CHAPTER II.

THE CHILDREN'S LIBRARY

OF WORK AND PLAY

CARPENTRY AND WOODWORK

By Edwin W. Foster

ELECTRICITY AND ITS EVERYDAY USES

By John F. Woodhull, Ph.D.

GARDENING AND FARMING

By Ellen Eddy Shaw

HOME DECORATION

By Charles Franklin Warner, Sc.D.

HOUSEKEEPING

By Elizabeth Hale Gilman

MECHANICS, INDOORS AND OUT

By Fred T. Hodgson.

NEEDLECRAFT

By Effie Archer Archer

OUTDOOR SPORTS, AND GAMES

By Claude H. Miller, Ph.B.

OUTDOOR WORK

By Mary Rogers Miller

WORKING IN METALS

By Charles Conrad Sleffel.

[Illustration: Photograph by Helen W. Cooke. Harvesting Nature's Crops]

_The Library of Work and Play_

OUTDOOR WORK

BY

MARY ROGERS MILLER

[Illustration]

GARDEN CITY NEW YORK

DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

1911

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION

INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN

COPYRIGHT, 1911, BY DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY

THIS BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO

EIGHT BROTHERS AND SISTERS WHO SENT

ONE ANOTHER TO COLLEGE

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Acknowledgment is due to the expert writers of United States government

and state experiment station bulletins from which much practical

information has been gained by the author; to the boys and girls who

wrote for this book the stories of their success in several kinds of

outdoor industry; to Dr. Burton N. Gates, State Inspector of Apiaries

in Massachusetts, and Prof. James E. Rice of the Department of Poultry

Husbandry at Cornell University for reading the chapters on their

specialties and for numerous suggestions which make those chapters

valuable; and to many others from whom helpful ideas have come in

letters.

A WORD TO PARENTS

There are two sovereign cures for the ills of modern life: Work and

outdoors. It is the purpose of this book on "Outdoor Work for Young

People" to teach the gospel of these two remedies, not in lessons nor

sermons, but in the form of confidential talks, which are intended to

be both practical and inspiring.

The guiding principles in the preparation of this book are three: 1, to

help young people to earn money; 2, to help them build character; 3, to

help them make better citizens.

1. The most obvious reason why children wish to work is that they "want

to earn money," to spend as they like. Here is a great opportunity

and a considerable danger. The opportunities are to help support the

family, to learn self-reliance, to gain in efficiency, to appreciate

the sacrifices made by parents, to purchase innocent pleasures, and

to save toward a college education. The dangers are that children

may become too commercially minded, grasping, even dishonest, make

dull playmates, and become stunted in character for lack of play

and wholesome stimulus to the imagination. If you will analyze these

dangers you will find that they are all the results of overdoing good

things. The old rule of the Greeks, "Nothing too much" is the golden

rule to measure perfect commercial relations between parents and

children.

2. But far more important than money making is character making.

And therefore one of the principles of this book is to suggest in a

thousand ways that money making may go too far. For example, I would

encourage boys to gather and sell nuts, but not to take nuts from a

neighbour's trees without permission nor destroy young trees whose

future crops belong to a future generation of boys. I encourage

trapping but urge the use of humane traps to avoid cruelty. I encourage

the gathering and selling certain wild flowers, if abundant, but warn

against the danger of exterminating species, or of robbing the public

of pleasure. I have gone over all of the things that children do out of

doors and have tried to select the best occupations. I have studied the

worst things they do and have suggested their opposites--constructive

work that earns money, develops character, or preserves public

property. For example, instead of collecting birds' eggs I suggest

methods of attracting birds, building houses for them, and providing

food and protection from enemies.

3. The book is addressed to the citizens of nineteen hundred and

twenty. Will not busy boys and girls make better citizens than idle

ones? Practical patriotism becomes second nature to children who learn

early to regard the rights of others, to respect the laws, and to

protect public property. The boy who raises wild fowl and liberates

them or refrains from mutilating for purely selfish ends a fine tree is

doing his share in the great work of conservation.

But the young workers cannot do it all. You will be disappointed if

you give this book to a child for a birthday or Christmas present

and expect him to "do the rest," without further help. There is no

substitute for affectionate parental interest. This book will surely

fail you if you do not thoroughly believe in the dignity of manual

labour and experience the uplift that rewards work with your own hands.

Although in theory we may all believe in the dignity of labour (for

other people), many of us make mental reservations to suit our own

cases and persist in regarding certain forms of labour as distinctly

beneath our dignity. Children see through that attitude every time.

When I used to be acquainted with the citizens of the George Junior

Republic, they had a saying that even the President and the Judge could

not maintain standing with the others unless they took their turn now

and then working in the ditch. And so I say, work with your children,

with common tools, out in the dirt. The scratches will heal and the

dirt will wash off, but the sense of kinship with workers will stay.

Have a "You and I" club, with you and the children for members. Meet

once a week to discuss schemes for earning money to buy what the

children want. It is easier to go out and earn the money and give it to

them to spend, but where do they come in? Read parts of this book aloud

when outside information or suggestion is needed. Make a list of your

children's occupations; consider whether they are the best ones. If you

know any better ones than I have put into this book please tell me, for

I, too, have children and I wish them to have the very best works and

plays that children in this world can have.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Best Ways of Earning Money 3

II. Harvesting Nature's Crops 9

Wild berries--Wild fruits--Nuts--Tree seeds--Christmas

greens--Medicinal plants--Walking sticks--Wild

flowers for city children--Corn husks--Fragrant

herbs and grasses--Balsam leaves--Birch

bark--Porcupine quills--Maple sugar--Wild rice--Spruce

gum--Mushrooms.

III. Raising Domestic Animals 101

Colts--Sheep--Goats--Calves--Pigs--Chickens--Guinea

fowls--Turkeys--Peacocks--Ducks--Squabs

for market--Pheasants.

IV. Raising Animals for Pets 203

Shetland ponies--Rabbits, guinea pigs, and cavies--Fancy

pigeons--Bantams--Fancy fowls--Dogs--Goldfish.

V. Work and Play with Trained Animals 241

Dairy cows--Training pet animals--Training young

horses--Treadmills and cranks--Making animals

happy--Taming wild animals.

VI. Making Brooks and Springs Useful 271

Reclaiming a trout stream--Reclaiming a Spring--Making

a swimming pool.

VII. Keeping Bees 287

VIII. Raising Silkworms 338

IX. Making Collections 350

Plants--Shells--Insects.

X. Odd Jobs 405

Kindling-wood--Cleaning a carriage--Work in the

orchard--Making rustic furniture--Selecting seed corn--Making

cider vinegar--Making grape juice--Making

leaf mould--Making lavender sticks--Drying corn--Making

a tennis court--Shovelling snow--Mowing

lawns--Utilizing wood ashes--Planting crocuses in the

lawn--Making ice--Cutting seed potatoes--Pruning--Cleaning

rugs.

XI. Making the Country a Better Place to Live In 450

Improving home grounds--Outdoor clubs--Attracting

birds--Domesticating wild game--Protecting wild

flowers--Preventing forest fires--Killing weeds--Getting

rid of poison ivy--Lessening the plague of

mosquitoes--Fighting flies--Trapping--Curing and tanning

skins.

Appendix

Free Printed Matter: How to Get It 514

List of Books and Bulletins by Experts on Outdoor

Work 518

ILLUSTRATIONS

Harvesting Nature's Crops _Frontispiece_

FACING PAGE

Gathering Wild Flowers for City Children 62

"Big Boy Blue" Looks After the Sheep 106

Feeding the Goats 114

The Shetland Pony is the Ideal Pet 204

Holding a Conversation 242

Gyp Has an Ax to Grind 250

A Group of Happy Farm Animals 256

The Skunk is an Amiable and Well-mannered Pet 266

The Crow May be Tamed when Young 266

A "Bottle Baby" 268

Plenty of Trout in This Stream When Grandfather

was a Boy 272

An Odd Job that is Never Out of Date 404

Is this Work or Play? 452

OUTDOOR WORK

I

THE BEST WAYS OF EARNING MONEY

Couldn't you use more money if you had it? There are several million

American boys and girls just like you. They want a lot of things, a

lot of good things. Wouldn't you like a half dollar once a year for

a circus ticket, a quarter now and then for a box of candy, or ten

dollars for a new dress or some music lessons? You'd be glad to buy

your own clothes, and select them too, if you had the cash. That would

be a big help in thousands of families. Parents sometimes wish that

their children could "leave out" in new clothes in spring, like the

trees.

If you could begin to earn money at twelve you could save toward a

college education, too. Lots of boys and girls are earning their way.

You can. You can earn money between twelve and twenty years of age

without interfering with your schooling.

What kind of stories do you like best? Isn't it inspiring to read

about the boyhood of our great men. Do you remember young Abe Lincoln

splitting rails? Garfield drove mules on a tow path. The men and women

who are doing great things now started as boys and girls with work to

do. They washed dishes and split kindlings and fed chickens and milked

cows and dug potatoes. Now they are tunnelling mountains, building

bridges, helping make the world better in all sorts of courageous ways.

Don't you like to hear engineers, miners, sailors, inventors, animal

trainers, cowboys, foresters, and other workers talk about their work?

The only really happy people are the ones who have found the work they

love best. I have put some stories in this book. These are told by real

boys and girls who were successful in earning money. Can you beat them

at their own game? Will you try?

There are thousands of ways for young people in their teens to earn

money. I believe the best are the outdoor ways. I have suggested a list

of occupations, the best I can think of. Of course, no one person could

try them all. Circumstances must decide. You will succeed best with the

work which you like best. You must not let outside work interfere with

your studies. You must not undertake work that is too hard for your

strength or unsuited to your disposition. Maybe this list will help

you choose.

OCCUPATIONS SUITED TO THE FOUR SEASONS AND SOME THAT GO THROUGH THE YEAR

_Summer._--Gathering berries, tree seeds, bulbs and roots, wild

flowers and ferns, balsam leaves, medicinal plants, pine cones, making

collections, mowing lawns, marking tennis courts, sawing wood, cleaning

rugs, drying herbs, corn and fruits, raising queen bees, collecting

bait, rearing butterflies for museum specimens, gathering clam shells

for button factories, shocking grain, "toting" water.

_Fall._--Gathering fruit, nuts, making corn husk mats and baskets,

shelling corn, making leaf mould, clearing a field of stones, making

stone fence, making grape juice and cider vinegar, collecting

bayberries, painting barns and outbuildings, packing fruit, cleaning

farm implements, gathering faggots, collecting cocoons, collecting

insect homes for nature study.

_Winter._--Gathering spruce gum, collecting Christmas greens,

shovelling snow, pruning shrubs, vines and trees, trapping, tanning

skins, making candles, selecting seed corn, pruning and tying

grapevines, transplanting trees and shrubs, feeding birds.

_Spring._--Cutting seed potatoes, budding, grafting, cutting dandelions

from lawns, killing weeds, oiling ponds and ditches to kill mosquitoes,

shelling corn, starting silkworms, trout, frog and toad culture,

attracting birds, fighting flies.

_Year-Round Occupations._--Keeping bees, raising goldfish, training

animals, raising colts, sheep, pigs, goats, dogs, chickens and other

poultry, rabbits and other pets, collecting wood for kindling, turning

grindstone, milking, taming wild creatures, raising prize corn,

potatoes, or cotton.

THINGS WORTH THINKING ABOUT

Don't think only of the money you can earn. There's no use talking,

the work you do and the way you do it is going to have an influence on

your character. Do a good job! If you slight your work you cheat your

employer. You know it, if he doesn't. You cheat yourself, too. And when

you are working for yourself, you are the one who is doubly cheated by

slack methods. That's plain.

Don't choose an occupation you are doubtful about. Most occupations

are perfectly honourable. Dishonesty comes in methods. The grown-up

grafters, ten to one, were cheaters at games, and sneaks about work.

When in doubt, ask advice. Don't you like to be asked for your opinion?

Everybody does. Ask your parents' advice about the work you think of

undertaking, and the methods of carrying on the business side. What

will please them more than to know that you have a keen sense of honour?

This is my word of encouragement and inspiration to the boys and girls

who read this book. There are a hundred perfectly good reasons why you

should have more money of your own. And there are a thousand ways to

earn it. Every one of you can earn a college education. Choose the best

work _for you_, and do it with enthusiasm. If you want my advice about

your work or any information I can get for you, nothing would please me

more than to hear from you.

II

HARVESTING NATURE'S CROPS

PICKING BERRIES

The berry picking season begins "'long about knee-deep in June" with

the first wild strawberries. It does not end till the last cranberry

is harvested on the eve of Thanksgiving Day at the end of the drowsy

Indian summer. There is money to be earned at this occupation wherever

there is ambition to overcome difficulties and force of character

enough to step aside from the beaten paths. Fortunately berries are

ripe in vacation time. For some people berry picking has almost if

not quite the fascination of fishing. It lacks the objectionable

features of hunting, fishing and trapping. Guns, tackle, and traps are

unnecessary in this gentler sport. No costly tools are required. A

light pail, flaring somewhat at the top, is a good receptacle. A wire

bent into an S-shaped hook is handy to swing the pail over the forearm

while the ambidextrous picker almost doubles the day's harvest if the

fruit is extra plentiful.

There is hardly a state in the Union which has not plenty of wild

fruits. The young citizens of each state should know these fruits and

make the most of them. Some states or regions have fruits peculiar to

themselves. Wouldn't it be worth while for the domestic science or

cookery teacher in a country school to show her pupils how to utilize

these home products? We hear talk about the cost of materials for use

in classes in cookery. To let our wild fruits go to waste is poor

economy whichever way we look at it. Wouldn't you, if you live in

northern Michigan, like to exchange a pot of thimbleberry jam for one

made in North Carolina from persimmons? Or if you live in Montana would

you exchange buffalo berry marmalade with a Florida friend for guava

jelly or preserved cumquats?

WILD RASPBERRIES

Just the other day a girl from the shore of Lake Superior told me of a

camping trip on a part of the lake shore inaccessible except by water.

A storm on the lake kept them from going home when they had expected so

they gathered raspberries and canned and jammed them till their sugar

gave out, then until every available cooking utensil, even the coffee

pot, was full and the supply of berries was as unlimited as ever.

These great, luscious fruits, she said, were as big as the end of her

thumb, and fairly falling off the bushes with the weight of juice.

Doesn't it make your mouth water? The pickers who live near the woods

up there bring berries to town in milk pails. The fruit box may be more

elegant, but there is a bountiful sound about the milk pail that takes

my fancy. Of course, one gets scratched while berry-picking; but in

what a good cause. Is there something wrong about boys and girls who

prefer boxed berries and smooth hands to wild fruits and scratches?

There are thousands of dollars wasted every year that might be working

on some boy's or girl's schooling, just because nature's crop of

raspberries isn't half harvested.

Wild raspberries should be canned, jellied, or jammed by the regulation

methods. With a good oil stove all the work can be done in the open air.

THIMBLEBERRY

Do you know the thimbleberry? Some call it the flowering raspberry.

You will know by its shape and general look that it is a cousin to the

black raspberry although it is flatter, seedier, and more sharply acid.

It grows on a bush or shrub somewhat like a raspberry, but its leaves

are broad, like grape leaves. Instead of thorns its twigs are clothed

with sticky hairs. The colour of the fruit is pinkish purple.

Thimbleberries grow often along woods margins, just back of the fringe

of wild red raspberries. You are lucky if you get two cupfuls of the

thimbleberries while your companion is picking two quarts of the

raspberries. Yours pack more closely and the fruit is not so abundant.

The number of people who have tasted thimbleberry jam is small. I am

told by one who has made it that you can get any price you ask for tiny

glasses of it, even a dollar a glass, from people who "must have it."

Made just as one does other jams, equal parts of fruit and sugar, there

is nothing tastes quite like it.

BLUEBERRIES

Blueberry pie was a staple and justly popular dessert in a certain

college dining-room, where I first made its acquaintance. It was, of

course, made of canned blueberries, and we used to wonder where they

all came from. We certainly never saw them growing in the Mississippi

Valley. The blueberry belt is a wide one and includes all the eastern

and central states. I first saw them growing on Cape Ann, and later on

the New Hampshire hills. The women and children used to bring them in

small pails to sell at the doors of their less enterprising neighbours.

But the price was always high and the berries not first class, unless

we gathered them ourselves. It takes a lot of picking to get two

quarts. One gets an entirely wrong impression of the blueberry business

from these experiences.

The great canning factories do not depend on a haphazard crop. In

New England and the eastern states there are thousands of acres of

waste land, shorn of its forest, where blueberries grow in greatest

abundance. It is not possible to estimate with any accuracy the value

of this wild crop. Pickers get from one and one-half to three cents a

quart, and the boxes sell in retail market at from twelve and one-half

cents to eighteen cents a box. Northern Michigan shipped five thousand

bushels one year. They ship better than softer fruits, but the price

is always high and the supply small because the canning factories are

near the fields, and shipping is expensive. One large factory uses

seven hundred bushels a day. The total product of the Maine canneries

ten years ago was worth over one hundred thousand dollars. That must be

where our college cook got her supply.

Huckleberry and blueberry are the names used most commonly and you will

meet people who know one from the other. But as both are blue and there

are high bush and low bush huckleberries, as well as high and low bush

blueberries, it is useless to discuss the names. Both are right and a

huckleberry in Ohio may be a blueberry in Maine.

A sort of rake to gather blueberries is used for the low bushes. But

hand picking is best. The rake tears the bushes so, and the berries

have to be put through a fanning mill twice to free them from leaves

and rubbish. This process fits them for the canners who are not as

particular as we wish they were.

The blueberry bush is a kind of Indian. It does not take kindly to

gardens and other civilized places. It thrives and yields abundantly

if given a chance on its native hillsides, and comes up by the million

wherever the cutting of the timber lets in the light. By burning over

the blueberry land in very early spring while the ground is wet,

those in charge can keep down the alder, poplars, birches, and other

non-money-making growths, and this is taken by the blueberries as their

chance. They come right up, and deliver a tremendous crop the first

year after the burning.

WILD GRAPES

We used to gather wild grapes along the river bottoms in the middle

West when we went nutting. Sometimes our nutting excursion turned out

to be a grape harvest. These grapes were small, almost black under

their thin coat of bloom, in clusters like miniature garden grapes. Oh,

but they were puckery when green, but the frost sweetened them. The

vines grew tremendously, way to the tops of the trees, their stems like

great ropes, which we used for swings. The grapes were really mostly

seed and skin, but there was juice enough to stain our aprons, and give

the teeth and tongue an unmistakable telltale hue. There was juice

enough for a kind of jelly which I believe had the peculiarity of never

"jelling" properly. It is good, though, and they were well worth the

sugar to make them edible.

I was surprised at their size when I first saw the big summer grapes

of the eastern hedge-rows and banks. But their flavour is no great

improvement over that of the frost grape. There is more pulp, though.

My barberry gathering friend, who admits that she is "fond of all sorts

of woodland flavours," gathers these grapes in August before they

begin to change colour. She makes the only really green grape jelly I

have seen. This is her receipt:

Wash the stemmed grapes very carefully to rid them of dust and possible

taint from poison ivy, with which they often associate. Put them into a

preserving kettle with a very little boiling water, cover and let them

steam till tender. (No boiling here.) Strain to get rid of seeds and

skins. (Work fast at this point, because delay may cause the change of

colour we wish to avoid.) Weigh the juice and an equal amount of white

sugar. Heat sugar and juice separately, without scorching. Stir the hot

sugar into the boiling juice, let boil up, skim, and put into dry, hot

glasses. If it boils a long time it loses the green colour, and its

flavour of the wild out-of-doors.

Green grape jelly that is really green is a triumph. It would bring a

price.

ELDERBERRIES

Elderberries have almost gone out of fashion in these days of

refrigerator cars and cold storage, when fruits from all parts of the

world are brought to our doors. But I am antiquated enough to like the

rather flat, seedy things, and the "runny" jelly is of a wonderful

colour and flavour. Best of all is the fun of gathering the broad,

flat clusters, always seeing a finer one just a few steps farther on

or just over the fence. The golden-rod is brilliant in the September

sunshine, the asters like star stuff sifted in every fence corner,

while the fox grapes clambering over stray trees along the line fence

fill the air with fragrance. Perhaps I could get on without the

elderberries, but the New England conscience requires some practical

excuse for traipsing off over the fields when there is useful work to

be done indoors. Elderberries canned in a thin syrup, one cup of water,

two of sugar, and all the berries the jar will hold, are excellent for

steamed pudding. Drain off the juice, and stir the berries into the

batter just as you would blueberries, mulberries, or any other fruit.

The colour of the pudding will be awe-inspiring but with the juice for

sauce it is good, really.

BARBERRIES

Our Westchester County hostess always took a basket on her arm when

she went for a walk. She had an unusual taste for wild flavours of all

sorts and her guests were always sure of some delightful surprise at

her table. In September there is a choice of wild fruits, and everybody

recognized the necessity for a basket. I wondered, though, when we

passed, unnoticed, bushels of elderberries, and rods of browning

grapes, and headed for a group of dogwood trees. But although the

berries were thicker than I ever saw on the dogwood, they were only

admired and left for the sun to burnish. High on a bare hilltop we sat

where the view was panoramic. The lady with the basket betook herself

to a fringe of tall, ruddy bushes on the brow of the hill, and I found

her busily filling her basket with barberries. She did not wait to pick

them singly but snipped off the laden twigs with scissors, avoiding

thus the angry thorns.

"What are they good for?" I asked, as I tasted again the sharp,

astringent flavour and felt that indescribable pucker on tongue and

lips that goes with it. The barberry had long been a favourite with me;

the bush for its wayward grace and its cunning flowers, the berries for

their exquisite bloom and for tasting so unlike any cultivated thing.

But I had never dreamed of making jelly of them.

"Jelly," said our hostess. "It's particularly good with game."

Of course it would be good with game, but can you imagine eating

barberry jelly with corn-fed pork or with fat mutton?

The berries should be gathered before they are fully ripe and treated

like currants, although the yield of juice is meagre. Add a little

water and heat slowly. Strain and add "pound for pound" of sugar. Put

in tiny glasses. Any one in search for a unique Christmas gift for an

epicurean uncle would find barberry jelly fills the bill.

In Salem, Mass., I saw barberries for sale in the market. They looked

mightily out of place along with pineapples, watermelons, grapes,

peaches, Japanese plums, and other conventional market fruits.

BAYBERRIES

Two friends of mine, summering on Cape Ann, discovered there to their

delight, a low shrub, growing in great profusion on the rocky hills.

The foliage was of a rich green colour, of a leathery texture, and was

possessed of an aromatic odour at once delightful and wholesome to

their senses. They were seized with a great desire to take home with

them a quantity of this plentiful foliage to make into pillows or to

feed the fire on the hearth that they might inhale its fragrance, and

be reminded of Cape Ann and the summer sea.

So they procured huge gunny sacks which they were at some pains to

stuff to their utmost capacity. They have a snapshot of themselves,

bent double under the weight of the great sacks. With the help of

a friendly native they succeeded in transporting the burdens to the

express office, and addressed them home. We cheerfully paid the

expressman's charges at the home end, having been advised that the bags

were coming, and carried them to the attic floor where they were to be

spread to cure. But when the contents came tumbling out, its pent-up

fragrance was familiar. Then was it possible those blessed geese had

been spending their precious vacation days gathering bay berry leaves?

It was even so, and we had paid nearly two dollars express on the

bags--and our woods were full of it! What a laugh we had at their

expense when they came to reimburse us.

The bayberry shrub is also called wax myrtle and it is easy to see why,

when you find the berries in October. They are gray, almost white, and

you see that each one is covered with tiny drops of wax that has oozed

out of the berry and dried on its surface.

Bayberry is called candleberry, too, because of the use our

great-grandmothers made of the wax. Bayberry dips have come into

fashion again and people who make them skilfully find a ready sale for

their product.

MAKING BAYBERRY DIPS

To make bayberry candles you must first gather the wax-covered berries.

Get them early, for, as cold weather comes on, the pellets of wax drop

off. Two quarts make only a little ball of wax, so you must gather an

enormous quantity of the berries. Put them into water and bring it to

a boil, stirring well to be sure that all the wax is melting. Being

lighter than water the wax will rise to the surface. When you think

all the berries are bare, take them from the fire. As the water cools,

the wax hardens on top. If the berries do not all go to the bottom you

will have to melt the wax again over a slow fire or in a double boiler

until the wax rises clean at the top; all dirt and refuse on its lower

surface can be scraped off. Do not let the wax burn. Smoke is a sure

sign that it is too hot. In a double boiler there is no danger.

To make the dips, take regular candle wicking, a soft, white, loosely

twisted cord, cut it twice the desired length for the candle. Double it

and twist enough to hold it together. The loop at one end is convenient

to hold it by. Dip into the hot wax and then as it cools draw the wick

down with finger and thumb so that it hangs straight and kinkless.

A second dip adds a little to the diameter of the candle, the third

another layer and so on till your first bayberry dip is finished. If

the first effort is not a good shape and has to go back into the pot

you needn't be discouraged. Didn't the first chocolate cream you ever

made look like a chestnut gone wrong? But with patience it is possible

for even a beginner to produce very shapely candles. They do not need

to be absolutely regular. Paraffin or tallow candles, moulded just

alike by the hundred thousand dozen, may be as round and perfect as

machinery can make them. Part of the charm of the bayberry dips is in

these slight irregularities of shape and size.

WILD CRAB APPLES

Thickets of small trees, bearing little solid green apples are a

feature of almost every farm in the prairie states. They are common

also on the hilly pastures of Ohio, western Pennsylvania, and New

York. The South, too, has its native crab apple. School children the

country over loved in my day to fill their pockets with the hard, sour,

little fruits and nibble at them surreptitiously under cover of a broad

geography. But perhaps children's tastes have changed since that far

time.

Modern geography must be different, anyhow. I saw one the other day

shaped just like a fifth reader or history or any other. It just looked

like any book, not one bit like a g'ography.

The little crabs were made into sauce or "butter," by pioneers of the

prairie states. We washed, quartered, and cut out the wormy places,

stewed them till soft with a little water, then put them through a

coarse sieve to take out seeds, cores, and skin. The pulp was then

sweetened with sorghum molasses and boiled; stirring is necessary to

prevent burning. The appetites of those days did not demand dainty

fare. Well do I remember a small visitor to whom our cookery was new

whose demand for crab-apple-sauce-if-you-please was hard to satisfy. I

believe crab apple jelly would be regarded a great delicacy by people

of good taste, if once they had a try at it.

PERSIMMONS

The children of the persimmon belt, which includes a much larger part

of the eastern half of the United States than many suppose, all know

that the fruit of some trees is better than that of others. The 'possum

knows, too, and lucky is he who finds both "fruits" on the same tree.

