AFrrm
BY MARY DEVEREUX
•V1TH ILLUSTRATIONS BY DON C. WILSON
.(Topyrrg-A?, /P02, Py / ifffc, Srcwv, *'*J'Company)
04// P/gfits Peter-**/)
CHAPTER VI.
It^ was the night of December 19,
1*93, with a cold storm of wind and
rain making still cosier the living
room of the cottage, where, not far
from the flames of the wood fire that
made more ruddy the neatly kept red
of the brick hearth, Margot sat spin
ning, while Jean, curled up in a b’g
chair opposite, watched idly—as many
times before—her deft fingers smooth
and twist the flax.
"Hast thou heard aught of Langue
doc since we left?” he inquired.
Wondering what new mood had tak
en hold of the boy, that he should
bring up matters of which she had
never ventured to speak, but relieved
as well to feel that she might now im
part to him information she had re
ceived some time before, Margot re
plied, ‘‘Yes. The chateau has been
closed since the month after we left, !
with only Tatro there as keeper; for .
Monsieur Etienne has returned to j
Paris, where he is in high favor with
the Great Committee.”
"Pestel” The word, half sigh and
half hiss, was full of vindictiveness.
“Then the dagger did but slight injury,
after all, for all the rust on its blade,
that would surely have poisoned bet
ter blood, even if the thrust had not
let out life.”
“Jean, Jean, do not speak so! cried
Margot, looking aghast. “Surely thou
couldst never really wish to kill thy
brother! I always claimed that the
act was only because of thy mad
dened brain; and with good cause, as
any one with heart and feeling must
admit.”
“He is no brother of mine!” de
clared the boy, his face kindling into
a fury of rage. “Never you say such
a thing again, Margot. My name i* !
not his, nor is he any kin of Jean La
filte.”
She made no attempt to calm him; !
but her face was troubled as she re
sumed her work. ;
“Hark to the wind—how it pipes! !
Sacre! What a storm!” exclaimed
Pierre, rousing again from his book,
as there came a dash of rain upon the j
windows, while a blast roared over the
cottage and sent a brisk puff down the I
chimney.
“ ’Tis indeed a dreadful storm,” Mar
got agreed, as she now drew her wheel
farther away from the fireplace. “But '
there is one good thing to it.”
"What good can there be in such
a storm as this?” queried Jean, who
was hoping it had not reached far
had come the grief and so_row of tk.3
living, to fill the day witi tears for
the dead: now had come ‘he moans
and cries of the mangled and dying.
In one of the lower rooms of a
small, partially burned house, not far
from the blackened ruins of her own
cottage, lay Margot, who had been
killed while she and the boys were
making preparations for flight to a
place of greater safety.
The three were in the living-room,
where her whirring wheel had filled
the peaceful silence cf the evening be
fore. She had made up the bundle
each one was to carry (taking pains
that Jean should conceal upon his per
son the money intrusted to her by the
baron), when a large piece of shell
tore its way into the room and entered
her breast, killing her instantly.
Scarcely had the boys realized this
when they found the cottage to be on
fire over their heads. But they had
time to half carry, half-drag Margot’s
body to the street, and thence to the
house where it now lay, stretched
upon a rough btnch and covered by a
blanket, in this bare room, filled with
men, women and children whom fire
had rendered homeless during the j
night.
Outside, before the house, stood a
file of soldiers in the uniform ot the '
Revolutionary troops, at whom the !
homeless ones within stared appre- !
hensively, as the sergeant in command
stood listening to a woman who had
guided him and his men to their pres
ent halting-place.
“In there you will find them.” she
said, in a dull, apathetic way, pointing
to the door: "and with them is the
deau body of their mother, or w hoever I
she was.”
The sergeant thanked her; and,
after bidding his soldiers to stand
wnere they were, he went alone into
the house, the wrretched occupants of
which shrank away from him.
