiny sprout. If not interfered with it continues to grow, and in the course of many years becomes a tree. During this time the roots have been attracting moisture and food from the earth and the trunk and limbs have been obtaining some thing from the air. Each year a new layer of wood is added, and so it con tinues till a great giant of the forest is the result. The material for all this wood has been obtained somehow and from some source, but how it is done is the mys tery. It may be one of many great trees growing almost against each other, and each has managed to absorb many cords of wood from some hidden recess of nature which man cannot fathom. We can search the earth and the air with all our powers and with all the instruments and appliances at our command, but we will fail to detect tho tree germs. Nor is this all of the greatest mys tery. Two trees grow up side by side, fed from the same source, yet the wood of one is the soft yellow poplar and the other hard white hickory; one may be beautiful bird's-eye or curled maple and the other pitch pine or oak. There is another mystery that man cannot penetrate. Somewhere or somehow the alchemy or chemistry of machinery of nature carries on its tireless and cease less work, and the result is before us. That is all man knows, and probably all he will ever know, on the subject. All nature is a mystery, and the growth of trees is not the least. Just the Trouble. From the Cleveland Leader. Bess—Why did you jilt Montmor ency? I thought you said he was your ideal man? Tess—He was; but 1 wanted a real on*. IEasy Dupes. A lawyer said of the late A1 Adams tn New York: t "Mr. Adams wag very honest and up right with his friends. He treated his friends far better than does many a ven erated churchgoer 1 could name. And if he frankly admitted that he duped the public—why, if all who duped the public were sent to prison for it, our jails would have to be enlarged. "Like Barnum, Mr. Adams claimed that the public liked to be fooled. As an ex ample of tho ease with which it could be fooled he used to tell a story about a cal endar vender. I "This vender, one wintry day, entered a cafe and said to a man who was reading a newspaper and drinking hot lemonade: " 'Won’t you buy a calendar, sir? The now year Is close at hand.’ "‘No, I don’t want a calendar,’, the man answered, sipping his lemonade impa tiently. "But the vender persuaded him to buy' one, and he ordered It to be delivered to his wife at a house on the next square. "Going to this house, the vender said to the wife: " ‘Your husband, madam, sent me from the cafe on Exe street with this calendar,, which he wishes you to buy for his desk.’ "The lady paid a quarter for the twice-' sold calendar, and the reckless vender re turned to the cafe where her husband sat.; "While he was trying to make morei sales there, the husband went home, heard of the trick that had been played on his wife and him, and, ringing up his butler,\ said furiously: " 'Go down to the cafe at once and bring up the calendar vender you’ll find there.’ , "The butler went to the cafe, found the vender busy with a customer, and deliv ered his message. But the vender, hand-' ing out another calendar, said: "Oh, 1 know what your boss wants. He w'ants a calendar. Have you got a quar ter? It will save me the trip up.’ " ‘Yes; here you are,’ said the butler, and, taking the calendar with one hand , and extending a quarter with the other, he hurried back home." It is stated that the incomes of phy sicians in England have decreased 25 per cent, during the last three years. Worth Kflowing. That Allcock’s Plasters are the highest result of medical science and skill, and in ingredients and method have never been equaled. That they are the original and genuine porous planters upon whose reputation imitators trade. That they never fail to perform their remedial w'ork quickly and effectually. That for Weak Back, Rheumatism, Colds, Lung Trouble, Strains and all Lo cal Pains they are invaluable. That when you buy Allcock’s Plasters you obtain the best plasters made. Moonshine by Wholesale. From the Atlanta Constitution. The discovery of an SOO-gallon moon shine still in the woods eight miles east of Eatonton has led to a' most complete rounding up in the vicin ity, and United States Deputy Collect or C. D. Vigal and Deputy Marshal Dave Riley have since the still was lo cated managed to capture six men, all of whom have been connected with this single case. Arthur Clements, the only 'white man connected with the charge that has faced the authorities up to the present, came to Macon to get five negroes released and was himself held. Clements is a prominent farmer. The still was said to