There is a market for persimmons if they are gathered after frost,

and a greater demand may be created. Seeing an unfamiliar fruit in

the market is very likely to awaken the interest. Whether the buyer

will want a second basket or not depends entirely upon the cleverness

of the person that supplies the demand. The thoroughly ripe fruit is,

according to an experienced traveller, "entirely without bitterness

or astringency, sweet, rich, and juicy." What more can you say about

watermelon or strawberries? But if you who gather the fruits persist

in hurrying them green into market you may expect that the prejudice

against persimmons will grow stronger.

HAWS

Is there any good reason why some of the people who used to be boys

should never have a chance to taste any thorn apples now that they are

older? Perhaps these grown-up boys deserve to be punished for deserting

the old haunts, but give them a taste of what the open road has to

offer and maybe they will be tempted back to a simpler life.

The fruit of the May haw or apple haw of the far South is sold in

the markets of some cities and is made into preserves and jelly. The

Washington thorn which grows wild in Virginia and the other states not

far from the capital city is also cultivated in many gardens farther

north. It has run wild from these gardens and ranges over New York,

Pennsylvania and neighbouring states. Though usually small, its berries

are a beautifully shining scarlet and very numerous. It is worth

risking a pound or so of sugar just to see what jelly they would make.

The pear haw has a thick, juicy flesh, and some of the yellow ones are

equally good.

WILD PLUMS

The wild plums of the East did not strike the early settlers as very

much worth while. They were almost all seed and skin and the rest

was "pucker." Quite naturally the plums of the mother country were

preferred and sprouts were brought over and set in the gardens of our

forefathers. These plum emigrants did so well in the new country that

they escaped from the gardens into the pastures and roadsides, coming

up wherever seeds were dropped. In such places they still flourish

and are thought of as wild plums. They are gathered for market, but

compare unfavourably, except with very old-fashioned people, with the

garden-grown fruits of the same or similar varieties.

The pioneers of the middle West, however, found very fine plums

growing wild in plentiful thickets. We used to gather these native

plums in the Mississippi Valley, in great tubfuls. We not only

appreciated the crop nature provided for us every year, but were

far-sighted enough to realize that the time would come when the march

of civilization would tramp out the plum thickets. So we planted them

in orchards and gardens, taking those trees that had given us the best

crops of the biggest, finest fruit. In fact, the pioneers did just what

we ought to be doing all over our country with other wild fruits and

with nuts. The wild goose plum is a native which has founded a race of

which there are many named varieties, much bigger and finer than the

little, old, wild grandmother of the plum thicket, but they all have

still that same tart tang, just under the skin, that gave to our wild

plum "jell" its incomparable flavour.

Are the wild plums all forgotten? Must all fruit come out of boxes and

have that stale taste of the town? Must it lose its characteristic

aroma and give off only that general "markety" smell? Is "goin'

plummin'" entirely out of fashion, even in the prairie states? I don't

believe it is as bad as that. Do you believe that moving pictures or

shoot the shoots or merry-go-rounds can begin to compare with such

simple pleasures as plumming, graping, berrying, and nutting? I have

tried both, and give me the old, homely pleasures every time.

The following extract from "The Tree Book" so well describes an annual

outing of pioneer children that it is quoted in full:

"'Do you calculate to go a-plummin' this fall?' The question was

quietly put in father's judicial tones, but it sent an electric thrill

from head to toes of every youngster. Mother's reply sent an answering

current, and the enthusiasm of the moment burst all bounds. 'Well, you

better go this afternoon. I can spare the team and wagon, and I guess

John is big enough to drive. There's no use goin' at all if you don't

go right off.'

"So mother and the children rode out of the yard, she sitting with her

young driver on the spring seat, the rest on boards laid across the

wagon box behind. What a jouncing they got when the wheels struck a

stone in a rut! But who cared for a trifle like that? John's reckless

driving but brought nearer the goal of their heart's desire.

"A lurid colour lightened the plum thicket as it came in sight. The

yellow leaves were falling and the fruit glowed on the bending twigs.

Close up the wagon is drawn; then all hands pile out, and the fun

really begins. How large and sweet they are this year! Mother knows how

to avoid the puckery, thick skin in eating plums. The youngsters try

to chew two or three at once and their faces are drawn into knots. But

they soon get used to that.

"Now the small folks with pails are sent to pick up ripe plums under

the trees, and warned against eating too many. 'Remember last year,'

says mother, and they do remember. The larger boys spread strips of

burlap and rag carpet under the fullest trees, in turn, and give their

branches a good beating that showers the plums down. With difficulty

the boys and girls make their way into the thicket; but torn jackets

and aprons and scratched hands can be mended--such accidents are

overlooked in the excitement of filling the grain sacks with ripe

fruit. How fine 'plum butter' will taste on the bread and butter of the

noon lunch when winter comes and school begins. (The Pennsylvanian's

love for 'spreads' on his bread leavened the West completely.)

"Other neighbours have come, and started in with a vim. It seems

unreasonable to take any more. The bags are full, and there are some

poured loose into the wagon box. Besides, everybody is tired, and John

shouts that the hazel-nuts are ripe on the other side of the log road.

"A great grape vine, loaded with purple clusters, claims mother's

attention. There will probably be no better chance for grapes this

fall, and the sun is still an hour high. John chops down the little

tree that supports it and the girls eagerly help to fill the pails with

the fruit of the prostrate vine, while John goes back to command the

hazel-nut brigade and sees that no eager youngster strays too far.

"Mother's voice gives the final summons, and the children gather at the

wagon, tired but regretful for the filled husks that they must leave

behind on the hazel bushes. A loaded branch of the grape vine is cut

off bodily, and lifted into the wagon. The team is hitched on, and the

happy passengers in the wagon turn their faces homeward."

Such was the poetry of pioneer life. Pleasures were simple, primitive,

hearty--like the work--closely interlinked with the fight against

starvation. There was nothing dull or uninteresting about either. The

plums and grapes were sweetened with molasses made from sorghum cane.

Each farmer grew a little strip, and one of them had a mill to which

every one hauled his cane to be ground "on the shares."

Who will say that this "long sweetenin'" was poor stuff, that the

quality of the spiced grapes suffered for lack of sugar, or that any

modern preserves have a more excellent flavour than those of the old

days made out of the wild plums gathered in the woods? And this is also

true: There is no more exhilarating holiday conceivable than those half

days when mother took the children and "went a-plummin'."

NUTS

The wild nuts gathered in this country for sale or home use in the

North are chestnuts, hickory nuts, black walnuts, butternut, hazel-nut,

beechnut; in the South, the pecan and the chinquapin; in the far West,

the pine nut. The least known of these in eastern markets are the

pine nuts, which form a very staple article of food for many tribes

of Indians in the Great Basin. John Muir says that there are tens of

thousands of acres covered with nut pines. An industrious Indian family

can gather fifty or sixty bushels in a month if the snow does not catch

them. The little cones are beaten off with poles as the trees are not

high, and are heated till they open and the nuts fall out from under

the scales. I have eaten pine nuts in Turkish restaurants. They came

as a surprise in a dish of eggplant stuffed with chopped meat, raisins,

nuts, bread crumbs, and I know not what all else.

The native chestnut, though smaller, is far sweeter than the popular

Spanish one. But it looks as if some foreigner must take the place

of our native chestnuts in the woods as well as in the market. The

chestnut disease which has driven the trees out of the parks and wood

lots near New York City is baffling the scientists. Every year the

deadline moves westward and southward and northward from its center.

Perhaps a cure will be found before all the chestnuts are gone. If any

region has a few trees which seem to withstand the disease while all

the rest die, those trees should be preserved and used to propagate a

race of chestnuts which would be immune. It may be that the Spanish

and Japanese chestnuts will prove hardier than our own. These are

being grown quite extensively in some Eastern states. They bear when

remarkably young. Japanese chestnuts begin to bear, according to the

nurserymen, "at three years of age, bear from three to seven nuts in

a bur, each nut measuring from four to five inches in circumference."

Trees five years old bear two or three quarts each and the yield

increases rapidly from year to year. These bring fancy prices in city

markets and are eaten either raw or cooked.

In growing chestnuts it is the practice first to cut down the old

native trees. As in all likelihood these would be dead in a few years

anyhow, this is economical. Dead lumber is not as valuable as live

lumber. The first year after a chestnut is cut, a crop of young suckers

come up around the stump. These shoots are grafted with scions of a

desired variety. There is a good story of a lad of twelve years of

age who asked his father to graft a chestnut tree. Although the man

was grafting apple trees at the time he laughed at the boy's idea.

The lad did not forget and years after he put his idea into practice

and now owns a chestnut grove which brings him an income of thousands

of dollars. His chestnut groves are on waste land unfit for ordinary

farm purposes. If one farm boy in every county would take an interest

in growing the nuts that belong to his region, think how the value of

the nut crop would increase. Every boy knows that the hickory nuts on

one particular shell-bark are bigger and sweeter than on every other

one he knows of. He and his friends try to get there first, before the

"other gang" do, and make sure of their share. But does he ever plant

any big sweet nuts along a fence row and take care of the young trees

till they are big enough to take care of themselves? In the seventeenth

century there was a law in certain European countries that every young

man should plant a certain number of walnut trees. Unless he could

prove that he had complied with the law, he couldn't marry. What a good

idea! With such a law we might have more fine trees and fewer hasty

marriages.

CHINQUAPINS

A coloured girl brought me a pint of chinquapins from her home in

Ca'line County, Virginia; I sampled them eagerly, taking great pleasure

in their diminutive prettiness, tidy shape, and rich, dark colouring.

I kept a handful securely tied in the little salt bag in which they

had made the journey and took them to my native state to show to the

children, who had never seen a chestnut tree of any kind.

When I took the bag from the trunk, there was a dustiness about the

feel of it that aroused my suspicions. I emptied the contents into a

flat dish. There were my nuts, their glossy brown shells as smooth as

ever, but empty. Rolling about amongst them were a lot of the plumpest

little white grubs, fairly bent double with corpulency. There must have

been one for each nut, for not a sound kernel was left.

I learn from chestnut-wise people that these weevils are another great

enemy of chestnut culture, no remedy having been found.

The chinquapin is the Southern child's chestnut. It is sometimes a

tree, but more often a low shrub. The bur is round and has only one nut

in it. A good many are marketed, especially in Southern cities, and

bring a good price when fresh. The weevils enter the nuts before they

are mature and it is difficult to find the bad nuts till too late to

prevent a disagreeable impression. This interferes with the popularity

of the chinquapin as a dessert nut.

HAZEL-NUTS

The American hazel-nut flourishes over the eastern half of the United

States. It is a sweet little nut, much more to my taste than the

bigger filbert, which is so popular in our markets. We used to gather

hazel-nuts in the edge of woods which fringe the little rivers of

the Mississippi Valley. The bushes grew in thickets and while the

big brothers and sisters gathered the nuts from among the closely

interlaced branches that grew scarcely higher than their heads, the

smaller fry crept in underneath and getting about on the floor of the

woods searched for nuts that had ripened early and dropped from the

browning husk.

There is no progress in simply going out in the fall and taking what

nature furnishes. Unaided, the good mother goes on producing the same

small nuts, caring just as patiently for the inferior ones and even

encouraging the nut weevils to prey upon them. But I wonder if some boy

or girl who thinks there isn't any interesting work to be done on the

farm, could not make some experiments in hazel-nut culture.

The bushes grow readily from seed, but seedlings do not always produce

as fine nuts as those that were planted. For this reason one can

save time by selecting the bushes that bear the largest crop of fine

nuts and propagating those. They grow in any well drained, fairly

rich soil and I know of hundreds of miles of fence rows answering

these requirements, which now produce poison ivy, cat brier and other

harmful crops. Hazel bushes make a beautiful fence row, and yield a

salable crop. Hazel bushes propagate naturally by suckers and layers.

By manuring well in summer long shoots for layering will be forced.

"These should be staked down in winter or spring and covered with

earth. They may be removed to nursery rows or orchard at the end of

the first season." So says W. A. Taylor in the "Cyclopædia of American

Horticulture." The same writer gives directions for pruning as follows:

Strong shoots should be headed back to promote spur formation (the

nuts are borne on short side shoots) and old wood that has borne fruit

should be removed annually. Suckers should be kept down unless wanted

for propagation. March or April is the best time to prune as they

blossom very early and one must avoid cutting off either the young nuts

or the pollen-bearing flowers. The nuts should be gathered when the

husk begins to brown at the edges. If left longer, as is most often

done, in the case of wild nuts, a large proportion of the crop falls

to the ground and is lost. Beside, the dried hulled nuts do not bring

as high a price as the fresh unhusked ones. If kept long in the husk

they will mould, unless dried thoroughly. The nuts, however, will keep

through the season in a cool place.

WALNUTS

The fruit of the black walnut is enclosed in a globe-shaped husk. All

country boys and girls know how that husk smells and how it stains the

fingers. The nuts are very oily and must be treated carefully. They

should be dried, preferably on the garret floor, hulled and stored in a

cool, dry place. If for market, they should be sold immediately. They

are very likely to grow rancid if kept. Billy, in the "Limberlost"

story, had a piece of heavy plank with a hole in it, just big enough to

let the husked nut through. He put an unhulled nut over the hole, then

with a wooden mallet, he drove it through the hole. It came through

clean.

The butternut or oilnut is from a tree closely related to the black

walnut. It is called also white walnut. The husk is not so thick as

that of the black walnut and adheres stubbornly to the nut if left to

dry. The nuts get rancid if kept warm and should be marketed as soon as

dry or kept stored in the cold and eaten before spring.

Pickled walnuts are a highly prized delicacy in households where

"culturine" has not taken the place of old-fashioned household arts.

The nuts are gathered when green, before the shell has hardened. If a

knitting needle can be pushed clear through the nut, it is not too old

for pickling. You will be fortunate if you can get a receipt from some

housewife who has time for real culture as well as for making pickles.

_Receipt for Pickled Walnuts._--(From my great aunt's cook-book.)

Ingredients: One hundred walnuts, salt and water, one gallon of

vinegar, two ounces of whole black pepper, half an ounce of cloves, one

ounce of allspice, one ounce of root ginger sliced, one ounce of mace.

Gather the nuts in July when they are full grown. They should be soft

enough to be pierced all through with a needle. Prick them all well

through. Let them remain nine days in brine (four pounds of salt to

each gallon of water), changing the brine every third day. Drain them,

and let them remain in the sun two or three days until they become

black. Put them into jars, not quite filling them. Boil the vinegar and

spices together ten minutes, and pour the liquid over the walnuts. They

will be fit for use in a month, and will keep for years.

BEECHNUTS

The boys of your neighbourhood may not know that the smooth,

gray-barked trees with very long, slender, pointed buds are beeches.

They may never have noticed the wonderful gray-green colour nor

delicate texture of the newly opened leaves, nor the soft, silky

flower head that bears the pollen. Too many boys think these

preliminaries are of no importance. The chances are strong that when

October ripens the nuts, nobody has any difficulty in locating beech

trees, if there are any in the vicinity. Usually, in the wild woods,

they grow in large groups of various sizes; the big trees sheltering

the little ones until they are strong enough to live in the full

sunlight. Do boys and girls find the beeches by instinct just as the

mice, the blue jays, the squirrels, and the foraging hogs do?

Do you know why it takes so much longer to gather a pint of beechnuts

than the same amount of hazel-nuts? They are pretty small; yes, but

there's another reason. If you were to count your beechnuts, you would

find it takes many more of them by count to make a pint than of the

round nuts, because of their triangular shape. They fit so snugly that

your pint measure of beechnuts is almost solid nuts. They are about the

sweetest of the wild nuts. They are very rich in fat too, and in olden

times an oil for table use was made from beechnuts. Olive oil takes

its place now and costs less. There is a market for all the beechnuts

you can gather. Dealers in tree seeds often have difficulty in filling

orders. As the nuts do not germinate till April they may be gathered

at any time during the winter, unless the wild folks have gathered them

all. The chances are that to get any you would have to go early and

search sharply. Once or so in a lifetime the burrow of a white-footed

mouse is discovered near beech woods. Are you hard hearted enough not

only to break and enter, but also to burgle his hoard? Rather admire

the little creature's industry and resolve to go and do likewise.

HICKORY NUTS

America is the only country that has native hickory nuts. Of these the

best nut producers are the shagbarks and the pecans. These two nuts are

increasingly popular. People are planting these nuts and experimenting

with new varieties, with grafting and cultivation, as never before.

Pecan orchards are being planted in many regions and hickory nuts are

being studied with a view to improving the kernel and reducing the

hardness of the shell. The value of hickory wood in the making of tools

and for fuel has made the lumber more profitable than the nuts. But

with improved varieties this may not be true. The poor quality of the

wood of the pecan has saved these native trees from destruction.

Hickory nuts have a husk as every country child knows; but the husk has

a good-natured habit of splitting neatly into four equal parts which

fall away from the nut when dry. There are several kinds of hickory

which produce sweet, edible nuts, but the nuts of the true shagbark are

the best. They grow on low hills near streams or swamps in good soil

in the Eastern and Middle states as far south as Florida, and as far

west as Kansas. The king nuts of the Mississippi are bigger, but not so

good, although the price you get for them is good and the baskets fill

faster than with the little shagbarks.

PECANS

This nut tree grows in the South, and as the wood is too brittle to be

very valuable nobody has cut it for lumber. Tremendous interest has

been aroused during the past ten years in pecan growing. Pecan orchards

are being planted in all sorts of soil, good, bad, and indifferent. The

wisest planters have gone to nature to learn what kind of conditions

the pecan requires. By cultivation and fertilizing and otherwise

improving good natural conditions, many growers are succeeding. By

planting nuts from trees that produce fine ones abundantly every year,

and by budding these trees with scions from still finer specimen trees

great improvement has been made. I have a picture of a pecan tree in

Georgia, sixteen years old, which is nearly fifty feet high. It has

borne already three hundred and fifty pounds of nuts and this year's

crop will be over a hundred pounds. This tree has never had to fight

weeds, has always had plenty to eat and drink, was protected in winter

while young, and now it is ready to foot all its own bills and give a

fine profit. How many of us are ready to do that at sixteen years? The

cultivation of pecans is only just begun. Very little of the annual

crop of these nuts is harvested in orchards. In "The Tree Book" the

author says that ninety-five per cent. of the crop is still gathered

in the woods. The annual crop is tremendous, and the pickers get only

three to ten cents a pound for the ungraded nuts. For the very best

nuts, mainly sold for seed, the retail price is from fifty cents to a

dollar a pound, which is from one to two cents per nut.

Who picks all these nuts in the woods? Surely, the boys and girls of

the pecan belt do their share. Do they do it in a primitive way or are

their methods worthy of the up-to-date American youngster? Professor

Hume of the Florida Agriculture Experiment Station (Bulletin No. 85,

1906) gives suggestions for gathering the pecan crop in the orchard

which ought to be useful to the "wild picker." The nuts ought to be

gathered as soon as the most of the burs have opened. In orchards, the

pickers use ladders for young trees and climb the big ones and gather

the nuts by hand into sacks. Beating and shaking the trees is only

resorted to for the nuts that are entirely out of reach. If allowed

to fall on the ground so many of the nuts are lost that the profits

are materially lessened. If practicable a large sheet should be placed

under the tree to save this loss.

The nuts should be spread under some sort of roof to cure, which

requires ten days or two weeks.

Have you ever tried the experiment of sorting and grading the nuts you

gather? The fruits of wild trees vary greatly in their size and general

appearance. The wholesale dealer who buys nuts undoubtedly grades them

and gets a fancy price for the big ones. Why should you not benefit by

this?

Pecans are graded by sifting them through screens, the mesh of which

lets only those of small size through. You might build up a private

trade in wild nuts by packing your best nuts in attractive pasteboard

boxes and charging a good retail rate for them. The inferior nuts you

could well afford to sell at the lowest wholesale price as your average

would be higher than the wholesaler would pay for unsorted nuts.

Your fancy nuts would have to be polished in order to compete with the

nuts sold in city markets. The polishing does not make the meat any

sweeter, but it does make a more attractive dessert nut, especially now

that folks are used to seeing them polished. This is done by putting

some dry sand into a barrel with the nuts and rolling the barrel about

till the nuts are polished. If you have a worn out barrel or box churn,

as we once had, that would be just the thing. Fancy packages of five to

ten pounds would be very much in demand at Christmas. The big cities

are well supplied with this sort of thing, but in the smaller cities

and larger towns there are always some people who know a good thing

when they see it and to whom the local markets often fail to supply

these little luxuries.

NUT GROWING

In Bulletin No. 125 of the Maryland Agricultural Experiment Station

published in 1908 you may read: "The young and middle-aged should not

only plant nut trees themselves, but should encourage the children to

do likewise. Every farm boy ought to have a small nut nursery and be

taught to plant and care for nut trees. Nothing more creditable could

be done in the schools than to interest the boys and girls in the

possibilities of nut production and to celebrate Arbor Day with the

planting of nut trees."

Doesn't that read like sound advice? Think of the land on your father's

farm to-day that is not working. Or if there isn't any idle land

can you not persuade him to lend you an acre or so for experimental

purposes? The chances are that he will encourage and help you because

he wants you to be interested in the farm. But you may say to yourself:

"Not much! I don't mean to stay on the farm. I'm going to work hard and

get an education. I want to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a banker."

Nevertheless, you take the Maryland man's advice and set out some nut

trees. Let us say you start your nut orchard at age fourteen when you

have three years yet in the high school. Your trees will be set so far

apart that some other crops will be grown between them; corn, potatoes,

melons, or anything that requires good cultivation and fertilization.

When you finish the high school your nut trees will not look very big,

but promising. You go on to college and in four years you will see a

big change. No crop is in sight yet but you are only twenty-one and

ready to go to work. You may forget all about those nut trees for a few

years but they are not forgetting their business. They will bear a few

nuts some year, as if to try their hand at a new enterprise. Some day

when you are needing a sum of money to start in business for yourself,

and you are wondering who will lend you that much, you will get word

from the folks at home that they have harvested your first crop of

pecans or English walnuts or Spanish chestnuts and have deposited a

thousand dollars in the bank in your name as the net profits. Will you

try it?

Before planting nut trees it is important to learn all you can by

reading and by correspondence with your Experiment Station experts

about the kinds that will do best in your region and on your soil. If

more boys used a little forethought we should have fewer young college

men struggling along on small salaries in work they dislike, just for

lack of a tidy sum of ready money to set them on their feet at the

critical time.

There are good reasons for this greater interest in nut growing in the

United States. The use of nuts is more common than formerly but they

are still a luxury. Wild nuts are scarcer, owing to the destruction

of the trees for lumber. The food value of nuts is better understood

than formerly, and many articles of food are manufactured now from

nuts. Nuts as meat substitutes have come into prominence within a few

years. This creates a demand which will increase. There is no danger of

over-production. Now is the time to get into the nut business.

TREE SEEDS

In his book on "Forestry" Professor Gifford says: "Collection of tree

seeds should yield good returns if properly conducted." That is good

news, for if ever a crop was allowed to go to waste it is this crop of

tree seeds. Any one who has seen a forest of young maples cut down by

lawn mowers in the helplessness of their seed-leaf stage realizes that

with any sort of forethought those seeds might have been made a source

of income.

Professor Gifford says a little farther on that many of the seeds of

our native trees can be more easily obtained in Europe than in America.

We may learn many lessons in economy from our neighbours over there.

But who is going to harvest the tree seeds? A mechanic who earns a

good wage cannot afford to gather tree seeds; neither can a bank clerk

unless he does the work in his vacation. But our boys and girls are

often at a loss to find ways of earning money. Here is a crop they

can gather without danger of trespassing. There is a market for this

harvest. Some tree seeds are difficult to get and expensive; red pine

for instance. Spruce trees produce seed only once in seven years. This

keeps the supply short. In a spruce seed year every seed should be

gathered. Pecks of hard maple seeds are swept up by street cleaners

every year on our home street. They are worth a lot of money, yet the

boys on the street never have all the cash they want to buy baseball

gloves and circus tickets and bicycles. No enterprising reader of this

book need ever lack for pocket money.

Remember, Professor Gifford said, "Collection of tree seeds should

yield good returns _if properly conducted_." Every business to

be successful must be conducted properly. There are some simple

principles. You need not be an expert forester but the more you know

about trees the better. If a dealer buys six quarts of _red_ maple

seeds of you he will be disappointed if you send him _silver_ maple,

discouraged if you send him _sugar_ maple, and disgruntled if you send

him _ash_. Furthermore, he will not send you the money nor any orders

for more. If there is a maple tree with a peck of seed on it in your

yard, in five minutes or less time you can find out what kind it is

with "The Tree Book." Before the seeds are ripe write to a several seed

men and tell them what you have; ask if they want any, at what price,

and on what date. Some trees ripen their seeds in the spring, shake

them off, and let the wind scatter them. In the case of some kinds,

the seeds sprout within a few days after they reach the ground. These

should be gathered as soon as ripe, spread out to dry for a few days,

and planted within a few weeks at latest. Seeds of other kinds do not

grow till the following spring. None of these should be allowed to dry

too thoroughly. Nuts and acorns for seed should not be allowed to get

dry over winter. These should be packed in moist sand and kept cool but

not frozen. Cherry, plum and peach pits are better for being frozen.

The supply of white pine seed is never equal to the demand. The market

price is said to vary from two dollars fifty cents to four dollars

fifty cents per pound. You get a little over a pound of seeds from a

bushel of unopened cones. White pine trees require two years to mature

their cones and they set seed only once in every four or five years.

But every year there will be some trees bearing seed. Nineteen hundred

and four was a big "on" year in the New York white pine forests. You

can tell when the tiny cones first appear that a crop is coming. The

cones should be watched as August wanes and gathered before they open.

September is the month as a general thing. Boys can earn thirty cents

or so a bushel gathering the full cones. But I should not be satisfied

to let the other fellow get all the profits just because he knows how

to cure and market the seed. That is easy. Spread the cones out in the

barn to dry. Slat trays are best to get free circulation of air. You

can make these at odd times before the crop is ready. A fanning mill

comes in handy to thrash and free them from rubbish and imperfect seed.

Market them immediately to avoid loss. If you are to keep the seed for

home consumption, mix with dry sand and store in a cool but not too dry

place. If allowed to dry or freeze and thaw they lose their vitality.

Tree seeds need pretty careful handling.

Any one interested in gathering tree seeds should get information from

books and bulletins on forestry. He should write to firms who make

a specialty of selling tree seeds and they will help him by giving

directions about the treatment of seeds.