The bench upon which lay Margot
stood in a far corner of the room; and
near it. on the floor, Jean was
stretched asleep, with Pierre seated
beside him. his arms across his drawn
up knees, and his head sunk upon
them.
He. too. appeared to be sleeping.
But at the sound of the soldier's voice
he raised his head to look at him,
while a sullen light of grief showed
for an instant in his heavy eyes. This,
however, softened into recognition, as
he heard the kindly tone and words.
“Ah, Pierre, I am glad to have found
you!”
r *
“Pizarro!—my Pizarrol19 he cried, springing forward.
enough westward to affect the comfort
of her whose beautiful face was so
often in his thoughts.
“It will put a stop to the bloodshed
— for a time at least. The best and
bravest soldiers would scarce think to
fight in such weather as this.” replied
Margot, showing rare ignorance of
facts.
“Little would they heed, so that it
did not wet their powder,” asserted
Jean, assuming an air of superior wis
dom.
She looked at him thoughtfully for
a moment before she said, in a voice
whose yearning seemed tinged with
hope, “If thou'lt grow up to be a good
man. Jean, thou’lt some day make a
brave soldier.”
“One can be brave without being
good.” answered the boy, his natural
waywardness asserting itself, although
he met her earnest eyes smilingly.
“Your little colonel, whom we all
love—he has the bravery I mean.
Surely thou must own ’tis well to be
such a man,” she insisted.
“Aye.” the boy said with a defiant
•mile; “but I will be more like I^aro.”
“Laro!” Margot repealed, her pa
tience novr giving place to anger. “The
saints keep us from living to see thee
grow to be such a villain as Laro!
Dost know, Jeat these days it seems
to me tluviTt like a soul between
Heaven and Hell. The man we all
love is thy good angel—Laro is thy
bad one; and betwixt the two art thou
this night. I feel ’tis for thee to say
which of them shall lead thee to thy
future.”
“Never mind Laro to-night,” he re
plied. stroking her cheek lovingly.
"Ha It now lar-off over the seas, and
may never again see France nor I
see him.”
“I would he happier if I were certain
of that,” she said, taking up the candle
which was to light them to their cham
bers above.
They parted as usual for the night,
.ittle thinking that this was to be the
fast of earth’s nights for one of them.
• •••••
It was the next morning—the morn
ing after the flameiit, awful night that
witnessed the capture of Toulon by
the Revolutionists.
There is no need to repeat the story
which history has told of its horrors;
of the bombardment and assault; of
the unspeakable woe that was visited
npon those shut up within the doomed
city. The night was past; and now
It was Murier who said this; and
his dark face was full of pity as, after j
glancing at the bench, he added, “I
have been sent here to find you,
and—”
He stopped; for Jean, now awake
sat up and stared at him.
“Good morning, young m’sieur. And j
I regret 'tis so truly other than a good I
morning,” said Murier, nodding, and !
smiling grimly, as he looked down into
the white face and dark-circled eyes.
Jean, making no reply, rose to his
feet, staggering as he did so.
‘‘Are you hurt, young m’sieur?” In
quired the soldier anxiously. “Or
either of you injured in any way?”
And he turned to Pierre, who also
had risen, and stood nearest him.
“Hurt?” repeated the peasant lad.
“Aye, most sorely—in our hearts.”
With this he drew’ the cover from
what lay upon the bench.
“Poor dame!” muttered Murier, his
eyes resting upon the calm white face.
“The devil himself was unchained last
night; and he spared neither the
strong nor the weak. Poor dame—the
saints rest her kind soul!”
Jean, appearing to disregard what
was happening about him, had been '
staring dully through the open door;
and Murier, noticed that he shivered,
touched him upon the arm to attract
his attention.
“Young m’sieur”—and the soldier
now spoke more briskly—"you are to
come with me. My colonel has or
dered that you be brought to him.”