have been found upon his place. The negroes were all farm ers on Clements’ place. The alleged chief operator, a white man known in the community as Wild Bill, has not been captured. The ofDcers found the still down on the borders of a big creek, and as soon ■ as they made a survey of the plant it was pronounced the largest ever oper ated within the central portion of the state. An upright steam boiler was used in the distilling outfit, and large quantities of beer and meal were de stroyed when the officers used their axes in demolishing the plant. When the discovery was made by the officers the community was very much sur prised at the extensive operations. Darge quantities of meal were shown to have been brought to the spot from Eatonton. The amount captured by the officers revealed that an immense business was carried on, and the officers themselves were slow to believe their own eyes when they walked into the place. An Untried Field. Clyde Fitch, at a dinner in Philadelphia, .praised the originality of certain French playwrights. ‘'Originality," he said, “is what above all things, the drama needs. Too many of the writers for the stage are like a west ern friend of mine. “A young lady said to my friend: " ‘Isn’t it awfully, awfully difficult to find new ideas for plays?’ “ ‘1 don't know,’ he asnwered. ‘I have never tried it.' ” NO MEDICINE Knt ChmiKe of Food Gave Final Kellef. Most diseases start in the alimentary canal—stomach and bowels. • A great deal of our stomach and bowol troubles come from eating too much starchy and greasy food. The stomach does not digest any of the starchy food we eat—white bread, pastry, potatoes, oats, etc.—these things arc digested in the small intestines, and if we eat too much, as most of us do, the organs that should digest this kind of food are overcome by excess of work, so that fermentation, indigestion, and a long train of ails result. Too much fat also is hard to digest and tliis is changed into acids, sour stomach, belching gas, and a bloated, heavy feeling. In these conditions a change from in digestible foods to Grape-Nuts will work wonders in not only relieving the distress but in building up a strong di gestion, clear brain and steady nerves. A Wash, woman writes: “About five years ago I suffered with bad stomach—dyspepsia, indigestion, constipation—caused, I know now, from eating starchy and greasy food. "I doctored for two years without any benefit. The doctor told me there was no cure for me. I could not eat anything without suffering severe pain in my back and sides, and l became dis couraged. ' “A friend recommended Grape-Nuts and I began to use it. In less than two weeks I began to feel better and inside of two months I was a well woman and have been ever sinee. “I can eat anything I wisli with pleasure. We eat Grape-Nuts and cream for breakfast and are very fond of it." Name given by Postum Co.. Bat tle Creek, Mich. Bead the little book, "The Itoad to Wellville,” In pkgs. j "There's a reason.” FARM FACTS. I Good farming means more than doing one thing well. It means keeping every department of the farm up to concert pitch. Good fields will produce abund ant crops. Big crops induce liberal feeding, and feeding keeps up the land. The whole scheme works in perfect unison, if one will work sen sibly. A wise merchant instructs his buyers to keep in advance of the de mand for certain lines of goods. While his competitors are discussing whether a certain line will be profitable, he is making hay by creating the demand. The farmer must keep his eyes peeled all the time, to keep just a little ahead of the procession. Over 600 Wisconsin farmers are growing a new variety of barley this year, which they are selling ! to their neighbors for seed at $1.25 per bushel. A few years ago these same farmers were selling all of a certain | variety of oats they could raise at 75 cents a bushel. It is not profitable to winter young stock on coarse hay or fodder. Many 1 seem to think that their stock cattle ought to lay on enough surplus fat during the summer grazing season to carry them over winter. Young cattle may be wintered with very little grain, but they should be fed liberally on good hay and fodder. They should never go bfick, but should hold their own during winter, come out thrifty in the spring and in fine condition to make gains during the summer. It is poor economy to bring calves through the winter on skimp rations. Keep them coming, and j whenever the coarse food will not do it, feed grain. [ DAIRY NOTES.. Good dairymen, even during tha coldest weather, let their cows out in to the yard for water. This, no doubt, is much more satisfactory than water ing in the stables. It does