Did you ever wonder where the nursery men get the thousands of apple

trees they sell every year? Go a step back of the budding or grafting

that is done in the nursery. Where did the little tree come from whose

top was cut off after the first bud was set? It came from a seed; just

any apple seed. And where do apple seeds come from? From apples? Yes,

just any apples. Did you ever make cider on your farm? You put in whole

apples, skin, core, stem, seeds, and all; shovelled them into the

hopper. The pulp was squeezed dry and thrown away, wasn't it, at your

cider mill? That is proof of the wastefulness of some good farmers. If

the pulp were washed in tubs, the seeds would find the bottom (or the

top) and they would bring a good price per pound.

COLLECTING CHRISTMAS GREENS

Once upon a time everybody who wanted Christmas greens had the fun of

gathering his own. That was in the generation when all the grandmothers

lived in the country and only the plain fathers and mothers and

children lived in the cities. But now we children have grown up and

our children want to go to grandmother's house for Christmas just as

we did. Can't you imagine how surprised and disappointed they are to

find their grandmothers living in city houses, even in flats? Didn't

we tell them about going out to gather holly and mistletoe and ground

pine and hemlock and even how we used to cut the Christmas tree itself

in grandpa's woods? In the middle West where Christmas trees do not

grow in the woods we used to choose a shapely young oak. To make it

look like an evergreen we used to get grandpa to go out with his big

jack-knife and cut off the largest branches he could spare from the

evergreens in the door yard. With good, strong twine we tied these

to the branches of the oak. When all the decorations were on and the

oranges and the apples and the popcorn strings and the candles _and_

the presents, we children who had never seen a real live Christmas tree

couldn't have told the difference. We didn't even mind the fact that

some of the oak's outer branches were pine, some were spruce, some were

cedar. It was all evergreen to us and all Christmassy. We were easy to

please.

But now--alas! The gathering of Christmas greens has been

commercialized. It has ceased to be fun, and has become a business. The

boys and girls may share in the profits and perhaps get some fun out

of it if they go about it right.

Holly, which of all the Christmas greens is the most popular, is a

hardy and beautiful tree, which grows wild in great numbers in the

Southern states and in the Chesapeake region. Many country boys and

girls make easy Christmas money from the holly trees in their own

woods. To these boys and girls I want to say "Don't kill the goose that

lays the golden egg." A tree with fine berries on it this year will,

if treated right, produce a good crop again in a few years. Pruning is

good for a tree, but brutally hacking its head out destroys the tree's

future, and the boy who does it is not a good citizen.

Holly wood is close grained, light, and tough and is valuable in some

forms of cabinet work. Here is an industry that might be developed as a

side issue in the holly trade.

The best market calls for holly wreaths. I have a picture of a girl

of fourteen who can make sixty wreaths in a day and she gets six and

a half cents for each. That is good wages for a girl of her age, but

she must get pretty tired making wreaths every minute all day long.

If she could help her brothers gather the holly for part of the time,

it would be easier on her back. The wreaths are made on frames of

twigs, twisted into circles, and tied. Young twigs of any flexible

shrub are used. Somebody has to gather these. It is a wonder that more

holly trees are not planted in door yards. And wouldn't it be a good

idea for some boys to begin a plantation of holly now so they can reap

the harvest later? Holly will not go out of fashion in a great many

years. But at the present rate the supply cannot last. The amount used

every year is past belief. From one small railway station 150,000

wreaths! One year, several carloads were burned because the market was

overstocked.

The time has come already when raising Christmas trees is necessary.

They still come up like weeds in the woods where enough mature ones

are left to seed the bared hillsides. The harvest begins in November

and the trees are cut and sorted, roped to preserve their branches,

in bundles of eight or less or singly, and stacked along the roads

to await shipment. Hundreds of thousands are harvested every year.

"No-Christmas-tree" clubs are being formed now to try to stop this

wastefulness. We go too much to extremes. One Christmas tree used to be

enough for all the grandchildren; but nowadays every one must have his

own. If our children's children are to have real Christmas trees the

boys of to-day must plant the seeds of the beloved balsam fir.

The man who discovers and makes popular a new kind of Christmas greens

does everybody a good turn. One of the most remarkable "ten-strikes"

ever made along this line was a sort of accident. A man who calls

himself "Caldwell, the woodsman," describes his experience as follows:

"It was several weeks before I found the evergreen that was to make

the town of Evergreen, Ala., famous throughout the decorative world.

Wandering through the woods one day, my attention was attracted to a

beautiful green vine hanging from the topmost limb of a small dead oak.

I caught hold of the vine and pulled it down, and was much astonished

at the ease with which it came out of the tree, and the fact that it

seemed in no way injured by my rough treatment. On carrying it to

my new home, I arranged it around the mirror in my room, and, after

leaving it there for about a week or ten days, found that it was as

fresh and green as ever."

Mr. Caldwell saw that in wild Southern smilax he had found a plant that

possessed all the good points required for wholesale decorations. It

is used everywhere now. City florists cannot get enough of it. The

plant is a perennial, renewing itself every year, and grows in greatest

profusion in its wild habitat. He had an uphill job, though, convincing

the fashionable florists of the value of this plant. But he persevered

and now he ships five thousand cases of it a year at an average profit

of one dollar per case.

Young long-leaf pines grow in the South and are now used extensively

for Christmas decoration in the North. It seems a pity to kill a pine

tree every time one of these is cut, but in places where the seedlings

come up too thick for good forest growth cutting out some is a benefit.

If only the gatherers would be conservers as well!

The collecting of ferns in the woods is a business suited to the

country boys and girls. This has grown to a really great enterprise

since the rage for country things has struck city people. There is

some sham about every fad of this kind, but the fern gatherers are not

shamming. They do the real work. To succeed in this, one must not work

haphazard. He must know just what his customer wants, and the buyer

must know just what the collector can supply. _Ferns_ is a big group of

plants, and some of them you couldn't sell. If Christmas ferns grow

plentifully in your woods, you can gather them by the thousand fronds.

But will the florist buy those leaves which have the brown spots (or

spores) on the under side? Find out before you waste your time. Those

spores are more valuable in the woods than on the garbage heap. The

boys who pull the plants up by the roots are killing their own goose.

The fern can spare all the perfect leaves you find on it in the fall

without much if any damage. A new crop will be forthcoming next year

if the roots are undisturbed. Scissors and care used in gathering only

good leaves will pay now, as well as in the future.

There are a number of wild things that deserve more popularity.

Bitter-sweet is lovely and lasts forever, nearly. You seldom see it

in the market, though. Sumach too, has great decorative value, yet

whoever saw it in a florist's window? Cattails, pussy willows, spice

bush, dogwood flowers and berries, Solomon's seal, and a score of other

wild flowers are already in use. But there are others you may be able

to introduce to city people. It is surprising what they will buy and

admire if it comes from the country. I rode on a suburban car one day

behind an armful of poison ivy. It was brilliantly beautiful and I

suspect the gatherer wished I had kept still when I told her what it

was. If she hadn't had a child with her, I should have let her risk it.

Maybe she was immune. Most people are. The funniest thing I ever saw

for sale was a basket of skunk-cabbage flowers on Broadway. The shrewd

old farmer who had them for sale got a quarter for two. He called them

Japanese lilies.

I wonder that the winter berry has not found more favour for

decoration. Two kinds of shrubs with this name are common in our

Northern woods. They are both hollies, but, unlike the Southern holly,

lose their leaves. One has bright orange-coloured berries, the other

is covered with a great profusion of bright scarlet fruits. Nothing

could be more effective in a large vase in a dark corner. They light up

handsomely at night or in the sunlight.

MEDICINAL PLANTS

There are a good many kinds of aromatic roots and medicinal plants

which are kept in stock at drug stores. Some of them are rare and bring

a good price; like golden seal at a dollar or over per pound. Digitalis

in the drug store is foxglove in the garden; but who ever thinks of

gathering its leaves and finding a market for them? Somebody must or

the supply would run out. The leaves of the second year's growth are

dried for medicinal uses.

Wild ginger root is used in preserves and for confectionery. I have

seen it in market and wondered who gathered it. Preserved calamus root,

too; who buys that unless it is Br'er Rabbit? There is a Bulletin

of the Department of Agriculture on "Weeds Used in Medicine" that

you ought to have. The list of weeds used in medicine will certainly

surprise the unenlightened. How do you know that your doctor isn't

dosing you with burdock, dandelion, dock, pokeweed, foxglove, mullein,

tansy, boneset, catnip, horehound, fleabane, yarrow, or jimson weed?

All these and many more common weeds are collected by somebody, dried,

and used in medicine.

POKEWEED

Pokeweed roots are poisonous. The berries are not. They are used to

make a syrup with which to colour frosting for cakes and the like.

Receipts for this are to be found in many cook books. But the best

part of pokeweed is not the fruit. In early spring, when asparagus is

expensive and scarce, the pokeweed shoots grow rank and as thick as

your thumb in fence corners. They will take entire possession of a

large garden in two years if given the least encouragement. I cut the

stems when about a foot in height. They are covered with short leaves

which are best removed except at the end of the shoot. Cook exactly

like asparagus, and dress with butter or cream. They resemble asparagus

somewhat, but are more delicate in flavour and less woody in texture.

WALKING STICKS

I once knew a stubborn man who was convinced that an unproductive

orchard full of old gnarled trees on his place was good for nothing

but firewood. He had the trunks cut into stove lengths and then burned

the brush in ten huge piles. As the last pile was about to be fired, a

manufacturer of umbrella handles offered him ten dollars for what was

left. Imagine his feelings! Thousands of handsome walking sticks and

umbrella handles are made of apple, cherry, and such woods. The makers

cannot get enough of it and yet every year how much salable wood must

be burned in the form of prunings. There is a true story of a young man

in Florida who paid his way through college by collecting orange wood

suitable for walking sticks. This wood is still popular for the same

purpose, and the idea is worth passing along.

Roots of quaint or grotesque shape are often found in the woods and may

be used as handles of umbrellas or walking sticks. I have a stick made

of a small sapling upon which a branch of bitter-sweet had entwined.

As the sapling grew in circumference, the coils of the climber had not

been loosened but had become imbedded in the wood of the little tree.

The long vine was not cut off, but trimmed and wound round and round

at the head of the stick to make it large enough to grasp comfortably.

Such a stick is an interesting gift for a friend.

[Illustration: Walking sticks decorated by nature]

Another pretty bit of nature's handiwork is a walking stick engraved by

the engraver beetle. These little insects make their burrows just under

the bark and they often work on small branches of a great variety of

forest trees. Remove a bit of loose bark and ten to one you will find

it carved with a more or less intricate design by the engraver beetle.

Could you do as neat a piece of work? A thorough brushing and oiling

are all that such a stick needs to make it an ornament to the hat-rack.

Sticks intended for handles or canes cannot be bent when dry. They

should be steamed until flexible or buried in hot, wet sand till you

can shape them. Boiling for a half-hour will sometimes make a piece

supple. Fasten in the desired shape with stout cords and dry thoroughly

before releasing. Sticks that are slightly crooked may be straightened

by putting them into a bundle with perfectly straight pieces and

winding with strong rope; let them dry in this bundle. Sticks which

are to be peeled should be partially dried first but not by artificial

heat. Rapid drying is likely to split the stick.

WILD FLOWERS FOR CITY CHILDREN

Children who live in the country part or all of the year do not know

how much pleasure they might give if they would gather wild flowers

and send them to city children. There is a society which distributes

flowers thus collected in New York but maybe there is none in the

city near you. The commonest flowers, even the weeds like daisies and

dandelions and black-eyed Susans, are eagerly taken home by children

who are so poor that they never even saw a park, much less a meadow. In

one city school over two hundred children had never seen a dandelion.

A lady once started with a bunch of daisies to give to a city friend.

She was met at the ferry with, "Please give me a flower." She went on

up the street. "Won't chu gimme one o'yer flowers?" Children seemed to

appear from every direction; maybe they were always there and she had

not noticed them before. The grown-up friend did not get any flowers

but she got a good story instead. Mr. Jacob Riis founded a flower

mission on a similar experience. It is fun to gather flowers anyhow,

and if you can make some other child happy even for a few minutes it

would be even more fun. This is only a hint.

SHELF FUNGI

Have you seen those outgrowths on dying and dead trees which stand out

like a shelf? They are called bracket or shelf fungi. If you have an

artist friend who can make beautiful things on these by carving them

with little engraving tools, gather all you see for her.

[Illustration: Photograph by Verne Morton. Gathering Wild Flowers for

City Children]

DANDELION GREENS

Do your folks cook dandelion greens? Mine never did but since seeing

them for sale at so much per half-peck I have come to think that they

must be eatable and have wished we had gathered and sold the bushels

that grew in our lawn.

CORN HUSKS

Corn husks is a crop that used to be more eagerly harvested than now.

In the corn belt, where the husking is done in the field, the husk is

left on the stalk and would therefore be hard to get. But where corn

is snapped, husk and all, and left to be husked at leisure in field

or barn, the husks can be saved with profit. For summer beds they are

cheaper and softer than hay. For porch cushions they are far superior

to excelsior. For braiding into mats they are really valuable, and

well-made ones bring a good price.

Cornstalks yield another crop that is little known. Collectors of

insects use thin sheets of cornstalk pith to line their insect boxes.

It is peculiarly adapted to this purpose. They cannot get a large

supply of it, yet what boy in any great corn state could not get a ton

of it if he had the gumption. Ask the entomology man in your state

Experiment Station, if he needs cornstalk pith. If you live in a cactus

country, ask him if he could use thin slices of the pith from the

flower stalk of the giant cacti.

FRAGRANT HERBS AND GRASSES

Of the fragrant herbs, grasses, and shrubs which nature provides,

nothing is more in demand than sweet grass. In the parts of the country

where it is abundant, people still gather and cure it and make useful

baskets and mats of it. Sometimes it is combined with birch bark or

porcupine quills or both by skilful Indian women who learned how from

their grandmothers. The good market for such things will keep the art

of basket making from becoming a lost one.

Indian maidens are not the only ones who have learned basket weaving.

Indeed this has almost taken the place of patchwork, for girls, except

in very old-fashioned families. Clever girls will not be content to use

only such conventional materials as raffia and reeds. Often the colours

of those you buy are so crude that you cannot make really artistic

things of them. Some of the native grasses, flower stalks, strips of

palmetto, rushes, soft inner corn husks, cat-tail leaves, and sedges

are used. One basket maker has used the shiny brown stems of maidenhair

ferns and the effect is very pretty. Another uses long pine needles in

her weaving. Most of these materials are unfit for use when dry and

brittle, but books on basketry tell just how they can be made pliable.

Grasses are usually at their best just after flowering.

The dried leaves of sweet fern, sweet clover in blossom, balsam fir,

and bayberry make sweet smelling cushions and bags for bureau drawers

and couches.

BALSAM LEAVES

In gathering what you hear called "pine needles" for pillows be sure

you have the right kind of trees before you begin to gather the leaves.

Pine needles are long and stiff and sharp. A pillow made of dried

ones would not be a very fragrant nor a very comfortable thing. What

you want is the short, soft leaves of balsam fir. These retain their

wholesome odour after being dried. In five minutes you can learn to

tell the balsam from spruce, hemlock, and cedar, the other common

short-leaved native evergreens.

BIRCH BARK

Camping parties often leave a trail of devastation behind them which

would shock the most hardened and wasteful one of the lot. This is

largely if not entirely because they are ignorant, not because they

are intentionally breakers of the laws of the woods. Indeed they are

probably very ardent believers in the theory of conservation. Has it

never occurred to them to practise it?

In the matter of collecting birch bark much damage has been done.

Some people in whom you have confidence say: "Oh, no. It doesn't hurt

the tree." So you strip off layer after layer; such a fascinating

occupation, I do not wonder you hardly know when to stop. But read what

Miss Rogers says in "The Tree Book:" "The feminine tourist in Northern

woods loses no time in supplying herself with birch bark note-paper.

The bark is usually removed in thick plates, from which the thin sheets

may be stripped at leisure. These sheets are orange-coloured, with a

faint purplish bloom upon them and darker purplish lines. Alas! for the

zeal of these tourists. They usually cut too deep, and the strip that

tears off so evenly girdles and kills the tree, because nothing is left

to protect the living cambium. A black band (of mourning) soon marks

the doomed tree, and it eventually snaps off in the wind."

I know a girl who killed thirty-seven beautiful birch trees before any

one showed her how she could get plenty of bark and leave some for the

tree beside. She was perfectly horrified when she realized what she had

done. So few people know that the live part of the tree is not at the

heart--that is quite dead--but just under the skin. Cut off the bark in

any large quantities and your tree falls an easy prey to disease.

Hiawatha was not the first Indian to use the canoe birch for practical

purposes. His ancestors used this bark for all sorts of utensils,

dishes, baskets, buckets, and for their canoes. They sewed the pieces

together with fibrous roots and filled the cracks with wild gum

or pitch. The Indians of nowadays have degenerated and the things

they make have become less artistic. I lately saw a buckskin pouch,

decorated with exquisitely woven bead work, in simple but charming

design. It was a piece of real Indian handiwork, but the whole effect

was spoiled by a lining of coarse red and blue and green gingham and

the pouch flap was secured by a thong looped over a large white agate

shirt button!

In trying to imitate the Indians at their game of making things out

of birch bark, quills, sweet grass, and other natural materials, let

us keep clear of the shops and use only what combines naturally and

artistically.

PORCUPINE QUILLS

"Give me of your quills, O hedgehog!" Hiawatha was talking to a

porcupine, for the chances are that he never saw a hedgehog. Poets

ought to know better than to confuse their "critters."

A real Indian boy in the woods knows that porcupines give up their

quills all too willingly. It is strange that the wild beasts of prey

and the domestic dogs cannot learn this and let the porcupine alone.

They have no quarrel with him. He eats the bark of trees, and goes

about his own affairs. There isn't a word of truth in the story of his

shooting his quills. No doubt he would if he could, if sore pressed,

but he can't. He bristles them up when attacked and then woe be to

the tender nose that touches the sharp points! The quills let go of

their original owner very easily, but being barbed on their outer end

they bury themselves in the soft parts of the attacking animal. With

no thought of revenge in his rather witless head, the porcupine may

pronounce the death sentence on his captor.

Porcupines are hunted for their quills and easily captured by men as

they are slow and awkward. The quills take a pretty polish and their

cream white and shaded brown colours blend softly with the tints of

birch bark and wild grasses with which they are combined by basket and

mat weavers.

MAPLE SUGAR MAKING

Most of the fifty million or so pounds of maple sugar made in this

country is made in six states, Vermont, New York, Ohio, Michigan,

Pennsylvania, and New Hampshire. The boys and girls of these states

have exceptional opportunities of studying the mysteries of tree life

and of sharing the bounty the maples provide. I was not brought up

in any one of the above-named states, yet I remember the maple sugar

making in the woods along the river. One of my early recollections is

of a party of Indian women, on piebald ponies, bringing fascinating

heart-shaped cakes of maple sugar to exchange at the farm for fresh

meat. Theirs were no pale, anæmic, delicate squares of creamy texture,

but ruddy and hard. Less discriminating than now, we children ate with

relish the coarse sugar almost black from the bits of bark, chips of

leaves, and twigs which had undoubtedly been boiled with it. Nor did we

innocents turn from it with loathing when told by a teasing uncle that

its colour was due to the sirup having been strained by the Indians

through their blankets. We didn't believe it then and I don't yet. How

very bad for the blankets!

The Indians discovered the maple sugar industry long before they

themselves were discovered by white people. They taught our New

England ancestors how to tap the trees and boil down the sirup and how

to "sugar off." They had little or no sugar except what the maples

supplied. The Indians had very primitive ways of tapping the trees,

collecting the sap, boiling, and sugaring. These ways have been

improved in the last three hundred years. Although wooden buckets and

home-made spiles made of sumach branches may still be used where only a

few trees are tapped, the up-to-date sugar maker has modern, patent,

covered buckets, spouts, and evaporators. He uses a thermometer and

knows "for sure" when to shut off his fire if he wants to make sirup,

and how high the temperature may go to make the best sugar. He knows,

too, whether he can afford to make sugar which tests eighty per cent.

or ninety per cent. pure and get the bounty, if his state pays one, or

if it costs him less labour and expense to sell his entire product in

the form of sirup.

But scientific methods can never take away the charm of maple sugar

making. There is so much yet to be learned from the trees about the

whys and wherefores of their behaviour during the harvest, that our

interest in maple products increases as our interest in mere "sweets"

decreases.

If you have a "sugar bush" planted by your great-grandfather, the

chances are that you have had annual opportunities to help in making

sugar, ever since you could drive a horse on frosty mornings to collect

the sap. But I am going to suppose that during the winter you have

been reading "Trees Every Child Should Know" and have been identifying

the trees about your home. The maples are about the easiest trees to

identify when leafless. Suppose you have found several maple trees,

good big ones, right in your own door yard. The hard or sugar maple is

the one most frequently used for sugar making, but experiments show

that soft maples make good sugar too. It isn't worth while to tap trees

in winter. The sugar is in them all right because the leaves were

storing up the starch all summer. This starch has been changed to sugar

in the living cells of the wood. But you couldn't get any of it until

the sap begins to run. It does this with the first warm, sunny days of

February.

After locating all the trees you expect to tap, you must make some

preparations so that you will not lose any time at the critical moment.

I knew one boy who got his bit and brace out the first thing, bored

a hole in the tree trunk, and lost about a gallon of sap before he

could get a spile and a pail ready to catch it. You want a spile or

spout for every pail and a pail for every tree. The patent spouts have

a hook upon which the bucket hangs. If you use sumach spiles you may

have to set the bucket on the ground where it is likely to get dirt in

it, tip over, and it is so far from the spile that the wind blows the

sap away from the pail entirely. The pails should be generous in size

unless you expect to collect the sap more than once a day. An average

yield per day is five quarts per hole. The pails and spiles should be

in readiness before "sugar weather" begins. Beside the pails and spouts

you need a wooden mallet, and a bit and brace or small auger for the

outdoor work; a kettle for boiling down, a large jar to put the fresh

sap in, and a dipper to dip it out, a strainer and a skimmer for the

indoor work. If you boil your sap outdoors using cheap fuel you will

make more out of your enterprise than if you use coal or gas. A good

sap-running day is a warm, sunny day after a frosty night. While the

days and nights are about the same temperature the sap does not run

much.

The best place to tap a tree is about four feet from the ground, and

fortunately that is the easiest place to work with the auger or bit.

The bit should be bright and sharp; a dull, rusty bit makes a shabby

hole in the wood with a lot of woody shreds which clog the flow of sap.

Clean out the hole, as any chips left in stop the flow in the same

way. The bit or auger used should be about one half inch in diameter.

A bigger hole might give more sap but would injure the tree more. The

tree fills up the smaller hole in a few years with new tissue. The

hole should not be deeper than three inches. It is a mistake to think

that the centre of the tree holds the sap. As a matter of fact there

is less there than anywhere else and more as you near the surface. The

living, active part of the tree is just under the bark. It is necessary

to say this over and over again so that people will get it into their

minds. The Indians used to tap the trees on the south side because

they said more sap came from that side. Experiments show that on warm,

sunny days, this is the case. On cloudy days, however, sap comes about

equally from holes on all sides. If the trees have been tapped before,

it is best to tap at some distance from the old places. The size of the

auger and spile should be the same and the latter should be forced in

tightly, and not fall out when the pail is full.

Pure sap makes the clearest sirup and the lightest-coloured sugar.

Every bit of dust, leaves, twigs, or bark that gets into the pail

leaves its mark on the sugar even though strained out. So covers on

the pails are preferred if one can afford them. Most of the sap runs

between nine o'clock in the morning and noon. It has been found by

tests that this morning sap has more sugar in it than that which runs

later in the day. It is the custom in some places to throw away the ice

if the sap freezes. This is very wasteful, for this ice contains about

thirty per cent. of the sugar. Of course, melting ice is expensive

business so one must try not to let his sap freeze. The sap in the

storage jar or tank must not be allowed to get warm, though, as it may

sour. It should be boiled as soon after gathering as possible to ensure

best results.

Maple sap contains other ingredients beside water and sugar. In

boiling, the water passes off in steam and the sugar and other solids

remain. The changes in colour from clear sap to dark brown sugar is

caused by the action of the heat upon the sugar and other substances.

All sugar makers know that the lightest coloured sirup and sugar can

be made from the earliest run of sap. That is because, as the season

advances, more of the lime, potash, magnesia, and other substances are

present in the sap. You see the tree does not stop work just because

you tap it; and the sap is changing every day until, by the time the

buds begin to open, the sap is so changed that it does not make good

sugar at all.

Water boils when it reaches two hundred and twelve degrees, Fahrenheit,

as any thermometer will tell you. In fact, you cannot heat water

hotter than two hundred and twelve degrees, for at that temperature

the water becomes steam. A mixture of sugar and water will not boil

at two hundred and twelve degrees but requires a higher temperature.

Therefore, as the water passes off the sap in boiling, and as the

amount of sugar per gallon increases, it gets hotter and hotter. It is

necessary to watch boiling sap carefully to avoid burning. In making

sirup it is important to have it just thick enough to taste right and

not so thick that it will granulate. Sirup that weighs eleven pounds to

the gallon has long been considered as "just right," and it has been

found by testing that if you take the sirup off the fire just as soon

as the thermometer registers two hundred and nineteen degrees it will

weigh eleven pounds to the gallon and will not granulate. If you take

it off when the thermometer says two hundred and sixteen degrees your

sirup will be a pretty fair article, but you cannot expect to get as

good a price for it, because it has more water in it than there should

be in a prime article.

When the sirup has boiled down to nearly two hundred and nineteen

degrees, it is necessary to pour it off or strain it through thick

cloths to take out the dark-coloured impurities. After this the sirup

is heated again to boiling point and sealed in jars or cans.

A gallon of sirup will make between eight and ten pounds of sugar.

Can you afford to make your sirup into sugar at this rate? It will

depend upon the relative price of sugar and sirup, the cost of your

fuel and the value of your time and whether your market wants sugar or

sirup. There is a good and increasing demand for pure maple products,

especially in the form of confectionery. If you can work up a market

for fancy maple sugar in the form of bonbons it will bring a fancy

price. This is not so hard as it sounds but it takes enterprise and

gumption and perseverance and knack. Here is a job where brothers and

sisters can work together to very great advantage and add to their

store of college money by discovering and harvesting a crop right at

home which in many cases has been neglected for decades. If you have

city cousins they will help you sell your products among their mates.