Jean glanced at Mnrier; then his
eyes again sought the open door as he
said slowly, “Pierre (ad I are going to
Pere Huot. We aie going to take
Margot to his hous*.”
“Aye; that is where I am ordered to
take you,” was the sergeant's quick
reply. “And Pierve also is to come.”
He was moving toward the doorway,
when the same woman who had guid
ed him to the house came forward
with a cup of coffee, which she offered
silently to Jean, while an expression
of deep commiseration showed in her
haggard face.
But the boy motioned her away as
he exclaimed, turning to Murier, “I
will not go without Margot!”
“Surely not, young m’sieur,” the
soldier assented. “Some of my men
shall make a stretcher, ard bring the
good dame after us.”
He had, while speaking, dr\wn Jean
to the door and out of leaving
Pierre to fellow with tlie soldiers who
were to construct a litter, and bear
Margot's body to the convent of St.
Sulpice, which was now Pere Huot's
home.
It Is not necessary to describe what
Jean and Murier saw as they picked
their way through the streets, some of
them half-filled wTith debris, and all cf
them bearing witness to the horrors of
the nis*ht before.
Jean was silent, with white face,
and stony eyes that stared vacantly
ahead, while the soldier held his arm
in a close grasp, and occasionally ut
teved a few cheering w’ords, to which
the hoy seemed to pay no heed.
And so they went slowly along, nn
til. in a narrow street, which was com
I aratively free from evidences of tht
assault, the two paused before tlu
heavy, iron-studded door of a gloomy
looking stone building, whose ivy-hung
windows were not much wider tbaD
the loop holes of a fortress.
Murier lifted the ponderous brass
knocker, to let it fall with a peremp
tory clang; and a few moments after i
ward the door was opened cautiously
while through its crack a single eye,
under a shaggy brow, scrutinized him
with manifest suspicion.
“Open up, Martin. ’Tis I, with the
young m'sieur for whom oir colone.
sent me,” said Murier, pushing
through the doorway, and drawing
Jc-an alter him.
They were in a stone-paved, walled
and ceiled passage, along which
Murier led the boy until they reached
the entrance to a large apartment;
and here, without a word, the soldiei
left him.
As Jean stood upon the threshold of
the dimly lit room—as he stood lean
ing against the side of the doorway
his eyes downcast, and the sound as
of roaring waters in his ears, he
heard, even through this, Pere Huot>
familiar voice ‘saying. "Thank our
Holy Mother, my son, that I see thee
safe and lyiharmed, after this awful
night.” Tllen a tremulous hand was
laid tenderly upon his bowed head.
A murmuring of other voices came
to him; and one of them stirred Jean's
benumbed senses strangely, half-delir
ious as he was from all he had suffer
ed and seen.
Lifting his eyes, he saw before him
a face which seemed to have shaped
itself from out the drifting haee. li
was thin and careworn, with tumbled
locks falling over the pale forehead;
and the gray-blue eyes were bent upon i
turn with a sympathy which aroused !
all his swooning faculties.
"Pizarro—my Fizarro!” he cried
springing forward; and the cry was I
lost in a gasping sob, as he fell sense '
less upon the breast of Bonaparte
whose arms went around the limp
form as though to shield it from fur
th^r harm.
(To be continued.)
Paradise Found.
Little Willie's father, being a kina
man, had taken him to the circus. It i
was the child's first experience, and |
with his eyes bulging he watched the -
performers as they made "the grand j
entrance.” His little hand stole into j
his father's as he moved as closely
as he could to his progenitor’s side
The circus music rang in his ears, hall
bewildering him. He saw the clowns
go through wonderful antics and holt
his breath when the tumblers rusLec
forth to turn flipflaps high in the aii
over herds of elephants. He saw thf
trapeze performers, in dazzling tights
as they did their wonderful turns higl
in the air, and he gasped, clutchint i
at his father's hand, as if to thus prc
tect the daring one from going dow»
to destruction. Then came suddenf.
upon the scene a milk-white steed, ant
sitting upon his broad back was f
smiling, beautiful creature, all in pinl
and ivory and fluffs. She was kissing
her hands to the people, the banc
having suddenly switched to a soul
stirring air, that added to the unreal
ity of it all. The ringmaster sair
something, then he snapped his whip
and the one in pink and ivory ant
fluffs stood upon the toes of one foot
on the .back of the milk-white charge!
and seemed about to float away. Lit
tie Willie excitedly rose, and, placing
his lips near his father's ear, asked: j
“Papa, is she an angel?”
