JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT
[Illustration: Janet lifted the dish while Natalie and the other girls
led Susy by the tether-rope to a shady spot.]
JANET: A Stock-Farm Scout
By LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
Author of
“Natalie: A Garden Scout,” “Norma: A Flower Scout,”
“The Blue Birds Series,” “The Five Little Starrs Series.”
Endorsed by and Published with the Approval of
NATIONAL GIRL SCOUTS
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers—New York
Printed in U. S. A.
The Girl Scouts
Country Life Series
A SERIES OF STORIES FOR GIRLS
By LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY
NATALIE: A GARDEN SCOUT
JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT
NORMA: A FLOWER SCOUT
Copyright, 1925
By A. L. BURT COMPANY
JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT
Made in “U. S. A.”
CONTENTS
I. Janet’s Arrival at Green Hill
II. Janet Tries Carpentry
III. Trials of a Stock-farmer
IV. Tenderfoot Scouts of Solomon’s Seal Troop
V. The Poultry Go on Strike
VI. Janet Receives Encouragement
VII. The Fortune in Keeping a Cow
VIII. An Animal Hunt
IX. Tells of Bees and Bugs
X. Janet Adds to Her Stock Family
XI. Breaking the Tenth Commandment
XII. Susy’s Complaint
XIII. Frances Rebels
XIV. Sorrows of a Stock Scout
JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT
CHAPTER I
JANET’S ARRIVAL AT GREEN HILL
The local train from Grand Central station, bound for Four Corners, a
flag station on the Harlem Division of the New York Central, carried a
very busy young passenger one Saturday morning in June. The passenger
was Janet Wardell and her work consisted of studying the first few
written pages of a brand new diary. Although her eyes would often gaze
with interest at the lovely country scenery to be seen from the car
windows, Janet found an irresistible attraction in the writing before
her.
Finally, however, Janet sighed and opened her suitcase to slip the
diary into it, but read once more what she had inscribed.
“Last Night. Helene gave me this lovely diary last night and told me
to be sure and jot down everything that might happen at Green Hill
Farm this summer. It’s too bad Helene could not join us in our new
Scout work, but Mother said we five girls would be quite enough
trouble for poor Jimmy to chaperone; besides, Mother thinks Helene is
too young to join a Scout Troop, but she will see about starting her
with the Scout Brownies at once.
“Helene said, last night, that next to being one of our party on the
farm, the story of all we do this summer, faithfully recorded by me in
this book, will be best. So I solemnly agreed to keep tabs on the
least thing we did—this is why I am writing now.
“Not only will Helene enjoy reading the diary after I go home, this
fall, but we girls will have many a merry evening as we sit together
reviewing our weeks on the farm. I just know there will be lots of
excitement for us, and bushels of fun, every day.
“I suppose I really ought to begin the regular entries in the diary by
dating them as I go along—but the dates ready-made are too limited to
say all I will have to tell, so I’d better make my own. So now I’ll
begin with to-day.
“Saturday. I had a dreadful time this morning trying to get away from
the house in time to catch this train, because Frances Lowden, Belle
Barlow and Norma Evaston talked and talked over the telephone until I
had to tell them right out, that I would hang up if they didn’t say
good bye. Belle laughed and said something I did not hear because I
was handing the receiver to Mother to end the good byes for me.
“When we got to Grand Central station, what do you think? There were
those girls waiting for me, laughing and rushing for me, and keeping
me from getting my ticket. Thank goodness, the guard at the gate
refused to pass them through to see me off, so they had to stand at
one side and watch me go down the platform. I wasn’t any too soon for
the train, either, for I had no sooner found a seat than the guard
gave the signal and we started.
“I am looking at the country we are passing through and I think it is
very pretty, indeed, but not as lovely as the country around Green
Hill Farm.”
Janet dropped the diary inside the suitcase and was about to close the
case when she remembered an item she wished to inscribe. The diary was
removed again and the fountain-pen cap was unscrewed.