It will pay you to prepare small sample parcels, enough to whet the

appetite but not enough to satisfy. I remember receiving a number of

packages of maple cream from a Vermont friend. The price per pound

was equal to that of the finest candy and I wanted to share with all

my friends. But I couldn't afford to give away pound packages to

everybody. I might have created a large demand for this delicious

confectionery, had I been able to get sample packages to give to

friends. This year I am to have them.

It adds wonderfully to the attractiveness of maple sugar to have each

cake or bonbon wrapped in its own piece of waxed paper. This is a kind

of guarantee of dainty handling that is appreciated by the purchaser.

A shoe box is hardly a dainty parcel, yet I know of one unimaginative

maple sugar man who packs his cakes in just such boxes. There is a

chance for some one to "make a hit" in this line.

WILD RICE

Wild rice sells for two or three times the price of ordinary rice and

the supply never meets the demand.

"But who wants it and what for?"

Wild rice is not likely to become a popular breakfast food except

among the Ojibways, yet a lot of time and effort have been spent on

trying to find out how to grow crops of it. The reason for this is

that nothing fattens wild ducks, geese, and other game birds quite so

satisfactorily. Where the wild rice flourishes there is the hunter's

paradise in September. This is reason enough for wanting to grow wild

rice. When our true American sportsmen awoke to the fact that game was

scarce and realized why, they set about protecting the wild fowl and

studying their habits so as to better supply ideal conditions for the

remnant to increase. This is conservation and boys that help in such

enterprises are truly patriotic citizens.

Wild rice grows in swamps, shallow lakes, and sluggish rivers covering

immense areas in the Mississippi Valley and the middle North-western

states. Mud is a necessity to its growth. It grows taller than a man's

height above the water and its seed comes in a loose spray at the very

top of each stalk. The plants die every year and new ones come up from

seed. The grain begins to ripen early in September and keeps on until

heavy frosts. This is all right for ducks but it makes harvesting a

very difficult task. The Indian women of the wild rice regions go out

and shake the heads over their boats. They have to go again and again.

If they left it till all the grain had ripened they would get very

little seed, because the wild rice falls as soon as it is ripe and lies

in the mud till spring. The long-hid secret of the many failures to get

wild rice to grow from seed was discovered by some scientist to be this

habit of lying in the mud over winter. Thoroughly dried seed does not

germinate.

Wild rice is queer looking stuff. The grains are black and very long

and slender. Some of them are an inch long. It is said by some to be

very good eating, especially as prepared by the Indians. They parch it

usually, but sometimes it is made into a sort of porridge and eaten

with maple sugar.

Practically, the best market for wild rice will always be amongst

the wild fowl and it is a sportsman-like act to gather the seed and

propagate it for their sake.

GATHERING SPRUCE GUM

If spruce gum were used only in the manufacture of "chewing-gum"

we had much better let the crop go unharvested. It serves a useful

purpose in the tree which produces it. When you have a cut or bruise

you like to put something on it that excludes the air. The tree acts

on the same principle. The live part of the tree is just underneath

the bark. Trees are liable to many kinds of injuries. The winter winds

strain them sometimes to the point of splitting, a heedless woodsman

blazes the bark in passing, wild creatures gnaw or scratch the trunks,

a woodpecker digs a hole through the bark. Any injury of the living

layer is like a "hurry call" to the cells where the resin is stored.

These cells are the health department. They send out to the injured

part a covering of balm, a salve which seals the wound effectually from

contact with the air. We cannot say that the tree knows that the air is

full of the germs of decay and that to let them get a foothold means

decay and sure death; but the tree has something that serves the same

purpose as knowledge.

Physicians make use of the resinous gums in preparing medicines, and

druggists always try to keep a stock of spruce gum on hand. Collectors

find their best market for it in the drug trade. The best quality

brings as high as one dollar and fifty cents a pound, while one dollar

a pound is not too much to expect for the average collection.

All the spruces yield gum, but the best quality is said to come from

the white spruce. The first thing to do then is to learn to recognize

this tree on sight. It will take you and a tree book together about

five minutes to distinguish between the three short-leaved evergreens

which look so much alike to a novice, the firs, the hemlocks, and the

spruces. When once you know the spruces by the looks or the feel, you

will begin to know the white from the red and black spruce by the

colour. Everything about the white spruce is paler than the others.

The foliage is light, almost pea-green, and the bark is not ruddy but

grayish-brown. There are thousands of acres of spruce woods in our

northern Central and New England states. Boys and girls on camping

trips can sometimes collect spruce gum enough to pay expenses and have

fun doing it. The only equipment necessary is a heavy pocket knife, a

gum spud, a canvas sack, a strong hand, and a pair of sharp eyes. The

eyes will get sharper as the knife gets dull and the tree you found

nothing on in the morning of your first day may yield a good harvest on

the return trip. You will not be able to buy a gum spud, but a tinsmith

can make one for you at small cost, according to these directions:

Solder a piece of galvanized iron into a funnel six inches deep, three

inches across the top, and one inch in diameter at the bottom. A

ferrule two or three inches deep and an inch in diameter is fitted into

the bottom of the funnel and soldered in tight. Fit a long handle into

this affair and your spud is ready. You may count on a good majority of

the gum you find being out of reach of the knife but the spud gets it

down very successfully.

The best place to find spruce gum is undoubtedly in woods where no

one has been "gummin'" before, at least not for five years or so. The

most plentiful supply is said to be on slopes where the trees have a

southern exposure, and the smaller trees yield more gum than the big

ones. Your work is not done with collecting, for in order to get the

best price you must present a fancy grade to the market. If your gum

is all thrown in together, good, bad, and indifferent, your average

price is pretty sure to be less than for a carefully cleaned and sorted

lot.

Spruce gum can be collected in summer or winter. Which time is better

for you depends on circumstances. There is a peculiar charm about gum

hunting on snow-shoes. A young man suffering from too little fresh air

and attendant ills might find his health among the spruce trees while

the gum paid the bills.

MUSHROOMS

"Are you sure these are good mushrooms?" I asked my seven-year-old

daughter.

"Yes. I'm sure. Don't you know Aunt J---- says that all the _Coprinæ_

are edible?"

This is a true story and it only goes to show that even a small child

can learn that there are a small number of unmistakable mushrooms,

which are edible and there is never any danger of being wrong about

them. The puff-balls, for example, are all good to eat. When we found

the neighbour's children kicking great white spongy puff-balls in the

pasture we begged them to let us have them instead. "Pap says they're

p'ison" was their reply, but we heeded them not for their "pap" was

no oracle of ours. We were quite willing the children should go on

thinking puff-balls were poison, if only they would not use them for

foot-balls. Nobody in his senses would try to eat puff-balls after they

have begun to turn black or brown. But when they are white and tender

they are very good. Skin the ball, slice thin, add water and a little

salt, and stew for twenty minutes or so. Drain and dress with cream

sauce. No doubt puff-ball slices broiled over a camp fire with bacon

would be good. I wish I had tried it, but I never have. We will agree

that no puff-ball can compare with the pink-gilled meadow mushroom, but

we make no such claims for it.

The best place to look for puff-balls is in old pastures in late summer

and early fall. The giants are sometimes as big as a milk pail. The

pear-shaped ones grow on tree stumps and are as big as your fist or

smaller. There is an endless variety of tiny ones of all sorts which

are either too tough or too small to bother with. But no puff-ball is

"p'ison," not one.

Boys and girls who like to harvest nature's crops are missing a lot

of fun besides many pecks of delicious food by neglecting the common

edible mushrooms. If you know a few good ones you are perfectly safe.

When you have seen them a few times and gathered them a few times and

compared them with photographs you are ready to eat them. I should

advise always to go mushroom hunting first with some experienced

person. Personally I take no risks. For instance if my book tells me

that "dangerous fungi resembling this species and sometimes found in

company with it--etc.," that's enough. Say no more. I let that one

alone. I do not like the company it keeps, and it may be a sheep in

wolf's clothing. In my list of edible fungi, common in New York and

New Jersey, there are less than a dozen kinds. No one of these looks

enough like any other fungus to be mistaken for it. A few good looks at

them will fix them in the memory. These are morels, meadow mushrooms,

shaggy-manes, inky-caps, oyster mushroom, puff-balls, coral fungi,

and chanterelles. The open season for morels is in early spring, when

arbutus is blossoming, and later. Coral fungi and chanterelles are

at their finest in midsummer, puff-balls in September, inky-caps and

shaggy-manes in October, and we ate oyster mushrooms on January first

one year, though they appear earlier. The meadow mushroom with white

flesh and pink gills is grown indoors and is seen in the market from

fall till spring, but nature's crop must be harvested in fall before

frost.

_Morels._--Morels look like nothing else. When full sized they are six

inches high. The hollow stalk is as large as your finger and about half

the length of the whole. The top or cap is brownish and so covered with

ridges and wrinkles that it would never be mistaken for anything else

in the world. You ought to see a picture of it because it is difficult

to describe so irregular an object. Look it up in some mushroom book or

bulletin in your library.

[Illustration]

You never know just where morels may appear. We found them in our

garden once. They come up right among the weeds or dead leaves. I have

often found them along forest by-paths, especially in wet weather in

spring. They are delectable. Perhaps you have eaten delicately broiled

slices of tenderloin of young pig. Morels do not taste like this--they

look a little like it--they taste very much better. You taste them.

_Coral Fungi._--The coral fungi that I eat look like chunks of pinkish

or cream white organ pipe coral. They are fleshy, soft, yet firm enough

to keep their shape, and the whole mass is made up of tiny thread-or

rod-like parts of many branches. There is a fine one which looks like a

cauliflower though more yellow. I have found the pink and creamy ones

on fallen and decayed tree trunks in deep, cool woods in midsummer.

Others equally good grow in thin woods or open places. They vary in

size from chunks as big as a walnut to those as big or bigger than

your fist. They need careful cleansing under a faucet. Some cooks soak

them first in cold water into which they put a little vinegar or lemon

juice. They then fry in butter. Another way is to stew till tender in

water with lemon juice in it. Then drain and dress with cream sauce.

_Puff-balls._--What country child has not puffed the "smoke" from the

hole in the top of the tough-skinned little brown balls they find in

the fields in autumn? Children generally believe them to be deadly

poison and call them "devil's snuff-boxes." Their life history is very

like that of other fungi. The most of the year these flowerless and

leafless plants spend underground. They spread in a tangle of fine

threads all through the soil wherever they find decaying vegetable

matter upon which to feed. When their time comes, little white balls

push out and up from the threads. These come to the surface and we know

them by their shapes and sizes as our different kinds of puff-balls,

mushrooms, or other fungi.

The puff-balls are white and look like fine cream cheese when they

first appear. Their business is to ripen their spores, scatter them,

and disappear. The brown smoke or dust of the ripe puff-ball is blown

about by the wind and finds its way into the earth in time; each tiny

spore or grain of dust can start a new mat of threads down underground.

When you puff the devil's snuff-box you are doing the plant just the

kindness it was waiting for. When a cow steps on a ripe giant puff-ball

a great smoke goes up, and the breeze catches the dust. Some of the

spores may be carried on the wind or on the cow's foot to far distant

pastures, there to settle down and start a new puff-ball colony. It is

just so with all the fungi.

All the puff-balls are edible but one of the most eatable is _the

giant_, which is found in August or September in pastures or other

grassy places. When right to eat it is grayish on the outside and pure

white clear through. In size this giant varies from six or eight inches

through to two feet. Specimens of ten pounds' weight are not rare, and

there is record of some twice that size. When yellow or brown inside,

the giant is past eating.

The _pear-shaped_ puff-ball is the commonest one. This is a sort of

dirty brown colour outside, pure white inside. It is found on old

wood or on the ground as early as July and as late as October. In size

the balls vary from thimble size to that of a big pear. They grow in

companies, sometimes scores together.

The _brain_ puff-ball is larger than the pear-shaped. The top is

wrinkled or corrugated, and grayish or reddish in colour.

_Chanterelles._--Chanterelles are found in late summer in the woods

amongst moss where it is damp and cool. They are red or yellow and look

as if you had put your thumb in the middle of the top and pushed it

down so that the network of gills appear on the outside. The name means

a little goblet, and the perfect ones are goblet-shaped. If you go

camping in the woods in summer you are almost sure to find chanterelles.

_Meadow Mushrooms._--The wild meadow mushroom usually appears in

large numbers after the autumn rains have renewed the pastures. They

frequently come up alongside of an old dried patch of cow manure. To

make myself familiar with this pink-gilled variety I visited a large

market where they had them for sale in all stages, from the little

round buttons to the big flat broilers which are turning brown. They

are just right when the cap has spread so as to burst the delicate

white veil which covers the gills. The flesh is white and the gills a

delicate pink. The skin peels off easily like that of a ripe peach.

Look them over with great care when preparing for the table. The early

worm which is on hand to get a first bite of everything sometimes

honeycombs the whole plant. The stems of young ones are tender at the

top.

_Inky Caps._--You never expect to gather your dinner from an ash heap?

Neither did I; but in the edge of the woods nearest us the public used

to be allowed to dump ashes. It is now overgrown with golden-rod, iron

weed and various other coarse plants. A path leads through it. Last

fall we discovered that the place was fairly swarming with _Coprinus

comatus_, the shaggy mane mushroom. This does not look like anything

else on land or sea and is delicious. Its relative, the inky cap is

just as good to eat, but not so handsome. Both melt away into black

ink as they grow old. They should be cooked as soon as possible after

gathering. We kept some over night once. Such a sight! They looked like

black corn smut.

The _Coprinæ_ push up in such tight clumps sometimes that their heads

are all out of shape. They rise literally over night. Sometimes

one comes up singly and grows tall and perfect, a truly lovely

object, pure white, six inches tall, its shaggy head held high, its

silver-white gills delicate as tissue paper. A few hours later you will

see a ragged bit of pulp rapidly dissolving in a pool of black ink.

_Oyster Mushrooms._--The oyster mushroom comes out like the shelf fungi

on decaying tree stumps or logs. They are ashy colour or dull white,

solid and rather tough, and vary in breadth from two to five inches. As

to why they are called oyster mushrooms, opinions differ. The flavour

is not oyster-like, though the flesh is about as tough as a boiled

oyster. The shape does suggest an oyster shell; perhaps that is the

best reason for the name. One edible relative of the oyster mushroom

grows usually on decaying elm stumps as late in the year as November.

The first thing to do if you get interested in mushrooms is to get

some good illustrated book on them. The chances are that your State

Experiment Station has issued a bulletin on the subject. If not you

can get those published by the United States Department of Agriculture

or perhaps those issued by some neighbouring state. What you want is

information on wild fungi, especially the edible ones, not directions

about growing the market varieties. When you write for bulletins state

just what you are looking for. Pictures, especially photographs, are

of the greatest use in identifying specimens. Compare the descriptions

and pictures with your mushrooms and do not use them if there is any

question in your mind as to what they are. The books mentioned in the

appendix of this book have been of help to me.

CONSERVING NATURE'S CROPS

The harvesting of nature's crops is a most fascinating occupation. As

boys and girls we do not ask why; we only know what fun it is. If the

time ever comes when you wish to forget that you are grown up, nothing

will help you like going into the woods, the fields, or the hedge-rows

to help the birds and the little fur-coated animals harvest the crops

of nuts or berries or other fruit that grow in nature's orchards. With

your sack of nuts or plums on your arm, or your pail full of berries,

you can easily forget that you live in a flat or work in an office or a

factory.

Some people think when they see how much over-ripe fruit is falling

to the ground, and how much more there is than can ever be gathered

by human hands, that nature is wasteful. Perhaps this is why these

same people and others who did not think at all, have been so very

wasteful of our country's natural resources, and brought about such a

really alarming state of things in our forests. Those who do stop to

think will see that although she is lavish, nature is never wasteful.

The berries must decay in order that the seeds may germinate, and in

moulding they nourish the fungi which are just as important in nature's

eyes, so to speak, as the berries are. Nothing is _wasted_ in nature.

On the contrary, everything is _saved_ and is made over into some other

form. Nothing stands still; transformation goes on continuously. What

was soil yesterday is fruit to-day and is built into our muscles and

nerves and brains to-morrow.

Every boy or girl that helps to harvest nature's crops can do a little

to assist in our great national work of preserving the country's

natural resources. Would you ruin a fine young tree just beginning a

life of usefulness? By mutilating it past recognition, you may add

a few nuts to your this year's store. But what an injustice you are

doing to the next generation of boys and girls. You are robbing them.

I have heard men say: "When I was a boy we used to bring home arbutus

by the wagon load from Coy Glen. But it's hard to find any there now.

It must have winter-killed or blighted." My tongue burned to tell them

that they themselves were the blight that winter-killed the arbutus and

robbed me of my right to gather a few sprays. They had torn it up by

the roots in their greed to fill their wagons, and then they cut out

all the trees, and the sunlight destroyed all the shade-loving things.

Boys and girls of a more enlightened generation know better ways and

will not leave behind them a record of selfishness.

THE STORY OF THE CREATION OF A NEW INDUSTRY

I am glad to tell the methods by which I have developed a good business

in collecting and growing California bulbs, as I believe my success

can be duplicated in other parts of the country--in fact, one man

already makes a good living by exploiting the wild flowers of the

Rocky Mountains, several people are exporting the cacti of our desert,

and there are several nurseries in the southern Appalachians for the

interesting plants of North Carolina.

In 1870, when I was nine years old, my family moved to Ukiah Valley in

north-western California, and there I have lived ever since. My early

home was a farm, and my first work to raise hops and a mortgage. My

education was such as the district school and an abundance of good

reading could give me. At eighteen I began to teach school. I was

always a lover of nature and fond of wandering about the hills. In

Mendocino County in 1870 the country was just emerging from the cowboy

era, and little attention was paid to vegetable gardening, while flower

gardens were all but unknown.

HOW THE LIFE WORK WAS DETERMINED

There was one notable exception to the indifference to flowers.

Alexander MacNab, a Scotchman who had been forced by declining health

to leave Glasgow, had found new vigour in California's mountains. The

property which he had purchased for a stock range is one of the most

picturesque in northern California, and there he built a modest but

ideal home. He sent everywhere for flowers, and I know of no place in

these later days where more flowers are well grown. He gave to his

flowers not only money, but love and himself, and few gardeners were

more successful. I often visited there in my boyhood days and the

inspiration that I received from this place and from another source

determined my life work.

I had a sister a few years older than myself who had been in the East

for some years and whose failing health forced her to return to

California. She was a flower-lover and soon called upon me to begin a

garden on the bare hill where our very plain home stood. It was a work

of love, for all of the new soil was carried in buckets, and the water

which our hot climate made necessary was carried from a well, but it

was a great success. My Scotch friend was most liberal with both plants

and instruction, and between the two my bent was well fixed.

THE BEGINNING OF THE INDUSTRY

It was through Mr. MacNab that I got started in the collection of

native plants. Woolson and Company, then of Passaic, N. J., were the

first American firm to take up the culture of our native American

plants as a specialty. They wrote to Mr. MacNab, asking him to secure

the native plants and offering to pay for them in eastern grown plants.

My love for flowers had interested me in botany, and it was quite

natural that the letter should be turned over to me. In my first letter

to Woolson I sent a pressed flower of _Colochortus pulchellus_ and

received in return an order for one hundred bulbs, which they said they

would pay for in cash. This order was filled and it was the beginning

of my bulb business.

My first idea was to earn money to buy plants with, but before long I

saw that a small business might be built up.

My progress as a collector went hand in hand with my education in

botany. My method was this: First to find something of sufficient

beauty to make it probable that it would be wanted; next, to find its

name, and then to offer it to some one of the very few firms then

interested in such things.

Such was the first stage in the development of a new industry, but the

latter was no less important, for it involved knowing the plant at

every stage of its growth, finding when it could best be handled, and

how best packed for shipment. Almost from the beginning I tried to grow

the native plants, and botanical study, collection, and cultivation

have gone hand in hand since.

METHODS OF COLLECTING

Every year I took longer trips. I went alone, with the lightest of

camping outfits, slept on the ground, and penetrated the wildest

regions, learning where the desirable flowers grew, and collecting

those in demand, at the same time studying the general flora. When I

had learned the flora of a region, I tried to train some resident as

a permanent collector, for not all of these long trips could be made

every year. My horizon fast widened, and through friends, by letters

to others, and often by the migration of men whom I had trained, new

fields were opened, and later I had men who had been trained under me

to send to distant points.

Before I began to collect, others had been in the field, but they were

principally wandering botanists who seldom collected over the same

ground for two years in sequence. Their collections were of stuff of

all grades, often made at the wrong season, and there was no demand

except from a few special lists. At first I shared their faults, but

after a few years I saw the necessity of making a reputation for

reliability, for thoroughly learning the art of packing, and for such

grading as would insure uniform quality.

ESTABLISHING A NURSERY BUSINESS

As time went on, collection became less important and culture the

central feature of my work.

My first garden was at the farm home; later I spent much time and money

in experiments in a reclaimed lake bed near Ukiah, still later at my

Ukiah home, and since 1897 in the mountains about eight miles east of

Ukiah. Each experiment had its value. No one had grown Californian

bulbs in California, and everything had to be learned experimentally.

I now have two nurseries. One of them is at Lyons Valley, a lovely

spot in the highest part of that branch of the Coast Range which I

found six years ago was specially adapted to lily culture. About three

quarters of a mile away, at "The Terraces," nature has provided endless

variations of soil, climate, moisture, sun, and shade. Here I grow a

great variety of bulbs.

In 1886 I sold about seven thousand plants of all sorts; in 1888,

two hundred and fifty thousand, and the difference was on business

principles.

CARL PURDY

III

RAISING DOMESTIC ANIMALS

RAISING COLTS

Every farm boy I ever knew was ambitious to own horses. Before my

eldest brother was twelve he had traded pigs with our father for

calves, then heifers for a horse, and his favourite air castles were

great luxurious barns inhabited by blooded horses of his own raising.

If your colt's mother is dutiful, and they mostly are, the youngster

will have plenty to eat for the first few weeks. Petting is a good

thing for little colts; never a cuff nor a harsh word. Their confidence

won, their education is begun. While still dependent on the mother for

milk the young colt begins to nibble hay from the manger, and gets a

taste of the oats in the feed box, too, and finds them good. Oats and

clover hay, a little bran and shorts, a run in the pasture every fine

day all winter, will usually keep the colt growing and healthy. A warm

stable with plenty of dry bedding, preferably in a stall with another

colt, is necessary at night.

Colts need a plentiful supply of cool, clean water in summer, but in

winter, water should be heated just enough to take off the chill. It is

bad for a colt to drink at meal-time. (That sounds like a rule for boys

and girls.) A chunk of rock salt handy for colts to lick at helps keep

the appetite normal.

An ordinary farm colt at three or four months old is worth only thirty

or forty dollars. Two years later, with the right kind of care and

teaching, the same colt will bring four times that price. What other

farm crop will do as much?

The mother of a baby colt once died on our farm. My father felt very

badly over it; losing the old mare was misfortune enough, but the colt

was a noble-looking little fellow, highly bred. We girls had been

foster-mothers to almost everything; cats, pups, and pigs were easy,

and calves. But what of a colt? "Let's try if we can't raise him on the

bottle," said our mother. The experiments we tried with that colt were

many. We gave him "half and half" at first--a cup full of milk to one

of water. Our small cousin had once been fed on mare's milk, much to

our disgust, but it gave us ideas for our colt. Mother read somewhere

that cow's milk was not so sweet, but was richer than mare's milk. So

we patched our bits of hearsay together and made up our colt's ration

about like this:

First week: half sweet milk, half water, a teaspoonful of sugar to each

pint, ten times a day--always warm--last feeding at ten P. M.--not

very much at a time. Second and third weeks less water, six feedings a

day, warm and sweet as before. Fourth to tenth week: increase quantity

gradually, give warm--not very rich--milk three times a day. We gave

him a bottle at first with a nipple made of a goose-quill wrapped each

time with clean, soft rags. Everything about his food had to be kept

sweet. We scalded the bottle and the quill and washed them in water and

baking soda, just as mother said. Then we taught him to drink from a

pail. He followed us about like a dog and was very playful and frisky.

We fed him a little hay and oats and grass when he was old enough. My

little sister wanted us to give him less milk so that he would grow up

into a pony, but when he begged for food, she was the first to go for

his bottle. He grew up and developed just like any horse and father

said he was the easiest two-year-old he ever had to teach to work. He

paid us seventy-five dollars for the colt when he was eight months old

and ready to shift for himself with the other colts.

RAISING SHEEP

Every boy on the farm ought to have his own particular hobby in the

line of stock. It is far easier to keep account of your own if they are

entirely different from the animals raised by the other members of the

family. An account should be kept with the animals, to learn whether

they pay or not. It is only by this business-like method that the young

farmer, or the older one for that matter, can know whether his animals

are visitors or boarders.

If the mother keeps poultry, the boys pigs, and the father raises

horses and cows, then why should not the girls raise sheep? There is

room on every fair-sized farm for a flock. There is nothing about the

care of sheep that a strong, healthy girl may not do if she is not

needed to help with housework. Her father will teach and advise her.

Tending sheep is far more healthful occupation and more remunerative

than embroidering sofa pillows or knitting "fancy work."

Whoever undertakes the sheep raising must know first some of the needs

of his favourites. They are grazers. They will glean a good living in

stubble fields and crop grass in pastures where cows would starve; they

will bite the weeds in the fence corners down to the quick nor leave

one stalk to blossom or set seed. They are among the best and cheapest

of lawn-mowers, enriching the ground they feed over. They are easy to

care for, as they can take care of themselves most of the year. What a

joy it is to take a quiet walk over the hills of a Sunday morning to

salt the sheep! They are trustful, playful, docile creatures, and their

presence undeniably adds to the picture of content and comfort that

every homestead should present.

While it is true that sheep will keep fat on good pasture with plenty

of water and a semi-weekly supply of salt, it is not to be supposed

that they can pick up a living the whole year round in a cold climate.

They do not need stuffing in cold weather, but they do need plenty of

good hay in early winter and nourishing food like bran, oats, barley,

and clover hay toward spring. Alfalfa is ideal, but many people

succeed with sheep who fail on alfalfa. Sheep will over-feed if not

restrained. They should have exercise and fresh air in plenty all

winter. They should go out every day to pasture, except during storms,

until snow covers the ground.

Ewes fed but not over-fed over winter and sheltered under some kind

of rain-proof roof will be strong and healthy mothers. A new-born

lamb is about as weak and wobbly and inefficient as a human baby. The

weakest ones seem bent on dying, but a little coddling and care will

put them on their feet. They should be taught how to take nourishment

and whoever takes this in hand should use patience and insist that the

lesson be learned. I have known of many a good shepherd who sat up late

and got up early and visited the sheep at midnight in lambing time and

so saved all his lambs. There is something so appealing about a lamb

that no owner would like to remember that he slept comfortably through

a stormy night while a new-born lamb starved in the presence of plenty

or was chilled past help while its mother could only bleat helplessly

for the slothful shepherd.