Valuable Queen Bees.
Just as there are valuable strains
in horses, cattle and other stock, so
there are varieties of queen bees
which are worth many hundred times
their weight in gold. The most val
uable strain is the Italian, and many
Italian bee farmers demand and re
ceive without question prices ranging
from $50 to $200 for a single queen
bee of a certain kind. Such bees are
sent all- over the world. The owner
of a bee farm near Ottawa, Canada,
goes to Europe annually and bring?
back with him bees of an aggregate
value of thousand^ of pounds. He i«
enabled through the agency of an Ital
ian firm to effect an insurance upon
the most valuable of his queens.
This bee farmer has many strange
experiences in connecting with the as
sistants he is obliged to engage. O)
course all bee keepers must submit tc
a certain amount of stinging. But tr
some cases the poison in the stinr
acts directly upon the assistants anr
makes them alarmingly ill. Others art
immune, though stung hundreds o'
times. Bee farmers are often appliec
to by persons suffering from rheuma
tism who wish to place themselves ir
the way of being stung. And, strangt
as it may seem, the virus of the bet
sting does often act as a cure to per
sons suffering from serious attacks o)
rheumatism.
Cured by Life in Open Air.
J. D. Smith, ex-commodore of tl*e
New York Yacht club and a million
aire resident of the eastern metropo
lis, has effected a remarkable cure of
what was believed to be fatal illness.
Early last spring Mr. Smith, who is
7o years old, was taken ill with a
complication of gout* and Bright's dis
ease. By the month of June he had
lost flesh until he was a mere skele
ton. Then he insisted on being taken
on board his yacht, on the de«k of
which he had a special hammock
rigged. In this he lay all summer,
day and night. About the middle of
August he began to improve and hae
continued to mend ever since. He is
dow hearty once more and attributes
his recovery entire’.- to life in *bc
open air.
Prosperity in Small Farms.
We have become quite familiar
with the term "agricultural depres
sion in England.’’ It has been a com
mon text for writers and speakers on
both sides of the water. The ques- j
tion has been why should an agricul
tural depression exist in England
when it did not exist in France and
other European countries. Along with
agricultural depression has come ag
ricultural depopulation, the people in
the rural districts finding it impos
sible to make a good living have
moved to the cities and there de
pended on day’s work to give them
enough to subsist on. Mr. Joseph G.
Stephens, United States consul at
Plymouth, England, reports to the
United States government that "small
farm holdings are now considered the
best remedy for agricultural depopu
lation. Many papers still argue, how
ever, that it is a delusion, and will
not work in practice. Where it has
been tried it has been successful, and
it is strange that so few estates
should be cut up. When a large farm
is divided into small holdings the de
mand for the land usually far exceeds
the supply. This has been the experi
ence in Dorset, Wilts, Suffolk, Norfolk,
Lincoln and Surrey counties. Men
are willing to remain in the country
if they have the satisfaction of work
ing on land which is their own, or
is held on a secure tenure. This is
at present far from the case, and thou
sands of acres go oul of cultivation
and multitudes hurry off to foreign
ands to obtain the opportunity denied
chem in their own.”