the ani mals good to get out and get a breath of fresh air. Let them go to the wa tering tank and drink all the warm water they want. A good tank heater will keep the w,ater at the right tem perature. On very cold or stormy days, let the cows go back to the stables when they are through drinking, but on pleasant days let them have the run of the yard. Speak gently and leave the big stick outside whenever you enter the dairy barn. Be on good terms with yout* cows. Care for them so that they are always glad to see you. The most successful dairymen tell me they never allow a cross word spoken in hearing) of their cows, and they would not tol erate a hired man who swears at thd cows. Right now is the time to look after the cows which have been giving trou ble in aborting. If good care is given, with nlenty of nourishing food, nature will more than likely do the rest. If the trouble is not too deep-seated this will be all that is necessary; but if the trouble has become chronic, it is a case for a veterinarian. Regularity of feeding is as important in feeding dairy cows as in fattening animals. There should be a regular time for milking. Many fail to observe these things, and with loss to them-i selves. The dairy cow is a very deli cate piece of machinery, and the small est neglect sometimes will throw her out of gear. Is it any wonder that cornfields which have been put into corn for ten or more years without break, are yielding j less every crop now? Just think what i it means to take a crop of fifty bushels of corn off of an acre of ground ten years in succession. It means you ; have removed from that acre of ground about 780 pounds of potash, about 580 pounds of phosphoric acid, in addition to the nitrogen. When your crop yields begin to decrease it shows that the robbery of soil constituents has been too great. Four years ago Professor Moore, o' Wisconsin, secured some seed corn from Kossuth county, la., and began breed ing it up. How well he has succeeded j is best told by the big yields in that state this season. At the experimental farm this new variety of corn yielded 75 bushels of shelled corn per acre. In Walworth county a farmer reports get ting DO bushels per acre. The new variety is called Silver King, or Wis consin No. 7. The milch cow is at her best right af ter calving. If she freshens during the winter months it will recpiire liberal feeding to keep up her body require met as well as to keep up her milk flow. The fresh cow also makes better use of her feed than she will later on. It is claimed that a cow, in her last stage | of lactation, returns only about three- j fourths as much fat for feed consumed | as she did directly after calving. ■ ” This is the way an Indiana farmer found out how much cream he was los ing: He was induced to try a cream separator, and he was allowed to make his own test; he had been using the deep can system. For several days he j raised his cream in the cans, and after skimming would run the milk through | a centrifugal separator. He found .he had been losing about four pounds 'of butter a week. It never pays to bring a sick or dis eased animal on to the farm. When buying a bunch of sheep or calves, it sometimes is necessary to take the tail ings. A poor, healthy animal may come out; but kill or give away any dis eased animal. Sheep buyers especially should watch out for animals afflicted with the foot and mouth disease. During the winter season some have trouble in getting the butter to gather. The trouble comes from churning thin .cream, churning at a low temperature, or churning from cows that have been milking eight or nine months. The thing to do is to raise the temperature of the cream by adding a little warm water. The private customer trade is get ting into the hands of large factories* This has been brought about because customers could not depend upon farm ers to supply them the year around, and for three or four winter months they would have to pay fancy prices and get their supply where they could. A good way to get into the dairy business is to grow into it. Don't un dertake to establish a big dairy until! you get the lay of your ground. Gath er around you cows of good dairy tem perament, study their appetites, learn how to use your foods economically, then just keep on growing. Don't allow a good cow to be spoiled.') Unfinished milking will do it quicker than anything else. During the winter, months, if milking must be done in cold stables or in open sheds, the milker is apt to hurry and not milk clean. That is the easiest and quickest way to kill off a good cow. The man or woman who can make) a gilt edge article of butter, and keep up the grade, will never have to