Lambs should not follow their mothers to pasture until the grass is

grown enough to be really long and nourishing. They should be out in

the barnyard on warm, sunny days, and not weaned until near six months

old. After August they will fatten on clover pasture and be ready for

market before Christmas.

Sheep are sheared in spring, about April first, but this depends on

the climate. Most farm crops are fall or winter affairs. Like maple

sirup, wool is a spring cash crop, which is a great convenience. An

eight-pound fleece is worth nearly half as much as the sheep it grew

on, and the lambs will soon be worth as much as their mothers. So we

have a double chance to make good in sheep raising.

Sheep are so hardy, so harmless, and so easily managed that the only

wonder is that any farm is without a flock. Men who know say that the

farm dog is to blame for this. How about the farm dog, boys and girls?

Honestly, now, is your dog worth his keep? No matter how much better

he is than the neighbours' dog. How about your dog? You like him, of

course, but is he a loafing, worthless, sneaking, sheep-killing dog?

Look between his teeth before you deny that he is a sheep-killer.

Are you a good citizen if you let such a dog run at large? If you

raise sheep you will need a dog, and remember that a good collie will

protect your sheep from all the roving, bloodthirsty dogs in the

neighbourhood.

[Illustration: Photograph by Julian A. Dimock. "Big Boy Blue" Looks

After the Sheep]

RAISING GOATS

Boys, are you really serious about making some money? Do you live on

a farm where the hills are too steep to plow and the only crop that

amounts to anything is the crop of stones? Are those steep hills

covered with brush and good-for-nothing trees that look too hopeless?

Don't grind your teeth and say "There's no chance here. I'm going to

buy a ticket for the city." Glance at the heading on this page and

don't smile derisively nor turn on to some new chapter.

"Goats! Humph!"

If you never heard of anybody making anything out of goats, here's your

chance to hear something new. People can and do make money out of goats

and so can you. Why, it is too easy!

Here, read these facts about goats:

Goats _prefer_ rough, rocky, wild, and hilly land.

Goats _always thrive_ if allowed considerable range.

Hilly, _bushy_ land is _best_ for goats.

The feed of _one_ cow will keep _twelve_ goats.

_Temperature_ need not be considered. Goats thrive where temperatures

are _extreme_.

The Angora goat _fleece_ is cut annually and is _very valuable_. We

import over one million pounds a year. Skins of common goats are in

_great demand_ for leather. We imported sixteen million dollars' worth

in 1898 and more every year since.

_Goat manure_ is as valuable as that of sheep.

Angora _venison_ cannot be told from lamb.

Goats _scorn_ to eat fresh grass if _coarse weeds_ like wild carrot,

mullein, dock, etc., are in sight.

_Every part_ of a goat is _salable_. Fleece, milk, cheese, skin, flesh,

tallow, bones, hoofs, horns, and manure.

Goats _improve land_. They are "lifelong scavengers," and can put land

covered with useless underbrush into shape for pasture more cheaply and

more quickly than dynamite.

A herd of _common goats_ can be built up in _a few years_. They breed

at one year and usually have twins.

Goats are _hardy_; less subject to disease than sheep.

A good goat is a _money-maker_.

These statements are quoted directly from the writings of men and women

of experience. They have no goats to sell, so you can take their word.

The requirements for successful goat raising are few and easy to

provide. They are these:

(1) _Space._--Goats do not take kindly to herding nor to small fields.

If they have only a small enclosure they are likely spend more time

trying to get at what is outside than in browsing. To meet a wire fence

every few steps makes a goat restive.

(2) _Housing._--Goats must be kept dry overhead and under foot. The

shelter for goats should be high and dry. They will not thrive in wet,

marshy land, nor keep well if their shed is muddy. They dislike filth

and will not stand in it nor touch soiled food. They prefer to sleep

on the roof of the barn, you know, but if a clean, dry bed in an airy

place is provided they will not roost so high.

(3) _Water._--Plenty of clean fresh water should always be available.

If you can supply these three essentials, you are ready to raise goats.

There are two well-marked lines of business in goat raising. Which

shall you follow?

Angoras are raised for their fleece; common goats either for leather or

for milk. Angoras are not much good for milk and their skins are not

so fine nor durable as those of common goats. The Angora is free from

the offensive odour of common male goats. The greatest demand for goat

products in our markets to-day is for Angora fleece and for common goat

skins. The other products, like flesh, hoof, bones and horns, tallow,

cheese, milk, and manure, can easily be marketed and should pay most of

the expenses. The main products should be clear profit.

BUILDING UP A HERD

There is a slow way and a quick way to build up a herd of goats. As

usual the slow way requires less capital. If you have but a few dollars

you will have to begin with cheap goats, but to keep a poor goat is

poor business. You can buy good, common goats for one dollar and a

half or two dollars each and with time and patience build up from them

a herd of Angoras by crossing. If capital is easier to command than

years of time, you will begin with good Angora does which cost from

eight dollars upward. If you begin with common ones, choose white,

short-haired individuals. Keep only the best does in your herd for

breeders; you will soon learn how to judge them by the quality of their

fleece and the price it brings you per pound. In five or six years it

is possible to build up a herd of fine mohair producers from common

goats.

The hair grows coarser as the goat passes six years of age, so it does

not pay to keep one too long. Buy young does. A goat's teeth tell its

age up to the fourth year. If all the eight teeth are full-sized the

goat is certainly four to five years old, it may be more.

CARE OF KIDS

A young kid is not a very sturdy youngster. Good care should be given

both doe and kid at this time. A warm shelter should be provided. May

is the best month for kids to come, in the North. Extra feeding should

be given the doe and plenty of water. If possible each doe with her kid

should have a separate stall or pen so that the doe will know her own

young one. If you can arrange that each pen in the kid stable can have

an outdoor entrance the mother can come and go at will. A board a foot

to eighteen inches high across this entrance will keep the kid from

following his mother. When about six weeks old the kid will jump this

board. By this token you will know that he is strong enough to jump

about over the stones wherever his mother leads him.

FOOD OF GOATS

The comic papers may be right about some things, but they are wrong

about goats. A diet of newspapers and tin cans will not keep a

goat healthy nor produce a salable fleece of fine mohair. Angoras

like common goats are browsers, not grazers like sheep. They eat

coarse vegetation such as weedy growths and the twigs and leaves of

underbrush, rather than grass. Besides this, particularly in winter,

they should have other food. Leaves, table scraps like potato and fruit

parings, turnips and other roots, and cabbage are all acceptable if

clean. Parings and roots should be washed; if you expect goats to eat

swill you deserve to be disappointed. Dirty carrots, rotten apples,

sour or mouldy refuse do not tempt a self-respecting pig; much less

an Angora. Oats in the sheaf are very good fodder for them. Grain is

not required if clover hay, alfalfa, or cowpea stubble is plentiful.

Too much grain makes a lazy goat and a lazy goat will not produce a

handsome fleece. Bran may be fed for a change, and a little cotton seed

or corn may be given, but sparingly. Leaves or other coarse food should

be given plentifully at night, as Angoras relish a midnight lunch

beside their three square meals a day.

A supply of rock salt should be kept where goats can get it whenever

they want it. If it is given only at long intervals they may

over-indulge. Water should be warmed slightly in winter if practicable.

SHELTER AND ENCLOSURE

Hardy as they are, goats cannot stand exposure to storms. They abhor

wet. Cold rain or sleet storms are really dangerous to their health.

Goats will go the long way round every time rather than get into mud.

Mud is very bad for the fleece, too. Buyers refuse to pay for dirt.

Goat shelters should be dry, but they need not be tight except

overhead. In fact many goats die of suffocation when huddled in close

quarters. If the roof is just high enough from the floor for goats to

go under, it can be open all round except perhaps on the side where the

prevailing wind and storms would beat in.

No other animals should be quartered with goats. Experience shows this.

Goats prefer hard beds. Chaff or straw enough to absorb the liquid

manure is all that should be put on the floor. Trees are the best shade

from the hot sun, but if none are growing in the goats' pasture other

shelter should be provided.

It is true that goats thrive best when unconfined. But this does not

mean that your goats should be allowed to range on other people's

domains. They are a very real nuisance in orchards and gardens, and

if your place is small it is no place for goats. A fence need not be

very high to restrain a flock of goats. They are climbers and once

in a while there is one who would take a prize for the "high jump."

Ordinarily a fence three and a half feet high is all that is necessary.

Boards, rails, or wire will make a good goat fence. It should go close

to the ground to prevent crawling under. If wire is used, take care

that the mesh is too small for a goat's head.

You must take your market's demands into consideration when deciding

whether to breed Angoras or common goats. An Angora fleece weighs from

four to eight pounds. This can be cut every year for ten or twelve

years. The common goat's skin is valuable, but he has only one! This

makes the Angora look like the best business proposition, although

requiring more capital to start, as the care required is about the same

and the value of by-products practically equal.

THE COMMON GOAT

Two arguments may be brought forward in favour of the common goat. In

the first place, the herd increases much faster as the Angora doe

usually has only one kid, while twins are the rule with common goats.

There is a decidedly growing demand for goats' milk near large cities,

especially for hospitals. We all know how commonly goats' milk is

used in foreign countries. We Americans have a rather silly prejudice

against it, but we will get over this when we realize how often goats'

milk saves the lives of babies and invalids. The following statements

are vouched for by physicians and others of experience:

[Illustration: Photograph by Helen W. Cooke. Feeding the Goats]

Goats' milk is more easily digested than cows' milk.

Analysis shows goats' milk has a marked similarity to human mothers'

milk and is more readily assimilated by infants.

Goats' milk is generally claimed to be free at all times from germs of

tuberculosis.

Cannot be told from cow's milk by taste.

Excellent for coffee and in cooking.

The goat is claimed by its friends to be greatly the superior of the

cow for milk, for the following reasons:

The goat is naturally cleanly.

The goat is easy to keep clean because of her small size. Goats can be

and are put into tubs and scrubbed and sterilized when being used as

foster-mothers in baby hospitals. But no such treatment is possible

with a cow.

A goat can easily be taken from place to place with a family. A cow

could not be transported without great expense.

Goats eat far less than cows. Eight milch goats can be kept on the food

of one milch cow. The same quality of food should be furnished.

I believe there is a great future in America for the milch goat.

TWENTY ACRES REDEEMED: THE STORY OF A SATISFACTORY EXPERIMENT WITH

GOATS IN NEW ENGLAND

In January, 1902, I bought seventy-five Angoras, as I had about twenty

acres of brush land that I wanted to reclaim. I kept the goats in sheds

until May. I had to put up a wire fence to keep them from visiting my

neighbours, and in early May turned them into the first section, about

one half of the piece. I built a shed for them to stay in nights and

during rains.

The work they did was marvellous. In less than a month this section had

the appearance of having been struck by a cyclone, and it was evident

that the goats would soon require more territory. Consequently I wired

the other section of this twenty-acre piece, and when finished allowed

them the range of the other piece, to which they marched in military

precision daily, returning to the shed at night or during the approach

of rain, which they seemed to foretell as accurately as a barometer.

It was not long before it developed that they would require fresher

fields or I must reduce my flock, as this ground was all that I had of

that kind. Consequently I sold all but twenty-five, retaining twelve

registered does, twelve kids, and one buck. For the does I paid ten

dollars each, and my buck, which was a kid, cost twenty-five dollars.

I had some grades that I sold at eight dollars and eight dollars and

twenty-five cents each, and also some wether kids that I sold at five

dollars each. I have this same flock now, with the addition of ten kids

born this spring from these twelve does, which had twelve kids, two

having died, leaving thirty-five now in the field.

During the past winter I have handled more than six hundred that were

sent here from the West. The test that I was anxiously watching for

at the advent of spring was to see the effect of their work done last

season, and I must say I am very agreeably surprised. In the first lot

fenced there is scarcely a brush left, no briers, and not even Canada

thistles. The entire field between the rocks came out this spring with

beautiful, thick, green, grassy foliage, mostly white clover. On the

other lot, part of the brush tried hard to show its tenacity of life

by coming out with green leaves, but at this writing the shrubs have

fallen prey to the devouring Angora, and green grass is coming out

in about all the ground that they have trod. This alone to me is a

satisfactory commercial experience.

W. O. CORNING

RAISING CALVES

Feeding the calves is always the boy's job or the girl's. Usually

the milk is prepared by their mother, but the responsibility for the

calves' welfare is left to the youngsters. If you look upon calf

feeding as nothing but a chore to get over with as soon as possible,

you get very little fun out of it. But if you see in those calves the

beginning of your own fortune or the foundation of your college fund

they look different. Whether the calves are yours or your father's,

they are living creatures, capable of appreciating proper care and

repaying it. They are just as capable of showing neglect.

If you are going to feed the calves, make a study of calf nature,

know what kind of animals you want to make of them, find out how to

accomplish your purpose, and then keep a straight course. Find out

first the parentage of the calf. Then inquire if it is to be a beef

animal or a dairy cow. Knowing its past and its future you can provide

wisely for the present.

A new-born calf should stay with the mother from twelve to twenty-four

hours. The fluid she gives first is not milk, but is just what the calf

needs to prepare its digestive organs for milk. If left longer with the

mother it will be more bother to train. The calf should be fed sweet,

whole milk for two weeks. If put immediately onto a diet of skim-milk,

indigestion is likely to result, and the calf gets a setback from which

it may never recover.

When a young calf is taken from its mother, it knows nothing about

drinking. The best practice is to let it fast for from twelve to

twenty-four hours till it gets good and hungry. It is then in a state

of mind to learn anything rather than go without any longer. [They

treat human babies the same way if need be.] If started right, a young

calf learns to drink in a day or two. Holding the pail with one to two

quarts of warm, fresh, whole milk in your left hand, stand beside the

calf and put your right hand over its nose. Insert two fingers into

its mouth. Did you ever feel anything so funny? The calf will suck

your fingers hungrily. Gently push its nose down into the warm milk

with your fingers still in its mouth. After a while gently pull out

one finger. If he misses it put it back and later try again. In a few

lessons the calf will drink readily. Patience and kindness must be

exercised if one little scamp proves dull. A calf that gets a slap for

not drinking will come to think that the two disagreeable things always

come together and his education and his growth will be delayed.

For the first ten to twelve days the calf should have about five quarts

of milk a day, divided into three feedings. This should be warmed to

blood heat, ninety-five to a hundred degrees Fahr. At two weeks you

can begin to substitute skim-milk. A half-pint a day at first is about

right. Watch the effect on the calf. Increase the quantity gradually,

until at a month or six weeks old the calf is getting seven to eight

quarts per day of skim-milk, always warm and perfectly sweet.

The worst disease of calf-hood is scours, and this disease is caused by

feeding cold, unclean, or sour milk. I'd be ashamed to have a calf of

mine sick with the scours! To cure it, add lime-water to the milk or

mix a teaspoonful of dried blood in a small amount of water, then stir

into the milk. Or an ounce of wheat bran or kaffir corn meal stirred

into the milk will be helpful. Some recommend oat or corn meal fed dry,

or a little linseed meal mixed in a little water and then stirred into

the milk.

If your calves are all heifers to be added to the dairy herd, you do

not want them to lay on great amounts of fat, but to grow strong and be

able to digest great amounts of hay. If they are to be beef, they need

more fat. Grain is fattening, especially corn. Begin to feed hay as

soon as the calf will take it. Clean, dry clover is best, but any good

hay will help prepare their stomachs for the work which is expected of

them later. Milk and hay are best for growing calves. Grain, oil-meal,

and pasture furnish variety.

Have you seen a wild-eyed cow being literally dragged behind a wagon,

scared past endurance and behaving like a savage creature? There is not

the slightest excuse for that sort of thing. What fun it is to slip a

halter on a calf to-day and let him get accustomed to it; to-morrow

lead him about a little with coaxing. In a few days he will lead like

an old horse. He will learn to expect only kindness from his feeder

and trainer. It would be well to accustom the calves to the presence

of your dog, too. There are men who think a frightened animal is a

humourous sight. But such a man is "no gentleman" and I certainly would

never think of trusting him to drive my horses, or milk my cows, or

even feed my pigs.

Our calves were kept in an old orchard, convenient to the house, with

good pasture, plenty of sun and shade, and a suitable fence. A shed for

wet weather is essential, for a clean, dry bed must be provided. Calves

have no way of cleaning themselves, therefore they must not be allowed

to get dirty.

Milk should be fed until the calves are four months old, and may be

continued longer. After the first few weeks, when they have begun to

take some hay and grass, the milk may be given in two feedings. Water

should be given freely especially in hot weather. If your pasture has

a clear running brook, your calves are in luck and so are you, for

carrying water for a bunch of calves is no joke. A garden hose or a

series of v-shaped troughs from pump to pen saves a lot of time and

backache.

A calf whose mother has a record for milk rich in butter fat and a sire

of good family has in it the possibilities of a prize-winner. Whether

she will earn seventy-seven cents a year over and above her keep, like

those one thousand and twenty poor cows that Illinois boys and girls

know about, or thirty dollars a year, like the twenty-five good cows,

depends very much on the care she gets. No amount of care given to a

cow will make up for neglect to the calf. There's a big responsibility

on the boys and girls of the farms, for calf feeding is their job.

THE STORY OF TWO BOYS AND A COW

The suggestion that the suburban home might be a money-making

investment would strike the average suburbanite as ridiculous. But a

few moments of careful calculation may put preconceived notions to

flight and show how considerable money may be made--or saved, which is

quite as important.

Some years ago a family, which included two boys of eleven and thirteen

years, took a house in the outskirts of a good-sized town, about thirty

minutes' ride from the city. The father was a buyer for an importing

house, and absent from home for several months of each year. His salary

was large, as such salaries go, but there were seven children to be

raised and educated, several of them with marked abilities that needed

the very best possible instruction to bring them to their highest

development.

The boys spent one summer vacation at the country house of an old

friend of the family and got ideas. They talked them over, went back to

their friend for counsel, then turned their batteries on their parents

to gain their consent to an important new enterprise.

Attached to the house was about an acre of ground, three fourths of

which was old pasture grown to weeds and a tangle of brier bushes.

By promising to work for a farmer during the coming vacation the

boys arranged to have the field, which they cleared and made ready,

ploughed, harrowed, and marked in the most thorough fashion.

They planted it with the best variety of mid-season sweet corn. The

farmer cultivated it, and the boys hoed it and kept it in almost

perfect condition.

The season was very dry, but they laid a hose so as to start a stream

of water into the lines between the rows of corn; then with a good pump

they filled the trenches they had dug and completely irrigated the

entire field.

The crop was a great success. The boys picked and sold at retail prices

to private customers twelve hundred dozen ears of the finest corn

raised in that section. As it averaged twenty cents a dozen, it footed

up the very comfortable sum of two hundred and forty dollars with small

ears and left-overs quite sufficient for the use of the family.

Two weeks from the first picking the stalks were cut and set up to cure

for the cow that was really the object of their endeavour.

The friend of the family selected the cow. She was a fine, fresh, young

Jersey and Alderney cross--a high-grade animal, good for quality as

well as quantity of milk and cream.

There was small, well-built barn on the place, and here the cow was

stabled. Cleanliness was the first, last, and intermediate law in and

about the place. The boys had clothes expressly for barn wear and white

aprons with long sleeves to put on when milking.

Such unusual attention to details attracted customers until the demand

went far ahead of the supply.

For the first six months the cow gave, on an average, sixteen quarts a

day, fourteen of which were sold to persons who came for it, thereby

saving all trouble and cost of delivery. Two quarts were kept for the

family.

For the next four months the sales were twelve quarts a day. Feed for

the cow cost one dollar a week, besides hay and corn-stalks.

The cow was bought late in July, and by the first of August the milk

trade was well established. After ten months' experience the boys made

up a statement to show to their father when he returned from a trip to

Europe.

CREDIT

1,200 doz. corn at 20 cts. a doz. $240.00

Stalks 20.00

Milk, 184 days, 14 qts. at 8 cts. a qt. 206.08

" 120 " 12 " " " " " 115.20

--------

$581.28

DEBIT

1 cow, $60.00; 1 ton hay, $18.00; feed, $40.00 $118.00

--------

Profit, cash on hand $463.28

Value of 1 cow 60.00

--------

Total assets $523.28

NELSON S. STONE

RAISING PIGS

When I was nine years old I laid the foundation of my college fund. My

grandmother had a flock of twenty or thirty geese which were kept for

the pillows and feather beds they filled. Great was my delight when

grandma told me that she would give me a pig if I would help her pick

the geese. Helping her would have been reward enough, for I was a great

grandma girl, but the ambition of my childhood was to own a pig. Did

not my elder brother now own a beautiful mare and colt, and had he not

started with a pig?

Wednesday was the day set for plucking the geese and all my leisure on

Monday and Tuesday was spent in building a pen. Plenty of material from

which to construct this edifice was found about the place. I wisely

located it at the back of the henhouse which left me only three sides

to build. One corner was roofed with the best boards I could find, for

I didn't wish my precious pig to suffer from sunstroke or have his bed

transformed into a mud-hole when it rained.

When the geese were picked to the last feather they could spare, I

went with grandmother to select my pig from the litter of sucklings

now ready to begin taking their food from the trough. She generously

allowed me my choice, and if I did not get the pick of the bunch it was

not her fault. I wonder how a girl of nine succeeded in transporting

a lusty pig the three quarters of a mile between grandmother's house

and ours. I should not like to undertake it now, but my confidence in

my ability to do what I wanted done in those days was unlimited. A

piece of rope, a stout cudgel, a pair of strong, young arms, and a high

disregard of appearances sustained me. I got my treasure home and into

his pen--no mean triumph even as viewed by my elder brother who had

passed by the pig stage and even the calf stage and entered into the

exalted realm of horse ownership.

My father was not the "your shoat, my hog" kind of a father. There came

a time when he used to say that the girls owned all the cattle and the

boys all the horses on the farm. When my pig grew up, I traded it to my

father for a fine calf. This calf was the nucleus of my "herd," for I

never owned a horse. All through my college course when I needed money,

I used to write to father to sell "Rowena" or "Corinne" or "Natty

Bumpo." (We named our calves after the people we read about.) There

was always a buyer ready at hand and the price paid was strictly in

accord with the market quotations. The cow which bought my graduation

cap and gown was the last of her race, "Betsy Bobbett," one of the

great-great-granddaughters of the calf for which I traded that original

pig.

No one can deny or doubt that there is profit in pig raising. Pork

"on the hoof" is ten cents a pound even as I write these words, with

prospects good for going higher. A profit of one hundred per cent. is

recorded by growers when the price is only six cents a pound.

With the one exception of poultry, hogs bring the quickest returns for

investment of any live stock. It is poor economy to keep any animal

which cannot pay its board, except for sentiment, and few people keep

pigs on that account. If I were beginning again I should not trade my

pig for a calf but should raise pigs.

In selecting a mother for my family of hogs I should care more about

her individual character than about her breed. A good brood sow

ought to have a good disposition, which means a good digestion, and

respond quickly to kindness. Nervous, irritable sows often develop

vicious habits. A short, broad face, a wide space between the eyes,

a deep chest, broad back, and large hams with rather short legs are

all considered good points. A good-natured, healthy pig has a bright,

friendly manner when accosted and a look of shrewd though guileless

interest in his master.

"Dirty as a pig" is a slander on the pig and a censure on its owner.

Pigs and goats are more particular about their beds than either horses

or cows. Success with porkers is spelt _c-l-e-a-n-l-i-n-e-s-s_. They

like to wallow in the edge of a sluggish stream on a warm day. Well,

so do you. Mud is not dirty unless mixed with foul manure and decaying

vegetable matter.

All feeding troughs, floors, and beds should be thoroughly scraped,

swept, and dried if the pigs are to be healthy, happy, and comfortable.

Under no other conditions does keeping pigs pay.

You will be very fortunate if your young sow's first litter numbers

ten or a dozen lively youngsters. Six or eight will not be bad if she

raises them all, and with care she ought to. Improper care and feeding

before the pigs come are usually responsible for any cannibalistic

habits developed by the sow. Corn alone is not a good ration except

for fattening. Used with wheat, middlings, bran, and ground oats, with

plenty of clover or alfalfa hay, corn is all right. The sow should be

put into a pen by herself before farrowing time. The best bedding is

clean wheat or rye straw, which should not be left until it is wet and

filthy. Sprinkle air-slaked lime in the sleeping pen under the fresh

bedding. A sick pig means a neglectful owner.

Pigs ought to grow fast and without any check. At six months old they

should weigh two hundred pounds, an average gain you see, of over a

pound a day. With a good, healthy mother little pigs need no extra

feeding the first month. The sow should be given nourishing food, bran

and ground oats and rye, lots of skim-milk and an abundance of clean,

fresh water.

If the pigs seem hungry when only a couple of weeks old a little, new

trough should be made for them. A small quantity of boiled corn and

skim-milk should be put into this trough where the little fellows can

get to it but the sow cannot. They may not take much at first, but

several hours later the trough should be rinsed and a fresh supply

given. Sour, dirty milk may produce serious sickness in young pigs and

check growth. The sow will wean them when she gets ready, and they will

not know the difference if they get used to their trough early.

It is possible to raise and fatten pigs in pens, but it is not

economical. Pasture is essential to their best growth. It gives them

exercise, and the green food not only nourishes them, but aids in

the digestion of the more concentrated foods. The expression, "Pigs

in clover," is based on fact. A happy, healthy, money-maker is the

pasture-fed pig. He will put on his ten cents' worth a day of bone,

muscle and fat at less expense in a clover patch than elsewhere.

Alfalfa or cow peas will serve him about as well. Fruit windfalls are

good for him, too.

If you live on a place where grain or fruit are the main crops and a

few cows are kept, you are losing a great opportunity if you are not

raising a few pigs. They dispose of the surplus on such farms, as well

as the unsalable garden crops and weeds, and pay their board day by day.

The owner should keep a close account with his pigs. If they eat what

would otherwise be wasted you are so much to the good. What you sell

them for, less what you have paid out for food, equals what you get for

your time.

RAISING CHICKENS

Success with chickens does not depend upon the breed, nor upon any

patent devices for hatching and brooding, nor on any special mixture

of feed. You can find frenzied advertisers trying to disprove these

statements, but do not your own observations bear me out? However, I

venture to say that with common-sense and gumption, and a real liking

for chickens, success in this line is nearly certain. There are dozens

of good stories of boys who have begun chicken raising at twelve

to fourteen years of age and have made money at it, beside training

themselves at the same time in business methods and efficiency. There

are no good reasons why girls also should not succeed.