“I wish to say that I haven’t the slightest idea of doing a thing all
summer but just sleep, and read, and lounge about in the hammock
Mother is sending out to the farm. Natalie wrote me all about her
vegetable venture, but she needn’t think I’m going to help. Not much!
I’m too tired after the exams at school, and I’m going in for the rest
cure!”
This time, Janet closed the suitcase upon the tempting diary and gave
her entire attention to the views of the country. She had not much
time to spend in this way before the guard on the train called out
“Four Corners!”
Janet hurriedly gathered her baggage and left the car to find Natalie
and Mrs. James eagerly awaiting her. While the two girls are engrossed
with telling each other all that had happened since last they had seen
each other, let us introduce Natalie to any reader who has not read
about her in the first book of the Girl Scout Country Life Series.
Natalie Averill, a delicate city girl of about thirteen, had been
orphaned a short time before the story opened. Mrs. James, lovingly
nicknamed “Jimmy” by Natalie and her chums, acted as a friend and
chaperone to the forlorn girl; and Rachel, who had been the cook in
Mrs. Averill’s service for many years, remained to see Natalie through
her experience of trouble. As Rachel declared to Mr. Marvin, the
family lawyer: “Does you-all t’ink dis chile goin’ to go back on her
Honey-babe now dat she ain’t got no money like-as-we-all figgered Mr.
Averill done goin’ to leab her? No, sah, not Rachel!”
Thus it happened that not only Natalie and Mrs. James, but Rachel, as
well, went to Green Hill Farm to live and get ready for the coming of
the four girl-boarders who were expected immediately after the closing
of High School in the city. So that Saturday, when Amity Ketchum drove
his old surrey up to the side porch of the farm house, Rachel bustled
from the dining room door and held out her fat hands to Janet in
hearty welcome. “Jus’ in time, Honey, fer some of my famous tarts fer
lunch! Come right on in!”
Saturday noon. Just finished luncheon with Nat and Jimmy. I never saw
such a wonderful change in anyone as has taken place in Natalie since
she came to Green Hill. Maybe it is due to her work in a garden, or it
may be the country life and fine air, or it may be a number of good
things combined, but whatever may be the cause, the effect is most
astonishing. Natalie not only looks as happy and healthy as any one
could wish, but also, she is changed from the morbid, pessimistic girl
I knew in New York City to a joyous, optimistic worker. She says it is
her garden that gave her an interest in living again.
Saturday, after luncheon. Natalie took me to see her vegetable garden.
I didn’t see much, but I dared not say so. There were a lot of wilty
looking little green slips which Nat said were lettuce, radishes and
other truck that Farmer Ames discarded and she had gathered in. Sort
of an asylum for undesired plants, thought I. But Jimmy assured me
that these same tired-looking sprigs of green would soon be delicious
things to eat. I have to believe it because Mrs. James said it. I am
writing this, now, since Nat remained in the garden to root out
several imaginary weeds, and I came back to the house with Jimmy.
Saturday, two P. M. Natalie came in a short time ago and immediately
began dilating on a plan she had thought out for me, while she weeded
the garden. She declared that I ought to start a stock farm and raise
a few pigs and chickens. She explained that there would be plenty of
table leavings as soon as the other girls arrive and the Scouts of
Solomon Seal Camp might save their garbage for me, too. When I said
that I never cared for garbage, Jimmy laughed and explained that Nat
meant it for the pigs.
Then I replied that I never thought pigs lived on garbage; Natalie
seemed amazed at my ignorance. But it soon developed that she had just
learned it from Farmer Ames, who raises hogs for sale, every year.
Jimmy (that’s Mrs. James, you know) now said that Natalie’s plan might
be a good one, as there was not enough garden work to do to keep two
of us busy, and Rachel needed lots of eggs. She suggested that I sell
the eggs my chickens laid; thus making them pay for themselves. Sounds
rather ungenerous of one, I think—coop the hens up, feed them with
scraps, and then coax them to lay eggs that one might sell to pay for
the cost of them. Jimmy also added that the Scouts might buy eggs from
me.