hunt for uesirable customers. The trouble with most of the homo trado is the butter is not uniform in quality and the supply gives out during the winter months. All food consumed by animals over and above that required to support the system goes toward milk or meat pro-! duction. The dairy cow must have those foods which she can convert intoi milk, and liberal feeding is the only kind that pays. One of the fundamental rules of; feedin~ the dairy cow is she should1 never be allowed to lay on fat. When-, ever, through neglect or improper feed ing. she begins to turn her food to, flesh, she is lost as a profitable dairy animal. There are vows in nearly every dairy which will produce upwards of 300 pounds of butter each year, and there are some whole herds where the cows will average 400 pounds of butter a) year. What are your cows doing? Cows are very sensitive to frequent or sudden changes of food. This is be cause the animals may not relish the; new food and consequently will not eati as much as they have been accustomed' to. Instead of buying more cows, cull! out the unprofitable ones and give bet-' ter care to the good ones. Some claim! that any cow that gives less than 5,000! pounds of milk annually is unprofitable. As far as nossible. a cow should be bred so that she will come in about the same time every year. It is also a, good plan to make the lactation period about the same each year. Sometimes buttermaicers are both-* ered with what they call a cheesy taste. This flavor comes from using unclean! vessels and from not working all of the milk out of the butter. Keep the dirt out of your milk palls The profit of dairying depends more than anythin" else upon one thing_ cleanliness. Neglect it and your profit' takes wings. Milk requires pure air just as much in cold weather as in warm, for animal' odors are present at all times and these! should be allowed to escape at once af-1 ter milking. If your cream is off flavor just take) a look around the cow stables. These! should be cleaned out every morning! and evening and plenty of bedding1 used. _ The cow that eats the most is not al-i wuys the most profitable one. The cow! that turns her feed to the best use shows the profit. 1 A nice lot of sweet and bright rhred-i ded corn fodder will go a long wi^s in' keeping up the milk flow, during the' month. The business of the dairy cow is to produce wholesome milk and in pay-! lng quantity. Her surroundings should be health-giving. She should have the’ run of the lots for several hours every] day. ___ Dairymen who figure everything down fine say that a cream separator! will save from one to two pounds of butter per week from each cow over' any other method of getting the cream. The mature brood sows will be the best to bring the early litters. They should have plenty of room and quar-, \ ters will all the sunshine possible. i Cows differ in the churnability of their cream. On the farm when only two or three are kept for family use, they should be as near alike as possible; that is, in the time it takes the cream to rise and the time taken for churning the cream. Another advantage is, the same feed and care will produce similar results. Mrs. C. S., of Story county, refers to a recent article and asks whether there is any way to train a heifer to become a persistent milker. Feed her well and regularly and milk her at least ten or eleven months her first season. Persist ent milkers are made the first year. A hole cut In the ice is hardly an ideal drinking place for the milch cow. The 'watering tank should be handy, where cows can drink at will. Tests show that when cows are compelled to drink ice cold water they fell off from G to 8 per cent, in milk yield. Don't be stingy of the manure. Put plenty on the garden and around the shrubs and small fruit plants. If you have a row of peonies give them heap ing measure. You will be rewarded by a mass of bloom that you cannot get I in any other way. Not every one can raise a good calf | on skim milk. The trouble comes from feeding so as to disturb the digestive system. Feed a little flaxseed with the skim milk. If scours are bad, feed new milk until the trouble is overcome. The dairy cow should be in her prime when from 6 to 8 years old. Yet the best time to buy her Is when she is fresh the first time. Then you can es tablish the habit of keeping up her milk supply through the year. Don't compel the stock hogs to get their entire living from the cattle drop pings In nasty feed yards. Clean out the feed boxes daily and throw the corn which the cattle have rejected out on some clean spot for the hogs. You may skin your farm for a few years, but the day of reckoning will, come after a whlla. <