There are certain principles of poultry culture upon which most people

agree. These are based on a knowledge of hen nature and are the result

of study and experience. We will discuss them under the following heads:

1, Housing and Care; 2, Food and Feeding; 3, Raising Young Stock; 4,

Business Methods.

HOUSING

[Illustration: Frame for eleven-dollar chicken house]

This first department properly includes not only the house proper with

all its interior fixtures and its care, but the runs, the scratching

shed, and all that has to do with the supply of air, warmth and

sunshine and the protection of the flock from disease and vermin. No

matter how plain and ordinary your chicken house is, the test of your

fitness for the business comes with its care, not once a month, but

day by day.

[Illustration: Chicken house a boy can build]

Many people have an idea that the only way to keep hens healthy and

productive is to let them range. Of course it is true that chickens

on the farm seem to pick up a free living, but it is equally true

that, as a general thing, the farmer does not keep any account with

his chickens, and if they get into the corn crib or granary he does

not know how much grain they eat and how much they waste. If they hide

their nests and the eggs spoil, or if they sit and the chicks do not

live to get to the barnyard, the owner is unaware of his loss. If,

having no house and nest boxes, the hens lay in the weeds, in the wood

pile, in the straw stack, in the haymow, it's no loss, for the women

and children hunt the eggs and their time isn't worth anything! But

do you believe there are any farm hens whose portraits will appear

in the big magazines? Did you see that one last year in _Collier's

Weekly_? Do you suppose there are many 200-eggers on farms with all

their supposed advantages? I don't. But we shall never know, because no

accurate records can be kept of chickens that run at large.

I shall take it for granted that you expect to begin in a small way

with very little to invest. Remember that a few hens pay better per

hen than a large number, but on the other hand it takes about as much

time to care for a dozen as it does for one hundred. You will therefore

look forward with satisfaction to increasing your flock as your capital

grows and your time becomes more valuable.

Have you a suitable place for chickens? It should be dry, sunny,

though with some shade, protected from severe winds and storms. The

sun is the greatest purifier and disinfector in the universe, and you

must have your house face the south or east if possible. Whether your

first house is made of store boxes or of expensive matched lumber the

principles are the same. To make the house _dry_ it should be built on

well-drained soil and should sit up six inches from the surface of the

ground so that air can circulate freely beneath.

The only heat in the hen house comes from the hens and the sunshine.

Therefore, to make the house _warm_ you should have it small enough

so that your hens can generate heat enough to keep warm in winter.

The exposure should be such that the sun can get into it. If possible

it should be shaded by trees or other buildings against storms and

summer sun. Every hen needs from four to five square feet of floor

space and only eight to ten cubic feet of air space. Square houses are

more economical to build. Figure out with diagrams and drawings to

scale just how large a building is needed to house your flock when you

get it. How low at the back can you make it without bumping your head

when you go inside? How high in front must it be to provide space for

your door and window? What shaped roof will be easiest to build, most

economical of lumber, and most satisfactory as a rain shed?

[Illustration: Self-feed grit box]

Consider many things in the selection of material. Rough boards are a

little cheaper, but how they do ruin good paint and whitewash brushes!

Matched boards are cheaper and tighter than unmatched boards with

strips nailed over the cracks. For the roof some kind of waterproof

roofing material will keep the house warm and dry. If you have ever

seen a chicken house with a cement floor you will be determined to have

that kind. At first the expense may be greater than for boards, but if

you live in your own home you can afford to put a cement floor in the

chicken house sooner or later, especially if you do the work yourself.

If you are a renter you will not feel like putting in expensive,

permanent improvements. It will be warm and dry, saving many losses

from wet feet and diseases brought on by dampness and cold. It is easy

to clean. It will do away with the rat problem, and last forever. You

can put it in after the house is built. Figure out the cost of a layer

of cement one and one half inches thick laid on a bed of gravel and

small stones. The cement is mixed as follows: one part Portland cement,

three parts clean sand, five parts gravel. Mix the cement pretty thick,

tamp it down conscientiously until perfectly level, then with a trowel

smooth it and smooth it, over and over, until the surface is free from

anything like a stone or large pebble.

The door to the chicken house should be well hung, easy to open, shut,

and lock. The window is to admit light and sunshine, especially the

latter. Very small panes may be cheap but they shut out the sun; twelve

eight by ten panes in a single sash make a window of convenient size.

The window should be placed so that the sun can get way back to the

very farthest corner of the house. A high window is better for this

than a low one. The diagram shows why.

[Illustration: The windows should be placed high enough to let the sun

in to the back of the house]

Sunshine and exercise are necessary for healthy fowls. They can stand

cold weather well, if they are kept dry and active. Scratching sheds or

open-front pens provide sunshine and exercise.

Scratching for food in the litter keeps hens moving and they get to

be very athletic, jumping up to cabbages and fresh meat or grain

self-feeders hung just out of reach. Scratching sheds in the North need

adjustable curtains of coarse muslin to keep out driving rain, snow,

and sleet. The State Agricultural Experiment Station at Orono, Maine,

has made valuable studies of curtained sheds, and the use of this form

of poultry house has found favour all over the country.

[Illustration: Grain self-feeder for fowls]

The furniture of the hen house consists of roosts, dropping board,

nests, dust box, and utensils to hold ground feed, grit, shell, and

water. In making and erecting each piece ask yourself, "Will this be

easy to clean?" The roosts should be in the corner farthest from door

and window, out of all draughts. There should be enough of them to

provide each fowl with six to eight inches of room and they should be

set at least a foot apart. Do not have the roosts at different levels.

It is hen nature to want the highest place, and they will fight and

crowd and worry each other if there is a higher roost. Pieces of two by

two, with the upper edge rounded, make good perches.

As the floor of the chicken house is also the dining table for the

occupants it is extremely important that there should be a well-built

platform under the roosts for droppings, in order to keep the floor

clean. There should be space enough between this board and the perches

to allow you to clean it frequently without difficulty.

[Illustration: Corner in chicken house, showing up-to-date furniture]

If you ever tried to clean a range of wall nests you know why the

up-to-date poultry men are discarding them as unsanitary. Many are

now placing their nests under the dropping board. They are out of

the way here, not too high for the hens, nor too low for you. Square

nests, fourteen inches each way and at least a foot from the droppings

platform, are satisfactory. A long door hinged at the top and hooked

at the bottom should form the back of a row of nests. You open this to

gather eggs and to clean the nests. The front, where the hens enter,

should be in behind under the platform. As it is rather dark in there,

the hens are pleased, because they like to preserve the old-time

fiction that they are hiding their nests away. The nest should be five

or six inches deep. Straw is the best nesting material. Short hay is

next best. A hen cannot be happy with excelsior twisted round her toes

and an unhappy hen is an unproductive hen.

The dust bath must be provided. Most baths are wet but hens are dry

cleaners. The dust bath must be dry to be of any use; the lighter,

finer, and dryer the better. A sunny corner of the house or shed is the

best place. Sifted coal ashes and street dust is a good mixture.

Allow just as much space for the runs as you can afford to fence. If

possible divide the enclosure in two and keep one part seeded to clover

while the chickens are in the other. The heavier fowls usually make

very little trouble flying over a fence of five foot wire netting even

though it have no top strip. Clipping one wing may be necessary to

restrain some individuals. Small trees in the runs are most desirable.

Plant there such small fruit trees as plum or cherry and the hens will

help to keep insects in check.

[Illustration: Covered dust bath in sunny corner]

One of the biggest items of work in the chicken business is keeping

the house clean. The health, comfort, happiness, and the very life of

the hens, as well as the business, depend on this. Many a boy with a

sort of natural knack at carpentry can build a chicken house out of

second-hand lumber or out of a couple of piano boxes. But it takes a

long distance form of gumption to keep any chicken house sanitary.

The droppings should be cleaned up often and right here a word to the

wise. Hen manure is a valuable garden fertilizer _if_ it is sprinkled

with land plaster while fresh. Otherwise it may become very nearly

worthless. So if you have a garden or can dispose of your fertilizer

every day or two you can make something extra on this by-product by a

semi-weekly cleaning of roosts and droppings board. Litter is not dirt

in the chicken house but it ought to be dry, fresh litter.

It is not enough that the house should look clean. The obvious dirt,

bad as it is, does less harm than the almost invisible vermin that

lurk in the crevices of roosts, nests, and walls. Whitewash is a very

wholesome finish for the interior and should be put on at least twice a

year. This is not enough however. Every square inch of surface should

be wet thoroughly with some liquid which is sure death to vermin. Spray

or brush may be used. I wonder if this could be done too often in hot

weather. Once a month is probably often enough if good insect powder

is used on the hens and in the nests. In winter the vermin are less

active, but it is not safe to neglect them even then.

FOOD AND FEEDING

Hens are known to be omnivorous. They must have animal and mineral as

well as vegetable food. They need these things in variable quantities

depending on their occupation. The hen's main duties are growing,

laying, brooding, moulting, fattening. She needs a great variety of

these three classes of foods throughout her life. Study your flock,

read of the experiences of others in magazines, bulletins, and books,

follow their advice, and work out mixtures and methods to suit your

conditions after you gain experience. The hens will give you many a

hint. Let them out of the pen now and then just before feeding time

and see how they make for the grass. In the evening the earthworms are

near the surface. The hens devour them greedily. You can get the flock

back easily if you have a call, whistle, or other signal which they

associate with grain-scattering, but they will go in at twilight anyhow.

Sitting hens need less food because of their sedentary occupation. The

main thing is to keep food and fresh water where they can get it when

they want it, or see that they go to it regularly.

Broody hens are a trial. The common practices of starving them, ducking

them, and otherwise subjecting them to indignities, are little short

of cruel and often fail to cure their natural desire to sit. Stop and

reason not with, but about, the hen. Having laid all the eggs nature

has provided during the spring, the hen's instinct is to brood and rear

a nestful. She has worked hard and maybe is run down physically. Feel

her bones. What you want from her is more eggs. Instead of wasting time

"getting even" with her for being a nuisance, try some rational way of

breaking up her desire to sit. Remove her immediately from the nest to

a coop. Instead of starving her give her a plentiful supply of the diet

you have found best for layers. She will probably soon begin to lay

again if treated sensibly.

[Illustration: Racks over feed pans prevent waste and soiling food]

Moulting is a perfectly natural process but it occurs at the end of

the season and the chickens are often in a low state of vitality.

For this reason it is a critical time. Study the hens. Find out what

their physical condition is at moulting season. The best condition is

half-way between fat and thin. If they are thin, provide a wholesome

diet rich in fatty foods, as corn, oats, sunflower, and some flaxseed,

with bran, meat scraps, and clover. If heavy with fat from too rich

a diet in the summer, less of the fat-producing foods makes a better

moulting diet.

The quality and flavour of the eggs and meat depend pretty much on the

kind of food given. If filth is taken into the hen's system it affects

her general health and efficiency. There is an opinion that hens and

pigs are by nature dirty. We will not stop to argue that, but your hens

will eat nothing but clean food if nothing else is provided. That's

certain! Look to your feeding racks and watering pans. Use water freely

and a stiff brush or cloth. Clean water is positively necessary. All

sorts of diseases lurk in dirty houses, filthy runs, and stale, unclean

feeding and drinking pans.

Regularity in feeding is important. Do not go into this business if

you expect frequently to be otherwise employed at feeding time. The

main feedings are two, morning and late afternoon, for whole or cracked

grain scattered in the litter. Ground grain should be there, in a

hopper, at all hours in summer and all the afternoon the rest of the

year. The exercise they must take to get the grain keeps the hens from

getting fat and lazy.

A busy hen is a happy hen and a productive hen. Hang a half cabbage up

just out of reach in the house on a stormy day and see them train for

the standing broad jump! If you can get what is known as "the haslet,"

really the lungs, heart, and liver of a porker or lamb, you can suspend

this in the same way and they will work all the better for it.

RAISING YOUNG CHICKENS

[Illustration: Model chicken coop--open on pleasant days]

It is poor practice to set your hens in the chicken house. Prepare

as many fresh nests as you expect to need. Put them in the cellar,

unused shed, under the porch, or any convenient and protected place.

Doors of wire netting or slats are a great convenience. When a hen is

broody, take her off the nest the first night and put her into the

new place with an artificial egg or two. Ten to one she will stay all

right. If not, do not waste time with her. When assured that her mind

is unalterably made up, give her thirteen eggs and close the door on

her again. Set two or three the same day and later combine the flocks

under one hen. Select the eggs with reference to their shape, size, and

quality of shell. Misshapen, very large, or very small eggs or those

with thin shells are worthless for setting. Set the eggs of the best

layers. Every morning take sitters off nests, leave food and water for

them, and return in half an hour. Usually they are all back in their

places in less time than that. If not, you can replace and shut them in

again. In eighteen to twenty-one days the eggs will hatch.

Probably more little chicks die from lice than from any other cause.

Preventive measures must begin early. Get fresh, dry insect powder and

treat the nest and hen about the third, the ninth, and the fifteenth

day of incubation. Rub the powder all through the feathers. Fine dust

obstructs the breathing pores of the lice and kills them. When you

take the chicks from the nest examine the head, neck, and vent regions

of every one. If lice are present a drop of melted lard will put an end

to them. Constant vigilance and nothing short of it, will prevent death

from lice.

[Illustration: Prop the door open, thus, in rain, wind, or too hot sun]

A good home-made lice powder, costing only about four cents a pound,

may be made as follows: Mix together one quarter pint crude carbolic

acid (90 per cent. pure), and three quarters of a pint of gasolene.

Stir into this enough plaster of Paris to take up the liquid, (about

two and one half pounds). Mix thoroughly and rub through a wire

mosquito screen to break the lumps. This can be used to dust through

the feathers, the day after it is made. Keep in a tight jar or box.

This powder is the invention of an expert in poultry husbandry.

The coops for hen and chicks need not be ponderous, but they should be

rain proof. A coop two and one half feet square with removable roof

and floor is not too heavy to handle and answers every purpose. A wire

netting run three or four feet long attached to each coop is necessary

and this combination will house a hen and from fifteen to twenty

chickens.

[Illustration: Closed for the night. Vermin-proof, weather-proof.

Screen-covered ventilator on one side]

[Illustration: Bottom of model coop can be cleaned by lifting up the

coop]

All the food a young chick needs the first twenty-four hours is

provided by nature. After that it is "up to you." Their first meal may

be hard-boiled eggs minced finely, shells and all, and mixed with

oatmeal or custard made of milk and eggs baked hard, or it may be baked

and crumbled corn bread. By the third day they will be ready for raw

broken grain. There are many good commercial kinds: less trouble than

making your own mixtures. The chicks will learn to scratch for this

in a week or two. The hen is their teacher. Fine grit, charcoal, and

clean water must be kept where they can get what they want. Soft food

should not be fed in unlimited quantities; give what they will eat in

five or ten minutes, then take it away. They are likely to over-eat of

wet mashes, but what they have to work for is not likely to give them

indigestion.

When chickens are two months old they no longer need wet mash. They

should now have access to food whenever they want it. A mixture of

cracked corn, wheat, beef scrap, bone, grit, shell, and other grains,

with dry middlings and bran, may be put into a slatted self-feeder,

like the illustration, easily constructed by yourself. It is not much

trouble to see that this is never empty. If fed only at intervals they

rush at you, bolt the biggest grains, stuff their crops, crowd away

weak or modest ones; result, some are under-fed, others are over-fed.

If food is kept where they can get it whenever they happen to think

of it they take a reasonable amount, then visit the growing clover or

grass, pick up a casual pebble, take a drink of water, scratch out a

worm, and return to the feed tray, all in natural course of the day's

work.

You will want to get rid of most of your young cockerels as soon as

they are marketable. Broilers bring highest prices. To put them in

tip-top condition they should be fattened for about two to three weeks

when they are four months old. There is nothing better for fattening

than a mash made of equal parts finely ground corn meal and wheat

middlings with one fourth the quantity of meat meal. This should be wet

with sour skim-milk or buttermilk and fed in a semi-liquid condition,

about the consistency of pancake batter. Ground oats may be added. The

product is known in the highest priced city hotels as "milk fed" or

even "cream fed" chicken. If you can get skim-milk cheap why not buy

a bunch of young cockerels and stuff them for market? They have been

known to put on a pound for every five pounds of this mixture eaten.

BUSINESS METHODS

The day you drive your first nail into what is to be your chicken

house you should start an account. Every item should go down, cost of

materials, cost of stock, cost of feed. Economize where you can by

utilizing vacant space for growing clover for summer feed and some

root crop like mangolds for winter supply. Apples are fine in winter

for hens. You can often get bushels of windfalls for the picking.

Sunflowers are easy to grow and their heads hold a tremendous lot of

chicken feed. Table scraps ground with a hand mill vary the hen's diet,

but do avoid sloppy messes.

There are two sides to every account. If you charge the chickens with

what they cost you, it is only fair to yourself and to them to credit

them with the eggs and meat they furnish, as well as with increase of

stock, etc.

[Illustration: Trap-nest open. The hen's weight shuts the door behind

her]

In every flock there are some idlers. They lay only a hundred or so

eggs, they leave their eggs too long when sitting, or they never put

on any weight. You want to be rid of all such. You can mark the bad

sitters, and send them to the pot, as well as those whose habits are

such as to make them a nuisance. But you need to know which fowls lay

the biggest and best eggs and which lay the largest number. For market

in our country where eggs are sold by the dozen it is numbers that

count, but for breeding you want eggs of good size and shape. You also

want to set the eggs of the good layers. These eggs taste no better

in cake or omelet, but by careful selection you can breed a strain

of extra good layers, right in your hen house. The device known as a

trap-nest is the thing you will need if you go at it scientifically.

You want it in winter, too, to prevent killing your best hens for

potpie, while the idlers cheerfully eat your grain without recompense.

The simpler the mechanism of the trap-nest the better. It must stand

open until the hen enters, then close without frightening her. Most of

them keep the hen a prisoner until you go and examine the nest, credit

the hen by her leg-band number, and release her. By following the

drawings in the bulletins of the New York and Maine Experiment Stations

referred to in the list of bulletins on chickens you can construct your

own trap-nests.

[Illustration: Trap-nest closed after hen has gone in]

There are people who claim that "common chickens" or mixed breeds

are hardier than pure bred fowls and better all around producers.

How many can show records to make good that claim? American boys and

girls who go into chicken raising will want to breed from good pure

stock. Nothing is too good for them. Did you ever hear any one show any

enthusiasm when passing a flock of mongrels? Contrast this with the

delight you and all your friends take in the sight of a hundred fowls

all white, all red, all spangled, all black, all piebald, all blue,

or all speckled, as alike as peas in a pod! I vote for the pure stock

every time. You can keep it pure and strong by exchanging cockerels

with other breeders of the same variety and with similar ideals and

practices.

Keeping chickens isn't mere child's play. There's lots to be done. You

must be carpenter, gardener, breeder, merchant, and even doctor, all

rolled into one. But there is fun in it and profit in it. Better than

all, there is a satisfaction in doing a good job and doing it well, and

it keeps a boy out of doors where he belongs if he's a healthy boy.

EGG RECORDS

HOUSE NO. MATCHED BIRD NO.

PEN NO. VARIETY

+======+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+=====+====+

| DATE |NOV.|DEC.|JAN.|FEB.|MAR.|APR.|MAY |JUNE|JULY|AUG.|SEPT.|OCT.|

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 1 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 2 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 3 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 4 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 5 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 6 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 7 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 8 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 9 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 10 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 11 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 12 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 13 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 14 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 15 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 16 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 17 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 18 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 19 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 20 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 21 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 22 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 23 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 24 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 25 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 26 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 27 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 28 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 29 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 30 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| 31 | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+------+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| | | | | | | | | | | | | |

|TOTALS+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+----+-----+----+

| | | | | | | | | | | | | |

+======+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+====+=====+====+

The egg record is the up-to-date way of keeping tab on idlers. It goes

with the trap-nest.

[Illustration: A useful hen gate]

As with many other products of home industry the first and best market

is the home market. Credit the hens with every pound of meat you

furnish for the table and every egg consumed by the family. But you

will soon need to extend your market. Across the street, up and down

on both sides, you can find people who like "personally conducted"

eggs and prefer that the fowls served on their tables should be

acquaintances rather than the embalmed kind. You must be business man

enough to work up a trade for fresh, clean eggs in attractive packages,

and for wholesome meat. It would be a good stroke of business to date

your eggs if you know what demand you can depend on. That would help

impress the idea of real freshness on the consumer's mind.

If you pluck fowls for market it will interest you to know that

feathers have a market value. They should be plucked dry and the wing

and tail feathers kept separate. Any large city dealer in chickens will

probably take your feathers. By-products often make the difference

between plus and minus in a year's business.

The winner of the first prize of one hundred dollars in the Junior

Poultry Contest of the Oregon Agricultural College tells this story:

RAISING CHICKENS

Boys and girls should raise chickens in the city as well as on the farm

because it pays and is a fine occupation. It is a work that never grows

tiresome and new experiences are always awaiting you. Various theories

are advocated as to the proper manner of feeding and housing to get

the best results but simple rules are the best to begin with. Plenty

of clean water, clean houses and yards and good feed are needed to get

the best results. Spade up a little in the chicken yard every day that

is pleasant, but if it is cold and in wet weather provide a scratching

shed. Keep the hens busy. Read the bulletins furnished free by the

government and the various experiment stations. Also subscribe to a

good poultry paper. The ideas you will get from these together with

your own experience will make you a successful poultry raiser. By doing

all that was stated above I was able to win first prize in the poultry

contest just closed.

CLARENCE A. HOGAN

SUCCESS WITH CHICKENS

The contest of the Portland Junior Poultry Association has closed. It

lasted a whole year, and it seemed as if it would never come to an end.

But if it had not been for the contest I would never have known many of

the interesting things I now know about chickens.

I had twelve white Leghorn hens and a cock entered. They were all

little beauties and I enjoyed working with them very much.

They laid one thousand six hundred twenty-two eggs during the year. The

eggs were worth from twenty-five to sixty cents a dozen. We fed them

wheat, corn, barley, oats, and bran in which table scraps were mixed,

oyster shells, grit, prepared beef scraps, charcoal, and green foods

such as grass from the lawn, cabbage, kale, and lettuce and other

green things from the garden. Each hen made us a profit of two dollars

and seventy-two cents for the year.

Chickens need lots of care. Their house must be cleaned out, there

should be some fresh ground dug up in the yard, and they need some

green food every day. Papa took care of the house, and I mowed the lawn

and gave them the clippings and gathered cabbage leaves, kale leaves,

and lettuce leaves out of the garden and gave them each day.

In the spring time we let them out a few minutes every morning to get

bugs and worms. They soon had all the bugs and worms scratched out

of the garden and then they ran out in the yard and scratched up the

flower beds, which did not please mamma very well. After that they

wanted to go to the neighbour's yard but we had to keep them up. This

was before we made the garden.

Chickens make nice pets. They are much nicer than dogs or cats, and

if you take good care of them they will pay well beside. I had a nice

little white Leghorn hen I called "Petty." When she was a little

chicken I would catch her every day and play with her. She would go in

the nest and wait for some one to take her out and pet her. She got so

tame that I could catch her any place in the yard. I would go in the

yard and get her and take her out in the garden and dig for her and let

her find the bugs and worms.

I had another little chicken that I called "Jim." He was a cute little

rooster. When he was just a little chicken I would put him to bed every

night and when he grew a little older he would not go to bed alone.

One night we weren't at home at his bedtime and when we came home that

night we heard a funny little noise in the back yard. It was raining

and Jim had gone under the sweet pea vines to sleep instead of going

into his box.

The first little chicks we hatched we took away from the hen and raised

them by hand. For about a week after they were hatched we put them in

a basket and covered them over with warm, woollen cloths and set them

by the stove to keep warm over night. I had a peach box with a wire

covering to keep them in, in the daytime. On sunshiny days we set them

out in the sunshine but after about a week they were not satisfied with

that. I decided that what they wanted was to get out and run for bugs.

So one afternoon when I came home from school it was nice and sunshiny

and I let them out of their box. When they first stepped into the grass

they were surprised. That was the first time they had ever stepped

on the lawn. They ran right to a rose bush and stayed right there all

the time picking off bugs. Each evening I let them out they would go

a little farther away from home. At last they had caught all the bugs

around the place and if we did not watch, they would run over to the

neighbour's yard. I am anxious for the time to come when we will have

more little chicks.

RUTH HAYES

The girl who tells this story is thirteen years old. She won second

prize, fifty dollars.

ANOTHER PRIZE WINNER'S STORY

During the time that I have been taking care of poultry I have been

successful. I only had six chickens in the Oregon Junior Poultry

Contest, five hens and a rooster, but I have about fifty other chickens

to take care of. The chickens that I had in the contest were Black

Minorcas, but I also raise White Wyandottes. I seem to have better

success with my White Wyandottes than with my Black Minorcas. The

house I have for the contest chickens is twelve feet wide and six feet

long. The place they roost in is four feet by six and the rest is a

scratching shed, which is eight feet by six. The house is open front

and has a ground floor, which is dry and the chickens can dust in it.

I feed them three times a day, grain morning and noon, which I feed

in litter, and a warm mash at night so they can go to roost warm. I

also keep bran, charcoal, and grit before them all the time. I have

a bone cutter, and feed cut bone to my chickens once a week. I clean

off the drop board every morning, and once a week I coal-oil the roost

and where the roost rests. During this cold weather I do not let the

chickens out very early and when it is raining I do not let them out

at all. Every night after the chickens have gone to roost I go out and

throw a little grain in their litter and that gives them something to

do the first thing in the morning.

I am sorry that I did not have a photograph of myself to send you.

FRANK MITCHELL

A BOY FEEDS SIX THOUSAND HENS IN HALF AN HOUR

What do you know about that? I saw this feat done last winter by a

fourteen-year old California boy, and I took his photograph as he was

doing it. What can a boy not do if he has the opportunity? There are

other boys who find it a harder task and a more disagreeable one to

feed half a dozen hens. A boy can feed six thousand hens and gather two

or three thousand eggs a day and go to school.