The small farm is everywhere the
salvation of the country, where the
agricultural conditions are such as
to make the small farm possible. On
great areas of poor land or on rich
lands that have a very insignificant
rainfall, of course extensive opera
tions have to be carried on. But most
of the land in countries with rich
soil and abundant rainfall is of a
character that makes the small farm
easily possible. Americans should
take a lesson from England and
should do all in their power to encour
age the breaking up of large farms.
The man that adds farm to farm for
his own glory and that he may dwell
alone in the midst of the land is not
a public benefactor.
Our land is never intensively farmed
under extensive operations. The man
with tens of thousands of acres de
pends on doing work on an immense
scale and almost always the ground is
aot made to yield the returns it
should. No man will work as hard for
another as he will work for himself,
and when the land is filled with men
working for themselves the land
brings forth larger crops than it does
at any other time.
The more small farms there are the
more independent farmers we will
have and the more they will be in
terested in the welfare of the rural
.nhabitants. Big farms employ hired
men, and these never feel themselves
o be fixtures even if they are re
gained on the same farm for many
years. Their independence of action
is destroyed. They cannot take hold
of public affairs as they would do if
they owned their own farms and were
uot under the dictation of other men.
When Banks Cave In.
A large number of farmers have
trouble with the parts of their farms
that border on rivers. Whenever there
are heavy rains the banks along the
rivers and large streams cave in, and
on some farms the area of the most
valuable fields is being constantly re
stricted by this process. The schemes
tried for preventing this are numer
ous and quite generally unsuccessful.
Where stones are thrown in they soon
disappear in the mud, if it is of the
nature of soft clay. Grass seed sown
on the steep banks fails to take root.
If it be quack grass it may gain a
.oothold, but it thence spreads over
the farm and becomes a nuisance.
Brush when thrown in may theck the
wasting away if there be enough of it,
but it is difficult to haul in a sufficient
quantity to be effective.
vjiuwmg wuiows seems to be the
most effective method of checking the
wasting of the land. No matter how
steep the land, me willow can be
made to grow. The mere sucking in
of the willow twigs is not enough.
They may be swamped in the mud
that falls from the disintegrating
bank. The willow rods must be long
enough and numerous enough to be
made into a sort of great shield by
the use of barbed wire.
The willow is admirably adapted to
this work, as it so readily reproduces
itself by means of cuttings, sprouts
and suckers, as well as seeds. Where
the bank is steep, willow poles should
be cut not less than twenty feet in
length. These can be laid up and
down the bank, and fence wire stapled
to them. If necessary some wire may
be run up over the top of the bank
and fastened to stakes driven in the
ground back too far to be affected by
the cave-ins. If there.are any further
breakings away of the earth they will
but make soil about the joints of the
willows and will become rooting
places for the new growths. The wil*
low poles will be held together by the
wire till the willow trees have become
’»ell started, when tney will be no
longer needed.
The rows of willows are far more
sightly than are the ragged banks.
Besides, in a dozen years or so the
wood from these growths will have
become valuable.
Clean Up the Melon Field.
Where melon fields have been at
tacked by melon lice or other insects
all the vines and rubbish in the field
should be burned this fall. A thor
ough cleaning up is imperative. This
should Include the cutting and burn
ing of any weeds that may be found
about the place. We can do a great
deal to prevent such attacks by des
troying the harboring places of the
insects.
Corn intended for seed should not
be placed at once in a warm room, but
should be dried out for some weeks
in a cool place where the air can
freely circulate.
Starting the Cherry Orchard.
Mr. A. D. Barnes, in an address,
said: Do not make the mistake of
having cherry trees grow from sprouts
on their own roots. Often the Morello
sprouts so that the grower will give
them away for the digging. Better
pay a fair price and get good stock.
I find that cherries will bear more
fruit if planted close in quite a large
patch or plantation. I believe there
is as much profit and pleasure in
cherries as there is in any fruit that
can be grown. I have trees planted
fifteen years, and at least ninety per
cent are still there in good condition,
and that speaks well for the cherry.