Then Natalie proposed a walk to the barnyard to see if the chicken
yards were fit to use. The fence is down and the coops need repairing,
but that looks easy to do. We then looked for a likely place for a pig
pen in case I decided to try the plan. Jimmy showed us the spot she
would choose if she was going to keep pigs. The more I think of the
scheme, the more it appeals to me.
On our way back to the house, Natalie became enthusiastic on the
subject and said that later on I might add a cow to my other pets and
sell the milk to the Scouts at camp, and to Rachel for the house use.
That made me laugh! I jeered: “Can you see me trying to milk an
obstreperous cow and being kicked over the fence into that ten-acre
lot?”
While Nat and I laughed at this, Jimmy mentioned something about
butter or butt her, but her words were rather ambiguous.
Saturday evening. At supper, this evening, Jimmy, Nat and I talked
seriously of the idea of my starting a farm yard with enough stock to
give me an interest in farm life and at the same time give both the
Scout Camp and our house all the fresh eggs, milk and butter needed
during the summer at prevailing prices. As Jimmy said: “There’s a
ready-made farm yard and barns for you with no rent to pay, and a
field of free grass adjoining the barn yard, where your stock can roam
and graze.” Natalie then told me about the cute little pigs Farmer
Ames’s brother had for sale, and the many chickens Farmer Ames had for
sale. It sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?
Sunday. We visited Solomon’s Seal Camp today, and had a very
interesting time. Miss Mason’s scouts certainly are clever in their
woodcraft knowledge and work. I never knew before that you could make
a fire with but two sticks. Nor did I dream that you could cook in
vessels made of wildwood material alone. One of the scouts told about
the various mushrooms, good for food; and of wild potatoes; of a plant
that produces greens exactly like spinach, and another plant that
tastes like Brussels sprouts when boiled. It was extremely
interesting, and I feel that this scout work is going to be more fun
than labor.
After we got back to the house, Natalie and I planned to enlist
several of the girls of Four Corners in a drive to start a second
Patrol of Solomon’s Seal Scouts. Miss Mason said, this afternoon, that
she was eager to charter as a Troop with the organization
headquarters, and that our founding another Patrol would help her out
immediately. When Belle, Norma and Frances get her from the City,
there will be five of us girls; with three or four more we can surely
count on from Four Corners we shall have enough to start Patrol Number
Two of Miss Mason’s Troop.
Miss Mason is Captain of her Scouts, but she suggested this afternoon,
that Jimmy ought to be the Lieutenant of the Troop. They have a
splendid Leader of their Scouts, but they proposed me as Corporal of
the Troop, when it is chartered by headquarters. I felt flattered by
the selection, but replied that I thought Natalie was the logical one
to choose. She declared that no one was as capable of taking things
into their own hands as I—that is why the honor was presented to me. I
think I’d like to be a Scout Corporal.
Sunday evening. We decided to stop Farmer Ames when he drives past, in
the morning, and ask him to take us as far as Four Corners with him.
We are going there to ask two girls to join a new Patrol at once;
after that we’re going to Mr. Ames’s brother’s farm and invite Dorothy
Ames to enlist, too. Then we will look at the pigs for sale, and on
the way home we will stop in at Ames’s farm and choose some chickens.
You have doubtless discovered that I have decided to try out the
stock-raising idea and see how I like it. If it doesn’t succeed, I can
always kill the chickens and sell them to Rachel for fricasee. Then I
won’t have lost out on my experiment or investment.
Monday morning, before breakfast. I was awakened from a sweet sleep by
unearthly shouts from out-of-doors. It was Natalie in her garden,
calling us to hurry out and see the new greens that had come up since
Saturday. Of course we all hurried; Rachel who was in the kitchen
preparing breakfast, ran first, Jimmy second and I was third, twisting
up my hair as I ran. Rachel made a great fuss over the marvel of her
“Honey-Chile” raising vegetables. And I admitted that it was a marvel
that anything Natalie ever planted was given time to come up. Natalie
frowned, and Rachel pooh-poohed but Jimmy laughed. She told me later
that Natalie really did dig up the seeds several times, to see how far
they had sprouted.