This California boy had a gray pony to help him, but what enabled him

to perform this feat day after day was system. His uncle, the owner of

the farm, had planned the work to make it easy. The farm contains one

hundred and twenty acres, and the six thousand hens are scattered over

the whole farm in colony houses. The system of feeding was a liberal

feed of soft mash in the morning. Three colony houses were placed

together. The middle one was a laying house; the other two, roosting

houses. In one end of the laying house there was a wheat bin holding

several sacks of wheat. The bin was a self-feeding hopper. After dinner

the fourteen-year old boy jumped on his gray horse and made the rounds

of the houses, opening a door to the hopper of wheat, so that the hens

could eat at will during the afternoon. It took just a moment to jump

off of his horse, open the door, and jump on again, the horse going on

the lope between the houses. He made the rounds in less than half an

hour. About three or four o'clock he hitched his pony to a low wagon

and visited all the houses, gathering the eggs. This was a bigger job

than feeding the hens; he could not go as fast with the eggs. In the

morning, about seven o'clock, he makes the rounds of the houses, and

without getting off his horse opens the doors to the laying houses, and

does it all in fifteen minutes. What do you know about that?

JAMES DRYDEN

AN AMATEUR'S EXPERIENCE

In April, nineteen hundred and one, I purchased four broody hens, two

settings of White Wyandotte eggs, and two of Plymouth Rock. I live

in a suburban district where dogs and cats abound and poultry cannot

have free range. I therefore made two wire-covered board runs, six

feet by eight, eighteen inches high, and against a six-inch hole sawed

in one end of each I placed a box turned on its side for a coop. Of

twenty-eight Wyandotte eggs, twenty-six hatched, and three chicks died.

Of twenty-six Plymouth Rocks only three hatched, and these I put with

the Wyandottes in care of the two most motherly hens.

Every morning I fed a mash of meal, shorts, and beef scraps, in equal

parts, mixed dry with boiling water; at noon and night oatmeal,

cracked wheat, or occasionally cracked corn, and clean table scraps

at any time. Oyster shells and fresh water were always before them.

Mothers and children ate together, each taking what she liked best. As

often as they soiled the grass I shifted the runs, and on fine days I

let the families out for an hour before dark into an adjoining field,

keeping an eye on their wanderings.

October first I sold the four hens, which had laid meanwhile fifteen

and a half dozen eggs. Twelve chicks were cockerels, which were killed

as needed.

November first I reduced the daily feed to two meals--a warm mash at

half past eight A.M. so that they would scratch awhile before being

fed, and for supper grain, generally oats, scattered about the yard,

with a few handfuls inside the house to induce more scratching. They

had all they would eat, but if they left any food I skipped the next

meal and let them get hungry. The water was renewed often, dishes kept

clean, and field excursions continued occasionally.

November sixth I sold the first dozen eggs, and for eleven months the

supply never failed. The eggs were large, and the hens were active,

healthy, and happy. Any success I attribute to moderate feeding,

exercise, and cleanliness.

_May 1, 1901, to August 15, 1902_

EXPENSES

Eggs, White Wyandotte $2.00

Express .25

Eggs, Plymouth Rock 1.00

4 hens 2.60

Boards, net, and boxes 1.22

Grain, 15½ months 31.41

------

$38.48

RECEIPTS

Eggs, 14 pullets, 162 dozen $47.33

Eggs, 4 hens, 15½ dozen 3.92

12 cockerels, 55¼ pounds 10.35

4 hens 2.00

14 hens (sold by reason of my illness) 8.00

2 barrels dressing 1.50

Runs, etc., on hand 1.00

------

$74.10

38.48

------

Profit $35.62

BELLE S. CRAGIN

HOW I STARTED WITH HENS

I am a boy, thirteen years old, and have always been very fond of farm

animals, especially chickens. I like the White Wyandottes best for

all-around, general-purpose fowls. They lay well, and when they are

dressed for market there are no dark pin-feathers to spoil their looks.

In April, nineteen hundred and five, I purchased two settings of White

Wyandotte eggs at the Rhode Island College, and borrowed two broody

hens. I bought one of these hens later, but she soon died. I fixed up

an old pig house that was on the place, and set the hens in this house.

While they were sitting, papa helped me make two coops and pens for

them. For the coop I took a dry-goods box, about four feet by one and

one half feet by fifteen inches, and made a door in one corner large

enough to admit a hen. In one end I bored some holes and covered them

with wire netting, for ventilation.

For the pen I took four pieces of scantling and a good supply of laths.

I used the pieces of scantling for the corner-posts and nailed the

laths on the sides, top, and one end. I did not put anything on the

other end except the top and bottom strips. The pen is just the length

of a lath, but the width is a little less. The open end is placed

against the front of the coop; the hen can then come out into the pen,

and the chicks can go anywhere.

After awhile the chicks hatched and there were sixteen of them. At

first I fed them a mash of corn meal and bran and later a little

cracked corn and wheat. They grew finely, but I raised only thirteen of

them, eight of which were pullets.

I fed them in the back yard for a while, but they dug the grass up so

that I had to stop it. Then I built a scratching-pen by the wood shed,

to feed them in.

In the summer the chickens were roosting in the trees, and when cold

weather came and I wanted them to roost in the hen house they would not

do it. I tried feeding them there, and driving them in; but that did

not work very well, because I could not drive them all in at once, and

when I drove some in and tried to get the rest, the first ones would

come out again. So I had my brother help me, and every night we would

carry them down to the hen house. After a time they learned to roost

there.

The pullets began to lay early in November and laid well all winter. I

am proud of one of my hens. She laid two hundred and thirty-eight eggs

from the eighth of November, nineteen hundred and five, to the fifth of

August, nineteen hundred and six. I think this is a very good record,

considering that during the most of that time she was fed nothing but

cracked corn.

During the first part of the winter of nineteen hundred and six to

nineteen hundred and seven the hens did not lay very well, and I asked

one of the poultry men at the Rhode Island College what to feed them to

make them lay. He told me what he had fed with good success, and as it

made my hens lay, it may make somebody else's hens lay.

GRAIN

{ Whole corn

Equal parts, by weight, of { Wheat

{ Oats

MASH

{ Bran

Equal parts, by weight, of { Middlings

{ Corn meal

{ Beef scraps

This means that they will get more wheat and oats than corn, and more

bran and middlings than corn meal. I feed the grain morning and night,

and the mash at noon. The mash may be fed either wet or dry. I have

tried it both ways but I like to feed it dry fully as well for two

reasons: First the hens cannot gobble it up so fast and all get an

equal share; second, the hens lay just as well and it saves labour.

Feed is expensive here and it cost me three dollars and thirty-nine

cents for one hundred pounds of both kinds. I think I shall continue to

feed it till I find something better, and I would recommend it to any

one who desires a good, satisfactory feed.

My poultry record for one year is as follows:

POULTRY ACCOUNT

DR. CR.

Jan., feed $3.15 Jan., eggs $2.63

March, feed .24 Jan., roaster .75

April, shells .20 Feb., eggs 2.28

May, feed 1.85 March, eggs 1.88

June, feed 1.26 April, eggs 1.41

July, feed 1.28 May, eggs 1.96

Aug., feed 3.38 June, eggs 2.32

Oct., feed 1.24 July, eggs 1.85

Nov., feed 1.24 Aug., eggs .63

------ Sept., eggs 1.12

Total $13.84 Sept., roaster .65

Oct., eggs 1.32

Oct., premium .75

Nov., eggs .38

------

$19.93

------

Profit $6.09

Two of my hens died during the first year, leaving six, hence these six

paid a profit of one dollar and one and one half cent each, above cost

of feed.

LESLIE E. CARD

HOW ONE YOUNG WOMAN MADE A START WITH POULTRY

We had long dreamed of a country home, my mother and I--of a place

where living expenses would be lessened and which would be pleasant

during the summer for my sisters, who teach eight months of the year--a

place where we could add materially to our income by keeping chickens.

After discarding the idea of buying near New York City, because of

the higher value of land and greater cost of living, we chose a place

of twelve acres on the edge of an aristocratic old town in western

New York. Being within the corporation limits we have water and sewer

connections, hardware and lumber delivered (which is quite an item when

one is building poultry houses); and, best of all, the expressman comes

for all eggs and poultry. A woman intending to go into the poultry

business will certainly find such a location a great advantage over

being farther from town. The increase in taxes is slight. The cost of

expressage is, of course, greater than if we had located near New York

City, but grain is cheaper.

We purchased the place in the fall to have possession the following

March. During the winter, I took the three months' Poultry Course at

Cornell University. The course is comprehensive and very practical.

Beside learning the principles of poultry husbandry, I gained

confidence and courage.

We paid two thousand six hundred dollars for the property and spent

four hundred dollars more in plumbing and repairs on the house. The

place consists of about twelve acres of very good land, especially

suited for poultry, being somewhat sandy and sloping enough for

drainage. The house is small but well built. The view is magnificent,

and the place is easily adaptable to some charming bits of landscape

gardening which good taste and personal supervision can accomplish

without expensive gardener's fees.

We first built some brooder houses, gasolene heated, as used at

Cornell, and purchased day-old chicks of a good laying strain. Late in

the summer we built a five-pen laying house, the pens being twenty by

twenty feet, using one pen for a feed room. The entire first year we

took care of the poultry ourselves, with the assistance of a schoolboy

who worked for his board. Most of the land was in hay, which we hired

cut and sold, and we raised some corn. I knew nothing about farming,

and was so interested in chickens that I had little time to study;

however, I got the Cornell bulletins on alfalfa and started an acre

according to their suggestions. This has been successful and is fine

feed for poultry.

The second spring we hired a man by the month. One man can take care of

twelve hundred hens and the horse, carry coal, and drive for us some of

the time. The regular farm work we hire done by the day. A woman needs

to pay special attention to keeping down the labour expenses.

The laying hens have about three acres for yards. This is divided into

three different yards, one for the four hundred best pullets which I

take the time to trap-nest, and the third one to be alternated with the

other two so that they can all be ploughed and seeded, in order to keep

the ground from becoming contaminated. I have planted cherry trees in

one yard and will in the others later, to furnish shade for the fowls.

I chose cherries for various reasons. They can stand the enrichment and

the treatment of the land necessary for poultry; also, if they are well

cared for, sprayed, etc., I can get a fancy market for them at home.

The place had been noted in former years for its fine cherry orchard,

so I believed the soil and location to be well adapted to them.

We felt we could not afford to build an incubator cellar, so we

moved the furniture from a north-east bedroom where we placed three

four-hundred-egg incubators. We closed the east shutters so that the

morning sun would not interfere with the temperature and used the north

window for ventilation. It was successful and convenient.

The brooder houses are located near the house as long as the little

chicks need heat. I have started a hedge for a windbreak in front

of them, which will also screen the poultry part of the plantation

from the house. When the chicks no longer need heat the hovers of the

brooder houses are removed and roosts put in. The houses, which are on

runners, are drawn to a cornfield as soon as the corn has grown enough

not to be injured by the chicks. Here they have free range all summer.

By moving the first hatches to some shack houses, which are cheaply

built, when the chicks no longer need heat the brooder houses can be

used once again.

There are two cornfields for growing the pullets, to be used in

alternate years so the ground will be fresh. The corn gives shade and a

sense of security, besides furnishing a considerable part of the winter

feed. I hope to be able to grow corn for several successive years on

the same ground by sowing either clover or rape at the last cultivation

to furnish humus for the land.

The following were our initial expenses:

3 400-egg incubators $111.00

8 brooder houses 320.00

4 shack houses 60.00

Laying pen for 1,200 hens 1,500.00

Fences 94.00

Tools and equipment for poultry 100.00

---------

Total $2,185.00

Last year I cleared two dollars over the cost of feed from each of my

layers, from the sale of eggs alone.

The pleasure and freedom of country life are worth much. A garden with

high quality vegetables, fruit of all kinds and varieties, fresh eggs

and poultry, goes a long way in making the cost of living less. (We

save cracked, small, or misshapen eggs for our own use.) With a saddle

horse and a tennis court, life in the country is far from dull.

AVA HOOKER

PRESERVING EGGS FOR WINTER USE

When eggs are cheap and plenty is the time when it will pay to preserve

some for winter use. Remember, though, that no amount of preserving, or

cold storing will make a fresh egg out of an old egg. As infertile eggs

keep better than fertile ones, it is well to separate the laying hens

from the roosters when the hatching season is over.

Cold storage is undoubtedly the best method for keeping eggs in

wholesale quantities, but for home consumption there is nothing more

satisfactory than a preservative called water glass which is _sodium

silicate_ and can be bought in crystal or liquid form at drug stores.

Prof. J. E. Rice of Cornell University says that "the liquid form is

very much to be preferred owing to the fact that it is very difficult

to dissolve the crystal. One part of water glass to nine parts of water

makes a liquid having a consistency not quite heavy enough to cause the

eggs to come to the surface, but still sufficiently strong to furnish

the coating which prevents the air from entering the shells."

Stone jars are recommended as inexpensive and not likely to leak.

Eggs taken out after nearly a year in the water glass and washed look

like fresh eggs. As to taste, a very fastidious person might find the

flavour not quite right when served as boiled eggs. In all other ways

they are entirely satisfactory.

With water glass, eggs can be preserved for less than two cents a

dozen. In communities where the price of eggs varies from a cent apiece

to four cents apiece it would be very profitable to preserve all the

surplus.

RAISING GUINEA FOWL

What would you expect if you ordered "American pheasant" from a bill

of fare in a London restaurant? No matter what you expected, when the

bird came onto the table it would be guinea hen! This is a dish you

probably never ate at home unless you live in the South, "where they

know what's good," or make a practice of dining at fashionable hotels

where they serve fancy game and poultry.

Most of the guinea fowls marketed in this country are put into cold

storage and sent to England. They also bring a good price in city

markets in this country.

Farm boys and girls all over the country are familiar with the strident

squawk and the furtive, hunching trot of the speckled guinea fowl. I

doubt if any farmer could tell why he harbours one on the premises,

unless it is to warn his chickens of the presence of danger. I know of

very few people in the North who eat either eggs or birds (if they know

it), and the young are very seldom seen. Here is a really valuable game

bird which silly prejudice is depriving of its fair share of attention.

If farm boys realized that there is a good and growing market for

guinea fowls, eggs, and birds, they would read this: A fashionable New

York hotel served three thousand of these birds between January first

and April thirteenth, nineteen hundred and five. Listen to the prices:

from one dollar to one dollar and a half per pair for young broilers in

midwinter in the large Northern cities. Eggs twice the price of hens'

eggs. Taking into consideration the fact that they are hardier even as

chicks than ordinary poultry and that the market is strictly fancy and

not oversupplied, the chances for success in guinea raising are good.

In beginning this branch of business it is not best to buy old fowls.

They are swift of wing, and they are extremely likely to take "French

leave" unless closely confined for a week or more to their new

quarters. This confinement is not very good for them. My advice is to

begin with a setting of fifteen eggs under a common hen in May or June.

The eggs are smaller than hens' eggs and have good, strong shells.

They take from twenty-six to thirty days to hatch. The treatment and

care of young guinea fowls varies from that given to young chickens in

a few particulars only, _e. g._, the chicks should be fed very _soon_

after hatching and need a large percentage of animal food when first

hatched. Dry bread crumbs and hard-boiled eggs minced finely or pieces

of cooked meat cut very fine are a good first meal. Bread and milk and

finely chopped lettuce, cress, or other vegetation should be given a

day or two later. They will pick up innumerable insects if allowed the

privileges of the garden or fruit plantation. Little guineas should

have access to feed all the time as a few hours without food is very

likely to prove fatal. Like little pheasants they require a greater

percentage of animal food than chickens because if in the wild they

would eat little else. Soft grains should follow the earlier rations,

and the mixtures given to ordinary poultry should gradually take the

place of these.

Old guinea fowls have the reputation for making very tough meat. For

this reason it is better to market them while the breast bone is still

tender, the claws still short and sharp, and before the crest or helmet

has reached its full size or changed colour. In young birds the helmet

is nearly black, growing lighter with age.

Ordinarily it is more economical when raising a few guinea fowls

not to confine them to runs, in which they are less hardy. Partial

confinement, such as coming to the barn yard to roost and appearing

regularly to be fed, is more practical. If kept in runs it is necessary

to cover the pens. High roosts should be provided. During the laying

season the hens are almost certain to hide their nests and need close

watching. They may lay in nest boxes if these are in dim, secluded

corners. Guinea hens are very wary and may resent having their nests

visited, by quitting. Also, the hens seem to be able to count and will

usually desert their own nests if all but one or two eggs are taken

away. They are rather impatient sitters, often leaving the nest when

the eggs are half incubated or when the first chick is ready to go,

even though they have a dozen pipped eggs. The little ones are, like

little turkeys, susceptible to dampness and cold. Very early and very

late hatchings are undesirable.

RAISING TURKEYS

Among the pictures which my memory calls up is that of an old bushel

basket by the kitchen stove on a damp spring morning. From the

comforting folds of an old flannel petticoat in the depths of the

basket came the feeble "peep-peawp" of a dozen or more miserable little

turkey chicks rescued from the shower. What a chase they had given us

through the wet tangles of grass, weeds, and bushes, scooting to cover

like partridges, hidden by their colouring almost as effectually as

their wild cousins. We shall never be quite sure that we got them all,

for we weren't certain how many there were originally. If the chill

had not penetrated to their vitals, and these important organs lie

disastrously near the pin-feathers, we had been in time to save them.

Experiences like these impress upon the minds of farm children much

that is characteristic of the turkey. As grown-ups we read of the

precautions necessary in raising turkeys and realize that we knew all

that years ago. A turkey hen will stay close around the barn yard

eating and drinking with the other fowls all winter, roosting in

convenient tree tops, and giving no hint of wildness or firmness of

purpose. But in April you miss her. She may return about meal time,

take a dust bath perhaps, then she is off again. Now you must test your

wits against her instincts and see if you can find her nest. She may

have secreted her eggs in a perfectly safe barrel, provided with straw

and cunningly secluded in the shrubbery. She is likely, though, to go

far afield and give you a merry chase. It is wise to take away the eggs

each day until she has finished and wishes to sit. Then you may give

her a nestful, fifteen to eighteen, or you can set the eggs under hens

and when the turkey's broody spell is over she will lay again.

Four weeks is the time required to hatch turkey eggs. Newly hatched

turkeys are far from spry. They have no interest in food nor in the

world about them. It is forty-eight hours or even longer before they

begin to take notice. Hard-boiled eggs chopped fine is a good first

meal for them. Some growers take a pint of sweet milk in a saucepan,

let it come to a boil, and stir into it two eggs well beaten. This

makes a sort of custard and this quantity is said to be enough for

fifty new turkey chicks. Cottage cheese without salt is recommended.

A dusting of black pepper in the food is good for week-old turkeys,

especially in cool weather.

Two deadly enemies of little turkeys are lice and wet. These are

responsible for the high rate of mortality in flocks of all breeds.

Keep them free from these by all known methods and with ordinary care

in other details your profits are safe. If you tide over the first two

months you will see the delicate chicks transformed into hardy little

poults, holding their own with any kind of fowls.

I don't know of any one who ever made a success of turkeys on a

small lot. Their habit of ranging can be restrained to the extent

of keeping them off the neighbours, but close cooping opposes their

natural instincts. They are great insect eaters and will pick up a

fair living away from the feed trough. It is best to train them by a

regular evening feeding to roost at home. You will want to count them

frequently, especially as November draws near and the price begins to

soar.

There are a number of breeds in cultivation. The biggest and perhaps

the hardiest is the bronze turkey. Some consider their flesh less

delicate than that of the smaller kinds. There is always a good market

for any size. If all your neighbours have bronze turkeys and the flocks

are always getting mixed, why not try the buff or black or the white

Holland? The latter are almost as beautiful an ornament to the country

home as peacocks, and can be seen at a great distance because of their

brilliant white plumage.

If one wants to get enthusiastic over turkeys let him drive through

a thrifty farming community in the fall and catch glimpses of the

sunshine reflected from the burnished backs of the great flocks which

ornament every farm yard. Or, if inclined to a meal of turkey, just

inquire the price on the farm or in the market, and you will decide to

raise some for your own use next year, and a few to sell.

RAISING PEACOCKS

We have it on the authority of the curator of birds of the New York

Zoölogical Garden, Mr. C. William Beebe, that peafowls are not

difficult to raise if the owner is watchful. Wouldn't it be a triumph

to raise a family of these wonderful birds? Mr. Beebe says also that

"peacocks are so common that we sometimes fail to appreciate their

really wonderful colours." I wonder if that can be true. They were so

uncommon in the Mississippi Valley when I was a child that I never saw

one; it was less than ten years ago that I saw for the first time this

regal bird spread his wonderful tail in the full sunlight. It was one

of Mr. Beebe's own pets and I shall never forget nor fail to appreciate

the sight.

A peahen lays fewer eggs than most birds of her size. She will lay

three times a year if you succeed in "changing her current of thought"

when she is broody. She usually wishes to sit on the first six eggs and

as she has pretty good judgment in placing her nest and is a patient

and courageous mother, you had better trust her to bring up her family,

unless you wish to raise the first lot under hens or turkey mothers.

Like young turkeys, the little peachicks are very tender and

susceptible to dampness. Woe unto them if the chill of an early May

rain gets into their bones! This is the time when watchfulness on the

owner's part is necessary.

For newly hatched peachicks a few meals of finely chopped, hard-boiled

eggs and minced lettuce are right. As they develop appetites, feed some

of the mixtures prepared for game, pheasants, etc. By all means let

them have space to run in; a little coop is bad for their health. Make

it twelve feet long at least. They will eat quantities of insects and

will need feed only morning and evening after the first month or two.

Corn, wheat, barley, and millet make a good mixture.

No regular house is required for peafowls, though shelter must be

provided against rain. They prefer to roost high, where the air is

fresh and cool. Wind and cold weather they like.

Indian peacocks cost twenty dollars to thirty dollars a pair. You can

grow them for far less from eggs and sell the birds. They live to be

twenty or thirty years old.

If you are convinced that you want to try your hand at any of these

kinds of fancy poultry, collect all the information you can first.

Visit some successful poultry plant, ask questions, take notes. Get

all the government and state experiment station bulletins available.

Breeders often publish information about rearing birds. They are glad

to help any one who is interested. It increases their business. Write

to your agricultural college for information. They may not have a

bulletin on the subject, but the men in their poultry department are

glad to answer questions. Giving advice is part of their business and

you can count on it being good advice.

RAISING GEESE

March is a good month to set goose eggs. As it takes them a little

over a month to hatch, they will come out in April and the early birds

catch the best prices. It is really surprising that more farmer's boys

and girls do not raise geese. They will "board themselves" if given a

chance at pasture, but need fattening with ground grain if held for

Christmas trade.

Goslings can be raised under hens, six eggs in a nest, but the goose is

an admirable mother. Unlike most of his feathered kindred the gander is

a true helpmate, often "spelling" his mate during the sitting period

and caring for the young afterward with great solicitude.

Watchful care is needed to prevent the damp, cold April from getting

the best of little goslings. They should begin their careers with a

meal of bread crumbs, scalded meal, and hard-boiled eggs, chopped

vegetable tops and grass included in the mash. They eat small

quantities at a time, but need it frequently to stay their stomachs.

Water for drinking should be accessible, clean, and fresh always. Many

a sick gosling can trace his disorder directly to the bad water. A

large tub of water for bathing, too, is advisable for geese after they

are feathered.

Toulouse and Embden geese are tremendous creatures, even reaching the

enormous weight of twenty-five pounds. Their meat is highly prized in

European countries and is becoming popular in America so that a good

market is assured.

The business of fattening geese for market is quite specialized now.

Men engaged in this business visit the farms where a few geese are

kept and buy the eight-weeks old goslings for seventy-five cents to

one dollar and a half apiece. If you can get this price your profit is

fair and certain and your work ended. You can put your cash into some

other business. Raising geese is a good summer vacation job. On a goose

fattening farm near a good Eastern city market as many as fifteen or

twenty thousand geese are fattening at one time.

Geese on farms when I was a girl were kept principally for their

feathers which found their way into the pillows and feather beds then

used. The best pillows in my house are filled with the feathers plucked

from geese with which I was personally acquainted. These feathers have

a high market value, higher when you buy than when you sell to be sure,

but you may be able to supply a local market and thus get a better

price. Geese, like all the other feathered tribes, moult naturally in

late summer. If the live geese are to be plucked, it should be done

very carefully, three or four feathers at a time. The geese do not

show evidence of minding much when they find that your designs are

peaceable. Only the breast feathers and the smallest ones from the back

are ordinarily taken for home use. Avoid the feathers with coarse stiff

shafts. No down should be removed. Goose quills make good toothpicks,

cleaned and scalded and trimmed into shape. Or they may be sold

separately as feathers.

Geese are plucked before sending to market. Most of the feathers and

some of the down now extensively used by manufacturers of bed clothing

comes from the marketed geese.

RAISING DUCKS

Probably in many neighbourhoods you would be laughed at if you tried

to raise ducks without a pond or stream of water. It is not customary.

True, if you have them for ornament principally, they look best

disporting themselves in what seems to be their natural element. But

if you believe there is money in raising ducks for market, nothing is

easier than to prove that the people who laughed were not up to date.

You have heard the old saying on a very wet day, "Good weather for

ducks." Don't you believe it. If you go into duck raising you must be

just as careful about ducks getting wet as you are about your chicks.

The duck must have plenty of water inside, all he will drink, but keep

him dry outside. Little ducks are hardy if kept dry and warm. Even

cold drinking water will give them cramps and should be avoided. The

drinking vessels should be so covered that the duckling can get only

the bill wet.

The advantage of ducks over chicks is this: they do not bring quite so

big a price per pound, but they grow so much faster during the first

two months of their lives. Ducks should be marketed at eight to ten

weeks old. At ten weeks old a good broiler will weigh about two pounds

and will sell for seventy-five cents, but a duckling will weigh four to

five pounds, which at twenty-five cents a pound will give you from one

dollar to one dollar and twenty-five cents. The cost of feeding the two

will be about the same.

Ducks have other advantages over chickens. They are not nearly so

subject to vermin, though lice sometimes attack their heads. They seem

to thrive in confinement and cost less to house than chickens. Their

feathers will bring a good price, and eggs of pure breeds for hatching

are in demand. They are excellent layers, even better than some hens,

as experience will show. If a duck lays nine dozen eggs at four dollars

a dozen, and raises a family, she does a pretty good year's work, and

is more profitable to keep than some cows. She eats grubs and insects,

too, and grass and surplus from the vegetable garden.

The commonest practice for beginners is to set duck eggs under hens in

April and May. The biggest varieties are the best to raise as all are

hardy, fast growers, and good layers. The eggs take about twenty-eight

days to incubate. Treat the hen and nest for lice just as when sitting

on hens' eggs.

When ducklings are twenty-four hours old, they are ready for their

first meal. Mashed potatoes mixed with meal of corn or oats and

middlings are good for them. Milk, too, is excellent as for all fowls.

Begin to stuff them immediately; you will find them quite agreeable.