I would by all means plant the cherry
very early in the spring: it is even
well to prepare the holes in the fall
so as to get them in early. I believe
in planting quite a quantity of them
so one will fertilize the other. While
I think they are all staminate blos
soms. I think they will yield a better
crop if planted in that way, and it is
also a protection against storms, and
you will not feed so many to the birds
if you have two hundred trees instead
of one hundred. If you plant a good
many trees, you will have enough
cherries for yourself and some for
the boys.
Pick Off the Bag Worms.
The trees are beginning to get bare
and it will soon be easy to pick off
the bag worms. The cocoons will be
found on many kinds of fruit and
shade trees. They vary in length
from one to two inches, and are sus
pended by one corner to the smaller
branches of the trees. Each of the
larger cocoons contains during the
winter a large number of eggs. If
these cocoons remain on the trees
till spring a multitude of worms will
■ l>fwwn» at (a. b. c) mcc***:** rtafoaf |Wj isi
U|, 4. female bag—natural um tarlftaai).
hatch out and at once proceed to
strip the trees of their leaves. To
kill them at that time is very difficult,
as they are scattered in their work
of denuding the trees. The cocoons
taken from the trees should not be
thrown on the ground. They should
be burned or in some other way en
tirely destroyed. If there are cedar
trees in the neighborhood they should
be also searched for the bag worms.
The cedar is a favorite tree with
these insects and sometimes they mul
tiply greatly in trees of this kind
before they are discovered.
Nut-Bearing Trees.
Most of our people take little inter
est in the growing of nuts, and it is
rather remarkable that in the light
of this we should still have the
amount of nuts on the market we do
—nuts sufficient to supply the de
mands of a large population. But
with the increase of population we
must expect to see the demand for
nuts increase. That there will al
ways be a good market for nuts is
without controversy. An increase in
the price is not going to stimulate
production to the point where there
will be an over-supply. It takes too
many years to bring a nut tree to
the point of bearing for us ever to
have a very great over-supply.
But just at this time the question
of reforesting many plots on the farm
is being considered. Why not plant
groves of nut trees as well as other
kinds of trees. The woods of some
nut trees are quite valuable. The
planter will have the satisfaction of
seeing a grove of beautiful trees
growing up on his farm and may live
to reap the fruit of them. Where
single trees are to be planted in pas
tures it will be hard to And trees
more suitable than some of those that
bear nuts.
Root Rot of Apple Trees.
In some of the Western states root
rot Is becoming a great source of an
noyance to the orchardists. It is found
quite generally in orchards over five
years of age and even in some
younger ones. The disease is, how
ever, of more frequent occurrence in
new land than in old. The disease is
most to be met with on poorly drained
land, though it is found more or less
on any kind of land. The disease is
not a product of the apple orchards
but exists in our native forests.
Thence it spreads to the apple
orchards. This is a very important
reason for not setting apple orchards
on recently cleared land. That the
disease is highly contagious is shown
by the fact that it will attack an
apple tree and spread from it in all
directions killing every tree it
touches. The best remedy is to re
move and burn infected trees, not put
ting other trees where the old ones
have been. It takes at least three
years for the disease germs to die out.
New Diseases Develop.
We have a development among
fruits and vegetables, and we regard
as quite remarkable the changes we
are able to make in certain things.
That there is a development in the
character and form of the fungi that
form the bases of our diseases seems
quite certain. This is a point we have
not generally considered and seem un
able to guard against. There are
numerous fungi that are known to be
harmless. Last year a form of fungus
caused rot among apples in Western
New York. This fungus had always
been considered harmless. A report
was made to the experiment stations
on the disastrous effect of this fun
gous disease. Whether it will spread
to other parts of the country we can
not be sure. At present the danger
of this does not seem to be great
improving tne breeds.