Monday, after breakfast. I am up in my room for my hat so I can steal
a moment to say that we are off for Four Corners to visit the girls
Natalie knows, to join our Patrol-to-be. Farmer Ames is coming down
the road, so no more at present, little diary.
Monday A. M. at Four Corners. I’m scribbling a line in my diary while
Nat is writing postals to the girls at home, urging them to come to
Green Hill at once, as we need them in the Patrol. The new members we
met at the Corners are crazy to join us, so that is settled. Natalie
said she would write while at the store so the cards could go out on
the next mail. Farmer Ames will be back for us in a few minutes to
take us to his brother’s farm to see the pigs. On our way back from
his brother’s home he is going to stop at his own place and let us
choose the chickens.
Monday, one P. M. Well, I’ve gone and done the most reckless thing! I
spent most of my monthly allowance for three weeny pigs, an adult hen
that wants to set, and several big chickens, and a lot of baby chicks.
It happened this way: The piglets were so wee and darling that I just
had to have them so I bought all that Mr. Ames had for sale.
When we drove in at our Farmer Ames’s place, he said that Nat and I
could select any chickens we liked for a dollar each. The rooster
would be half a dollar more. We went to the yard and looked over all
the chickens there, but a variegated cock that strutted around like an
emperor in his palace gardens caught my eye. I drew Natalie’s
attention to him, and we decided to buy him. He has a marvelous tail
of long coque feathers, and a pair of red bibs hanging from his beak.
I suppose they are called bibs, because that seems to be the only use
they can be put to.
After deciding upon that rooster, we began looking for the largest and
fattest hens we could find. This was Natalie’s suggestion. She is
becoming a splendid business woman since coming to the farm to live.
She whispered to me so Farmer Ames need not overhear her: “He said we
could choose any chicken we wanted as they are all the same price. So
let’s take those great big ones for they must weigh at least a pound
more than the smaller brown ones.”
Farmer Ames tried to dissuade us from taking the gorgeous chanticler,
and the big Plymouth Rock hens—that is what he called them—but we knew
it was because he hated to lose the beautiful cock and those fine big
hens. So we insisted upon having the ones we chose, or none.
Ames begged us to take Rhode Island Reds and a few speckled
guinea-hens because he said they were better laying hens. But we could
see that his worry and concern was because we chose the most
picturesque of all his fowl. Natalie is shrewd, so she said, as Ames
went in to catch the little chicks for us: “Doesn’t it stand to reason
that those small brown hens will lay small eggs? Our lovely big hens
will lay great big fat eggs!” I hadn’t given that a thought until Nat
spoke of it, but it sounds plausible.
Mr. Ames took the setting hen we wanted, and put her in a feed-bag so
we could take her home, but he said he could not catch the other
chickens until night when they went to roost. He promised to bring
them over in the morning. Then we started home. On the way, he said:
“Remember! I warned you not to choose that fancy rooster and them
ancient hens, but you would have it your own way. So now I wash my
hands of the consequences. Don’t blame me if they don’t lay golden
eggs for you!”
Natalie and I laughed, for we felt sorry for poor Ames; that cock was
the only handsome bird he had, and now he is ours. The piglets, safe
in a crate in the back of the wagon, squealed too cunningly for
anything when we bumped over a rut in the road. As soon as we arrived
at the house, Farmer Ames left the crate on the back stoop, and Nat
helped me carry the bag with the hen in it to the barn where a chicken
coop was waiting for her. On the way out of the yard, Mr. Ames called
to Jimmy and said: “Them cherries oughta be picked today or tomorrow,
sure. They’ll rot if you don’t gather them.”
Rachel hurried out to the stoop at that, and suggested that the girl
scouts pick the fruit on shares. That sounded great, so Natalie and I
offered to run down and ask the scouts if they wanted to help pick the
cherries. Of course they did!
Monday, 6 P. M. Just finished picking cherries. Rachel is preparing
supper for all of us; the scouts did such good work that Jimmy said
they must have a meal included with their wages. Their pay was half of
all the cherries they picked. My, there were a lot! And we ate so
many, besides, that it is doubtful if we can eat a bit of supper.
A dreadful thing happened to Natalie while we were up in the cherry
trees. A hornet stung her on the neck and she let go of the bough.
Down she came, but a friendly limb caught her and held her until we
rescued her. When Rachel heard her scream, she ran out to see what had
happened. It only took her a second to rush across the grass and catch
hold of a high step-ladder that stood under a neighboring tree. But
Rachel did not see the girl standing on top of the ladder, so it was
whirled away from under her, and she was left hanging high and dry.
Rachel stood the ladder under Natalie’s bough and then began to
hastily ascend it. But the ladder was not securely placed and when it
began to sway, Rachel got dizzy. Down came her two hundred pounds
right in a bushel of ripe ox-hearts. I could have wept at the
wholesale loss of such fruit! Rachel said she might be able to reclaim
the cherries by canning them.
Monday night, 8 P. M. My troubles have begun. I forgot about those
pigs in the crate while the scouts were here to supper. As we all went
out on the side porch to say good night to the girls of Solomon’s Seal
Camp, the porkers began squealing dreadfully. The scouts said I was
cruel to forget to give them their supper, so I got Rachel to help me
fix up a dish of corn meal and milk for them. This done, I remembered
the setting hen in the barn. I had not fed her, either.
When I told Natalie, she laughed and said my investment would be a
dead loss if I kept up that kind of treatment. So we both decided to
go to the barn, as it is too spooky a place for one to wander in
alone. Not that the hen would jump at us, and there is no other animal
there, yet, but two is company, you know.
It was Natalie’s suggestion that we take the eggs with us and place
them in the nest under the hen, while she ate her meal. We took the
leavings from supper, and all the bad cherries that Rachel had thrown
in the garbage pail, and filled a pan with them. We took twelve eggs
from the pasteboard box in the pantry, although Mr. Ames said for us
to place fifteen eggs under the hen at a time. Rachel only had
thirteen left in the box that came from the store, and we thought we
had best leave one in case she needed it for breakfast in the morning.
Nat carried the pan of food and the flashlight, while I carefully
carried the twelve eggs.
Oh, such a time as we had with that old scrapper of a hen! She fought
us with bill and claws, and our hands and wrists are a sight! Finally
Natalie almost squeezed the life out of her in trying to hold her out
of the nest, and I managed to get seven of the dozen eggs in the straw
for her to set upon. The other five were smashed in the fray. Maybe we
were not glad when that job was over!
As it is not worth while taking the time to hatch but seven eggs, I am
going to get another dozen from the store as soon as I have the money,
and then I’ll add them to the other eggs already under the hen. I
don’t suppose it makes any difference whether the chicks come out a
few days late, or not. As long as they come—that is the main thing.
The hen can’t tell when they were put in the nest, a few days late, or
all on time. And all eggs look alike to her. That makes me think of
the funny song: “All coons, etc.”
Tuesday A. M. Rachel gave us ham for breakfast. She said she could
“a’swore” she had a few eggs left for an omelette but when she went to
the pantry she found only one egg. Natalie and I kept very sober faces
although we both wanted to shriek with laughter. Jimmy knew we had
been up to something and when Rachel left the room, she turned and
asked Nat what we were choking over.
Natalie giggled as she replied: “Janet and I scrambled those eggs last
night. That’s why Rachel couldn’t find any this morning.”
We both roared, but we never said a word about the setting hen, as we
intend a surprise for Mrs. James when the first chicks come out of the
shells. It certainly will be a surprise! Before we finished breakfast,
Rachel reappeared and said: “Dem pigs is yelling fit to kill
themselves. Ef you don’t git ’em out of dat crate dis mawnin’, dey’ll
die on you. The fust thing you do, dis mawnin’ is to nail up some
slats fer a pen and dump ’em in so dey kin exercise. And don’t fergit
a hearty breakfast fer ’em, too.”
“Well, my little diary, I am now going to build a pig pen and a
chicken coop. I may not be able to give you another message for a
time, but I will have every morning and every evening for this
pleasant work.”