The breeds that now exist must
be improved largely by the common
farmer if they are to be improved at
all. They are now out of the hands
of the fanciers and they can therefore
receive no more development from
them, except so far as the fanciers
can induce the general public to pur
chase the high quality birds they are
producing for breeders. Every breed
was brought to its present perfection
by selection, and this process should
be kept up that the breeds may not
deteriorate, but may continue to im
prove. There is room for improve
ment in every breed. If left to them
selves all breeds tend to deteriorate,
because inferior birds are being con
stantly produced, and if used as
breeders they will help the work of
reversion. It must be remembered
that all that is good in the breeds is
artificial. It would take a long time
for some of our breeds to go back to
the primeval form if they were left
alone and kept pure, but it would
take less time if they were allowed
to mingle freely with all other kinds
of poultry. In the barnyards of most
of our farmers there is little effort
made to keep the fowls from mixing.
The result is that from year to year
the standard becomes less reliable,
and the type more and more indistinct.
When a farmer has pure bred birds
he should keep them oure and select
from them every year the birds tba
are nearest the required type.
Portable Poultry Houses.
At the Illinois State Fair there wa*
one exhibit that was very suggestive.
It was of a portable poultry house,
large enough to be used for camping
out in if its use for a poultry house
should be at any time discontinued.
Adjustable and portable poultry
houses have long been advertised by
English agricultural papers, and it
has been a wonder why the industry
did not manifest itself on this side of
the water. Any man can make an
adjustable poultry house of his own.
It is only necessary that each part be
complete by itself and that it be per
fectly fitted to the adjoining parts.
The fault with some such construc
tions is that they are rickety. This is
a fault that can be easily cured. The
join‘s should be perfect and the parts
should overlap enough to prevent
drafts in winter time. We can con
ceive of a portable house being so
badly made that the poultry would be
exposed to drafts constantly through
out the winter.
The advantages of portable poultry
houses are many, especially for ten
ants. There are many people that
wish to keep poultry, but they do not
care to construct a poultry house to
be . ft on the place when they move.
The portable poultry house can be
quickiy taken to pieces and it makes
the least possible bulk when placed on
a wagon. Whoever builds such a
house should make himself patterns
beforehand that he may avoid mis
takes in the construction.
Eggs in Winter.
Some writer has said that if eggs
could always be produced as abund
antly in winter as in summer poultry
would always be profitable. It is hard
to agree with the statement. If eggs
were naturally as abundant in win
ter as in summer there would be no
reason for high prices in winter. The
reason why eggs are high is because
they are scarce. But for the good
of the poultry industry and of the gen- :
eral public eggs should be produced
about equally in all the months of the
year. The average price might be a
little higher but the buyer would have
a compensation in the fact that his
eggs would always be fresh. Doubt
less the time will come when fowls
will produce eggs abundantly in the
winter, but it will be after a multitude
of men learn how to take care of
fowls properly. As it is, fowls are so
generally neglected that Nature takes
her course. Most fowls, no matter
how neglected, will produce eggs in
the summer time, but cannot be de
pended on to do the same in the win
ter time. This proves that it is a
matter of care only and management.
For the present the man or woman
that will so care for their poultry and
so manage them that the bulk of the
eggs will be produced during the time
when eggs are high in price will be
making a large profit for themselves.
Poultry House Floors.
It is much easier to build good walls
to a poultry house than it is to build
a floor that will be satisfactory. A
good many people try to get along
with earth floors. These, however,
have the great detriment of being
damp, especially in cold weather. As
a result of damp floors come rheu
matism, colds, roup and digestive dis
orders. Cement floors also develop
more or less dampness. This damp
ness, however, might be obviated by
laying the cement on a thick layer of
broken stone. Generally our builders
get back to the board floors raised a
short distance, say a foot, above the
earth. If it is desired {o make this
particularly good it should be double
with tarred paper between. In the
use of boards for flooring it should
be seen that the ventilation is good
and that the floor is not approachable
by rats. If the rats cannot get a foot
hold they cannot gnaw a hole througf
the floor.
Help the Creameryman.
The creameryman and the cheese
maker are bound up with the men
that furnish them with milk more
than is the ordinary manufacturer
with the man that provides him with
raw material. The patron should
feel It his duty to help the creamery
man in every way he can; for in so
doing he is helping himself. Let him
consider that the creameryman and
the cheesemaker would like to have a
greatly increased volume of milk. He
can afford to do some agitating in this
line for the greater the volume of
milk the less will be the cost of mak
ing butter and cheese from it. The
man that furnishes only cream should
take unusual care to see that the
cream is in perfect shape when it
goes in to the hand of the man that
is to make it into butter.
Had Learned to Save.
father Halloa, where did you get
all those toys?
*^on I bought 'em with the money
! jou gave me.
father But I gave you that money
to teach you how to save.
Son Tes, pa; I keut it for three
weeks, until I learned all about sav
ing, and now I am learning tow to
shop.—Stray Stories.
Sarcasm.
“TV hv, John,’’ said Subbtibs, return
ing from a month's vacation, “the
lawn is all dried up.”
Can’t understand it, sir,” replied
the lazy caretaker; “I worked hard
on it all the time you was gone.”
“Ah! You shouldn't work so hard.
Ton probably ran the lawn mower
over it so vigorously that you
scorched it.”
Couldn't Touch Him.
The Golfer—Are you laughing at
me, boy, because I missed tho ball
again.
The Caddy—No, I was Just thinkln'
what a cinch it wTould be to be your
bad little boy.—Philadelphia Tele
graph.
Before and After Taking.
Askitt—Say, do you believe it is
possible for two people to live as
cheaply as one?
Knoitt—After leading all the statis
tics I could find on the subject before
I married I was convinced that they
could, but—
Askitt—Well?
Knoitt—After I had been married
three months I lost all faith in statis
tics.
Only One He Ever Had.
“Does your coachman have any
perquisites?” asked Mrs. Oldcastle.
“He had one once,” replied her
hostess, “but the doctor said it was
brought on by being out too long in
the hot sun. My! I don’t know
what I’d do with a person around
me that had them regularly.”—New
York Herald.
Sizing Him Up.
“Pon my honor!” complained HI
Tragerdy, with an air of great dis
gust, “that railroad is positively atro
cious. It took me thirty-two hours to
come from Chicago.”
\ “What are you talking about?" de
manded Lowe Comerdy. “That’s
mighty good time for a freight train.*1
Plain Everyday Fellow.
“I am really and sincerely proud ol
the common people,” said Mr. Pomp
ous. “I am fond of the plain every'
day fellow who can never hope to bs
great. Call it Quixotism, it
wish—”
“Oh. I wouldn't say that,” interrupt
ed Peppery. “I’d call it egotism.”
Laid It to the Sermon.
Rip Van Winkle wakened rather
flustered from his .twenty years
sleep.
“Yes—yes,” he muttered hastily,
“the sermon was very fine.
Perceiving, however, that he was
not in church in time, he tottered
down the hill.
A False Alarm.
hoi tty
m •*.■$!
I
Hotel Guest—What’s that, boyf
Bell Boy—A clean towel, air.
Hotel Guest—Oh! all right. I
thought it was some reporter sending
up his card.
Some Relief in the Situation.
“DeVt you sometimes feel discour
iged about our political system?"
‘‘No,’* answered Farmer Corntossel.
‘I kind o’ like it. It’s a great relief
co hare a man come around shakin*
your hand an’ tellin’ you stories with
out tryin’ to sell you books or lighten’
rods."
Good Definition.
Little Willie—“Say, pa, what is oon
ceit?”
Pa—“Conceit, my son, is the seif,
esteem belonging to our neigh bora ”
A Bachelor’s Guess.
"There is a boy in London who can
understand three different languages.'*
“What are they, baby talk, grandma
alk, and English?”