Green food of all kinds--grass, lettuce, cabbage, vegetable tops--all

chopped small, fills them up and is good for them. Such things as

turnips and potatoes should be cooked. Ground meat should be fed three

times a week. Have the feeding troughs so arranged that they can get

their shovels into it but cannot walk over the food and foul it; same

thing with the water. Feed four times a day. They must not get empty.

Growth will not be rapid unless continuous. Grit should be supplied.

On duck farms one hundred ducklings are kept in brooders five by seven

feet, with yards five by sixteen feet. They are kept absolutely clean

and dry. Those you keep over winter for next year's egg supply should

have access to a pond and grass. Old ducks do not bring high prices for

table use and do not put on weight very fast.

It was perhaps a young Boston housekeeper who asked when her market man

offered her Pekin ducks for her table, "How are they esteemed?"

He replied, "Oh, my wife, she don't never steam ducks. She just stuffs

'em like you would a chicken and bakes 'em."

RAISING SQUABS FOR MARKET

A few years' experience in raising fancy pigeons for pets is the best

kind of training for a young man who wants to raise squabs for market.

This business on a small scale ought not to take all one's time and

can easily be combined with some other business or profession or with

attending college. But your experience, varied though it may be, has

not acquainted you with all that is worth knowing on the subject. The

time has gone by when a man can afford to ignore books and bulletins

even on a subject upon which he may himself be an authority. A library

of pigeon literature will increase your wisdom. A practical man writing

of his experience in your business may save you hundreds of dollars

if you heed his advice. Don't scoff at college bulletins as your

grandfather probably did. He had reason, but the bulletin is not what

it was. Great strides forward have been made. Visit some big squab

raiser's plant and take mental and written notes of significant facts

observed. The colour of his pigeon loft does not affect the price he

gets for his squabs, but the quality of the grain he feeds has a direct

influence on the fullness of his wallet.

Full-blooded homers are declared by many to be the best, all things

considered, for table use. Good, mated birds of this variety can be

bought for about two dollars a pair. They are hardy, bright, active on

their feet, and the squabs have a larger breast than some of the other

sorts.

Homers are not all the same colour; some are white, others black,

reddish, and mixed colours. Good stock will rear six or eight pairs of

squabs in a year, while some exceptionally good ones will raise ten

pairs. If you make a clear profit of one dollar and twenty-five cents

per year on an average from each pair you should do well. It is not

profitable to keep birds which produce less than five pairs a year. A

record must be kept in order to weed out worthless birds. You do not

wish to spend your leisure running a free boarding house for pigeons.

You must know which are the big producers and keep only their young

as breeders. Nests should be numbered and every bird have a leg label

with a number corresponding to a numbered description in your book of

records. This is good economics.

Squabs of homers should be ready for selling at four weeks old; they

should be fully feathered but still in the nest. The heaviest grade

weigh eight pounds per dozen and these bring highest market prices.

Lighter birds are considered poor quality and bring a correspondingly

low price. Prices vary from four dollars and fifty cents to one dollar

and seventy-five cents per dozen. Dispose of pairs which habitually

produce light-weight squabs as indicated by your records.

Minute directions for killing and dressing squabs for market are given

in Farmers' Bulletin No. 177, which every squab raiser should have in

his library.

There is, as yet, no indication of over-production in squab raising;

although many more are grown every year, the demand is still on the

increase. It is a good business for two people to go into together, a

brother and sister, two brothers, or adjoining neighbours.

Descriptions of house and furnishings, fly, foods and feeding, and

details of care are given in Chapter IV under "Raising Fancy Pigeons."

RAISING PHEASANTS

The young people on a big ranch or estate with its up-to-date poultry

plant, raising not only plain and fancy chickens, but pigeons, ducks,

geese, turkeys, and guinea fowl, all attended by men hired for the

purpose, may look about in vain for a chance to try their hands at

raising anything with feathers. To such boys and girls I say, "Did you

ever see any pheasants?"

"At the Zoölogical Gardens, yes."

Aren't they beauties? How would you like to grow pheasants? There is

a line that has not been overworked. Profit in it, too. Look at prices

you must pay for birds and get an idea of how yours will sell later.

Numerous experiments in pheasant growing have been tried in this

country. It is well to know of these and to profit by them. Some men

raise many varieties, importing them from every quarter of the globe.

Their ideal is to have a complete collection. A visit to a large

aviary will give you some idea of what a gorgeous family of birds the

pheasants make. They are highly prized as game birds. In Germany they

are served in a most surprising way. The edible parts are cooked and

arranged on a platter on a bed of parsley. At one end of the platter

the cook puts the head with its beautiful neck ruff and at the other

end the tail feathers. Imagine the waiter's triumphant entrance into

the dining-room, platter held aloft, and the pheasant's brilliant tail

feathers streaming far behind like pennants from a mast top!

The pheasant most easily grown in the United States is the ringneck or

Mongolian pheasant imported from its home in China. There is hardly a

state in the Union where no attempt has been made to raise pheasants.

It is an industry that appeals to sportsmen everywhere. Massachusetts,

Ohio, New York, Indiana, Illinois, California, New Jersey, and some

other states have made pheasant rearing a part of the work of their

Fish and Game Commissions. The state of Oregon is the only one where a

remarkable success has been won. Evidently the climate and conditions

there were ideal. About three dozen pheasants were set free in the

Willamette Valley in eighteen hundred and eighty-one. So rapid was the

increase that when the first open season of two and one half months

was declared eleven years later it was estimated that fifty thousand

birds were shot the first day! They have continued to increase in that

state and towards the north, and many other states get their supply for

propagation from Oregon.

The first thing to do after becoming interested in pheasants is to

learn something about their nature and needs and to consider whether

your conditions are such as would make the business possible or

profitable. They are not domestic fowls but more like the jungle fowl

from which, in all likelihood, our barn yard fowls are descended. But

they can be raised in captivity if due regard is taken of their habits

and characteristics. Books and bulletins are mentioned in the appendix

of this book. In some respects pheasants are very like chickens, being

especially susceptible to the diseases of the poultry yard. In England,

pheasant rearing is quite common. One sees in open meadow land on great

estates the tidy coops where anxious biddies cluck after their wayward

foster children. It is a pretty sight to see the fifteen or twenty

brown-striped birds scuttling wildly to her protecting wing at the

approach of danger.

Pheasants' eggs for shipping should be most carefully packed in cotton,

hay, or excelsior to insure safety from jar. You do not have to begin

with grown birds which cost five dollars a pair for ring-necks, as the

eggs are best set under hens. The eggs should be set in late April or

early May for best results. Bantams are often preferred, but any good

mother will do if she is cleanly and not too clumsy. Great precautions

should be taken that the nest be clean, and that the hen should have

all the comforts of home, _e. g._, a dust bath, clean water, and

regular feeding. Can you afford to run the risk of young chickens

getting lice as soon as they are hatched? Well, you simply can't take

any chances with baby pheasants. Hens should be dusted three times

during incubation with insect powder. Visit an aviary or a pheasantry

if you can and ask questions and take observations on how to make

nests, coops, and pens. Study your books, too, and be guided by the

experience of others.

While you wait for your young pheasants to hatch there is plenty to do

in preparing coops and learning what to feed them when they arrive.

Much of our lack of success in rearing all sorts of wild game is

because we know so little about what they eat. We probably make lots of

mistakes with the animals we have domesticated but the more adaptable

of them have grown accustomed to civilized food, and thrive.

There could be no better place for a rearing ground for young pheasants

than an orchard where clover abounds. Coops, like chicken coops, should

be rain proof, well ventilated, bottomless, and so built that they can

be closed to keep out vermin and to shut the chicks in when the grass

is wet.

Pheasants are omnivorous but they need more fresh animal food than

is supplied by ordinary "chick mixtures," to balance their ration.

Probably they share with other young birds a relish for insects and

while their mothers do not actually bring this food to the open bills

of their young, they take the flock to the feeding ground and show them

how to find worms, bugs, caterpillars, etc., by scratching. There are

ways employed by experienced pheasant growers of raising a supply of

meal worms, maggots, and ant pupæ for their flocks, but cheap, fresh

meat ground very fine furnishes suitable animal food. During the first

three or four days after feeding is begun a custard made of ten eggs

to a quart of milk, baked well, is their best food. Hard-boiled eggs

finely minced (put through a potato ricer), fine bread crumbs, and

fresh vegetables cut into small bits can be given during the first

week. Later, small grains of a great variety of kinds. A sprinkle of

red pepper in their food during cold, damp days is good for half-grown

chicks. The young pheasants must have access to fine grit and gravel

and they must have fresh, cool water all the time.

In building pens for pheasants we should take into consideration their

habits, their safety, and their lack of hardiness in domestication.

Select the site for the pens after due thought. There must be both

shade and sunshine. The soil should be well drained and rich enough

to grow grass and clover. Each run should be at least ten feet by ten

with netting of medium mesh for sides, eight feet high, cover of the

same. A house is an unnecessary expense, as it is pheasant nature to

stay in the open or seek a covert of brush. A rain proof shed, where

they can retire when it rains, and where a dust bath will always be in

readiness, is a necessity.

Wild birds of prey evidently consider it perfectly legitimate to

visit pheasant runs. Raccoons, foxes, rats, and mink, too, may work

ruin there. The cover of netting protects from above and it may be

necessary, where burrowing animals abound, to dig a trench a foot deep

and set the netting down in the ground that far. A few steel traps set

unbaited along the outside of the runs may prevent a serious loss and

provide you with a handsome mink or raccoon fur skating or motoring

cap. Severe cold, even storms, are not fatal to pheasants. Provide

perches in the pen as well as in the shed and they will usually choose

those in the open air.

Because of their great timidity the birds should be disturbed as little

as possible. Unfamiliar sights and sounds alarm and distress them.

What a triumph it would be to induce your pheasants to eat from your

hand! It can be done by exercising great patience, gentleness, and

perseverance.

All you know about chicken raising will be useful now. Make up your

mind that everything that is bad for chicks is simply fatal to young

pheasants; for instance, wet feet, lice, dirty, or sun-warmed water,

over-feeding, wrong feeding. If you play this game you must expect a

constant succession of hazards, of narrow escapes, and losses. But it

is a noble game.

IV

RAISING ANIMALS FOR PETS

SHETLAND PONIES

The perfect pet is the Shetland pony. This diminutive horse is a model

of gentleness, patience, good-nature, and horse sense. One writer says

of him: "If more than eight children get on his back he will shake

himself like a wet Newfoundland dog and then stand motionless, while

they pick themselves up and out from among his four hoofs." So many

generations of ponies have lived right in the family circles of their

cold little island that children do not make them nervous.

Is there a prettier sight than a well-groomed Shetland pony, a carriage

made in Lilliput, and a small driver, and a reasonable number of little

passengers of assorted sizes? A goat team is a joke, a dog team is

impracticable, a team of young oxen is too plodding and lacks style.

The pony outfit is charming and always delights everybody. But who

likes to see a grown man in a pony carriage? A small grown person may

be necessary, especially if the baby is to be taken for a drive, but a

full-sized adult makes a pony carriage look top heavy.

The Shetland pony is a sort of "boy horse" so far as work is concerned.

(Some say, too, that he gets out of as much work as possible.) There is

no better helper at light jobs than the pony. Like the yak:

"He will carry and fetch

You may ride on his back

Or lead him about with a string."

Indeed he will follow his master about without a string and can carry a

good load. With a light cart or wagon suited to his build and a boy to

do the rest, one of these hardy little fellows will be of greatest help

in doing the endless odd jobs that always fall to the boy's lot. The

pony will more than earn his board if the boy earns his.

[Illustration: Photograph by Helen W. Cooke. The Shetland Pony is the

Ideal Pet]

A thoroughbred Shetland pony should be less than forty-five inches

high and weigh less than three hundred pounds. Many are raised in this

country. A boy is lucky who has a chance to train a pony colt. Training

should be begun early. One successful breeder says that his children

do all the training of his ponies. His boy, seven years old, broke

the first one they raised to drive to a little wagon. Little boys and

girls under ten take entire care of the ponies in another man's herd.

No doubt their father or mother oversees the work, but it is fun for

the children to groom and feed and pet these wee horses.

Breeding Shetland ponies is a very practical way to make a few hundred

dollars a year. They eat less than full-sized horses and will keep fat

on grass from frost till frost. The price of ponies is 25 per cent.

higher than it was five years ago. This makes the cost of going into

this business higher, but the sales begin the second year and selling

prices are higher, too. Shetlands are hardy and require shelter only in

bitter cold weather. Ponies of various sorts are becoming far commoner

here than formerly, so the demand is increasing. I wish every boy and

every girl whose heart is set on having a pony could have one. Let us

all raise ponies until there are enough for every one.

RABBITS, GUINEA PIGS, AND CAVIES

Rabbits, guinea pigs, and cavies are not poultry, yet there is always a

department devoted to them in the great Poultry Show at Madison Square

Garden in New York. It was there that I first made the acquaintance of

these three kinds of popular pets. Many a boy has made a neat little

addition in two figures, at least, to his college fund, by raising

hares, rabbits, guinea pigs, white rats, fancy mice, or cavies. Common

white rabbits can be bought for one dollar a pair, but these days it is

not uncommon for a breeder to pay from fifteen dollars to twenty-five

dollars for wearers of blue ribbons. If you had guinea pigs for sale

you would be glad that the best ones cannot be bought for less than ten

dollars apiece.

Rabbits are the most popular of these pets, while cavies come next.

There is just now a great demand for cavies. They are odd little

creatures, neither intelligent nor affectionate. Neither are they very

hardy; in the North they have to be kept indoors in cold weather.

Cavies are easy enough to feed, for they eat everything that is set

before them, and keep at it all the time. All sorts of vegetables,

bread and milk, and corn are the "chief of their diet."

Before going into the business of raising any of these creatures it is

well to consult some other boy who has had some experience and find out

if there are any peculiar difficulties he can help you provide for.

Maybe your locality and conditions are better fitted for one than the

other. A dealer will often be able to give you valuable information

about the different sorts of pets, and may be able to recommend the

best book on the subject.

FANCY PIGEONS

If I were a boy or a girl to-day there is nothing I should so much like

to do as to raise pigeons. Not that I think it an easy job. (Wouldn't

you almost as soon work as to look for an easy job, anyhow?) There are

lots of disappointments, discouragements, and hard labour about pigeon

rearing. But young folks with hobbies like this are getting more fun

out of life than the idle ones.

Pigeons are hardy, easily tamed, prolific, and can be made to pay their

own way. It would be impossible to associate with them, care for them,

learn their nature and habits, without becoming thoroughly interested

in them. No pets could be more gentle, more beautiful, more docile than

pigeons. Success in rearing them will not be immediate, but will come

with experience.

The business of raising fancy pigeons for pets is quite distinct

from squab raising, treated in the chapter on poultry, and is far

more likely to interest boys and girls. If you were to go to a big

poultry show you would be bewildered at the number of breeds of fancy

pigeons. The pouters, the tumblers, the barbs, the dragoons, nuns,

helmets, the fantails, and carriers are all there in endless variety.

What you like will be different from what I like, probably, so it is

not easy to recommend. Beginners would do well to choose some one

variety and try their hand at that before investing very extensively.

The flying tumbler is recommended by many good authorities. These are

not difficult to breed, are small eaters, do not need to be caged

continually, and although they are to be had in nearly all the colours

of the rainbow they are not very expensive. It is not good economy to

buy cheap stock, in anything. Though by getting good ones you must

start with a single pair, it is the best economy. Your increase will

be very much more valuable. You should ask the breeder for a written

guarantee that the pigeons are as represented, healthy, young, mated

stock. If he does not care to give the guarantee, I should not consider

him reliable.

Pigeons are not much influenced by elaborate dovecotes. They are

quite as happy living the simple life in a dry-goods box, provided it

contains the conveniences they require, and is placed where the light

will be plentiful, the air pure, and the roof rain proof. City boys and

girls need not sigh and give up the idea because they have no place for

pigeons. The attic or the roof serves them just as well as the barn

yard, perhaps better, as mice and rats are less likely to disturb them

on housetops. Every precaution should be taken however against these

vermin. Cracks, doors and ventilators should be covered with fine wire

netting. Even the entrances, holes six inches high by four in width,

should be protected by tin guards which rats and mice cannot creep over.

[Illustration: Net for capturing pigeons]

[Illustration: Pigeon roost]

Each pair of pigeons will need two nesting compartments. A good kind is

described in Farmers' Bulletin No. 177, and is constructed as follows:

Inch boards, twelve inches wide, with parallel cross cleats nailed on

nine inches apart, are set upright full twelve inches apart against one

wall, and securely fastened at top and bottom. Cut twelve-inch squares

of inch boards for the bottoms of the nest boxes. It is easy to see

how convenient these sliding bottoms will be to clean. Provide small

earthenware dishes as nests, with a foundation of tobacco stems, to

discourage lice. The birds will build nests of straw above the tobacco

stems, the male bringing the material which the female arranges to suit

her ideas of house furnishing. Some growers use sawdust in the nest. If

your pigeons are allowed their liberty with no shelter save the pigeon

loft, perches will be needed inside. As the pigeon's feet are formed

for perching on flat surfaces instead of on rounded branches like

many of their feathered relatives, you should provide what suits their

needs. A good form of perch is made as follows. Cut half-inch, dressed

material four or five inches wide into five or six-inch lengths. Nail

together two of these pieces in v-shape. This can be nailed to a

square foundation piece and hung angle up on the wall of the loft. The

slanting sides afford no lodging for droppings and as only one bird

at a time can perch on so small a place, quarrelling is avoided. Iron

brackets with perches attached are also used.

Two nest dishes are provided for each pair, as very often the hen will

lay a second pair of eggs before the earliest young ones are ready to

leave the nest. The male pigeon is untiring in his devotion to the

young and their mother, taking his turn on the nest regularly during

the seventeen days of incubation, doing his share of the work, and even

beating his wife if she shows any disposition to slight her duties.

If the pigeons are confined in a wire fly, perches should be provided

there, and board walks for them to alight upon and walk about on should

be placed at a distance of four or five feet from the ground. Nothing

in the shape of roosts or cross pieces should be put in the fly, as

the pigeons need all the space in which to exercise their wings.

[Illustration: A fly for pigeons. Put no roosts across the fly. Flying

against these would injure the birds]

For one hundred birds the fly should be thirty-two feet long, eight

feet high, and the entire width of the house. It will be a fine problem

in practical arithmetic to figure how much netting will be required

to cover the frame of this fly, how many posts, and how much one by

four-inch stuff will be needed to complete the frame. The advice

of some one who has built a pigeon fly would be most valuable to

the inexperienced person, and the pictures in books, bulletins, and

magazine articles will be helpful in making your plans.

Holes, at least two, rounded at the top and six inches each way,

provide for the going and coming of the birds between house and fly.

For yourself, an outside door into the fly is a necessity, of course.

Before installing your pigeons in their house, use the whitewash brush

there freely. Into each gallon of your mixture of lime and water put a

half-teaspoonful of crude carbolic acid. Clean sand is recommended for

the floor of both fly and house. It is very bad practice to scatter

food for pigeons on the floor or ground. You will see, if you try it,

how much is wasted; any that they leave becomes soiled, moulds, or

sours, and if eaten in that condition is nearly sure to injure the

birds. A shallow feeding trough should be placed near the centre of

the house. Fine charcoal, table salt, and cracked oyster shells should

be kept permanently before the birds, the boxes cleaned out at least

weekly. Clean water in stone or galvanized iron fountains should always

be there, too. Daily or semi-daily is none too frequent to clean these

vessels.

Pigeons are not gluttonous feeders but "they want what they want,

when they want it." In other words, regularity is important to their

well-being. An early morning feed, six-thirty in summer, seven in

winter, of equal parts cracked corn, wheat, and peas, and an afternoon

feed, at four in summer, three in winter, of equal parts cracked corn

(with no fine meal in it), kaffir corn, millet seed, and peas, is a

fair ration. Pigeons like a variety but not as a steady diet. Hemp

may be substituted for millet once or twice a week; a little broken

rice, green vegetable food, like lettuce and onions, will be taken

sparingly, and tiny bits of fat bacon seem to be acceptable. Nothing

but first-class grain should ever be set before pigeons. The quantity

needed should be determined by watching. If food is left in trough,

feed less next time.

Water for bathing is as necessary for pigeons as the dust bath is for

hens. A broad galvanized iron pan three inches deep makes a first-rate

bathtub. Although fancy plumbing is out of place in a pigeon house,

it is the greatest convenience to have running water passing through

a trough constantly; this solves completely the problem of sanitary

drinking water.

The best fanciers clean their houses weekly. With a few birds this may

not be necessary. But when your nose gives unmistakable evidence that

it is time, do not put it off. A spade to scrape the floor, an old

knife for the nest boxes, and a broom are necessary utensils.

Mated birds will choose a nesting box after becoming accustomed to

their new quarters. The nest pans, with their foundation of tobacco

stems cut in six-inch lengths, should be in place, and a supply of

short hay or straw where it can be found. Two eggs are usually laid,

with a day between and sitting begins as soon as the second egg is laid.

If the sight of a young squab does not make you sick of your choice of

a hobby, you are a hopeless case, and I predict great success for you.

Young robins are not beautiful to behold, but squabs are such ghastly

looking little beasts, with nothing to recommend them except their

entire helplessness. Evidently the parents are well satisfied with

the appearance of their offspring which look just as they expected,

no doubt, and begin almost immediately to feed them. "Pigeon milk" is

injected into their open throats by the parent birds, in whose stomachs

it has been manufactured. The squabs gain rapidly after a few days

of this "milk" diet; pin-feathers replace the scanty yellow down in

about a week. At three weeks they are able to walk, but are still fed

by their parents, although grain is brought to them instead of the

predigested food.

Although they are hardy, do not suppose that pigeons have no diseases.

However, the author of a government bulletin on squab raising says that

with "wholesome food, proper housing, and proper care, very little

disease is usually encountered." To prevent disease, and avoid dampness

in house and fly, keep the food and water untainted, and the house

clean.

It is very desirable, whether raising squabs for market or for pets,

to keep a record of the performance of each pair. This is usually done

by the use of numbered tags on the birds' legs. The record makes it

possible to prevent inbreeding, gives you knowledge of whether certain

pairs are profitable, and keeps up your own interest far more than

haphazard methods do.

BANTAMS

Almost every family that keeps chickens has two or three "banties" for

the children. What an amusing sight it is to see a tiny fuss-budget

clucking and bristling to protect a half-dozen lubberly Plymouth Rock

"broilers" that she has been inveigled into rearing. But the raising of

pigmy fowls is not confined to the child's play of the chicken yard. At

the big poultry shows almost every breed of fowl from Brahma to Silkie

has a diminutive mimic, and the requirements for the dwarfs are just as

rigid as for the big fellows.

To be just right a bantam ought not to weigh much over a pound, the

cock should be impetuous, pugnacious, and haughty; the hen should be

smaller than her lord, and meek in demeanour except when her flock is

in danger. Bantams are very popular with amateurs who regard them as a

sort of joke, but the poultry fanciers take them quite seriously. It is

not unusual for the prize-winning bantams to bring as high prices as

the heavy weights.

Game bantams are great favourites with fanciers. They are easily

recognized by their game-fowl characteristics: tall, upright carriage,

oval body tapering from shoulder to tail, very long legs and neck,

small head, and almost no show of comb. There are eight standard

varieties in America, and the Game Bantam Club is interested in

improving the breeds and increasing the popularity of the birds.

As the varieties of bantams are pretty thoroughly mixed, it is no

simple matter to breed birds fit for exhibition. But after all there is

so much fun for boys and girls in growing any sort of pigmy chickens

and such a good market for both eggs and pairs for pets that I wonder

that more young people do not go into the business. Bantams take less

room than ordinary chickens which is an advantage on a small place.

Care should be taken to save for setting eggs of none but the smallest

and most perfect members of the flock, and to dispose of any which

are larger than the standard or poor in shape or colour or in any

characteristics peculiar to bantams. If you start with eggs of some

fine breed, try to keep your stock pure, and improve it by selecting

the best individuals for breeding.

In matters of housing, feeding, cleanliness, and care, bantams should

be treated just like other chickens. The young of some varieties are

exceedingly delicate and cannot stand the least neglect. These are

more like little wild things, partridges or quail, than like domestic

fowls. Other varieties are as hardy as Plymouth Rocks, but any one

who has tried it knows that raising Plymouth Rocks is no mere joke,

especially in a cold, damp spring.

If your father objects to your going into the bantam business instead

of raising standard size fowls bring these arguments to bear upon

him: Bantams occupy one fourth the space. Their food costs one fifth

as much. Their eggs are two thirds as big. Pairs can easily be sold

without expensive advertising.

FANCY FOWLS

If you want to make the neighbour boys open their eyes, and the

passers-by stand still to admire, try the experiment of raising fancy

fowls. Growing them for exhibition purposes is such a separate and

distinct department of the poultry business and demands familiarity

with many "show standards," "tricks of the trade," and special

practices in breeding and grooming to bring a fowl up to a high score,

that it may be best not to undertake to compete with more experienced

breeders.

A visit to a fancy poultry exhibition is like a trip to Wonderland.

Just looking at the pictures of the prize winners, and studying the

alluring advertisements arouses enthusiasm. But to read the accounts of

the fanciers, or to hear them talk about the merits of their favourites

makes a chicken lover fairly thrill with ardour. How to decide upon

which variety to try is a hard problem. Take a lot of things into

consideration. Discount what the enthusiasts say about the one they

have for sale; they mean every word of it, but they are prejudiced.

Don't be influenced to select one breed when you really prefer another.

Here is a department where personal preference should cast the deciding

vote; the one you like best is the best one for you.

It is not well known except by specialists that there are so many

distinct varieties in breeds of fowls. For example take the Polish.

There are blue Polish, plain white, golden, white-crested, black,

buff-laced, and silver; of the Hamburgs there are black, silver-and

gold-spangled, silver-and golden-penciled white, and so on through the

list. The Polish and the Houdans are remarkable for their tremendous

top knots, the Hamburgs, Lakenvelders, and many others for their

wonderful plumage and colour combinations, while the most astonishing

creatures in the whole chicken tribe are the Yokahamas whose snow-white

tail feathers trail gracefully behind them like a bride's gown and

veil at a fashionable wedding. These must be the originals of the

extraordinary fowls represented on Japanese and Filipino pottery and

embroidery.

It is not much wonder that fancy breeds are growing more popular in

our country. Although as a rule they are non-sitters, they are all

described by their advocates as prize layers, some hens even reaching

the remarkable record of two hundred eggs a year.

The Hamburgs, for example, are called "Dutch Everlasting Layers." Their

eggs are smooth and "satiny white"; Polish eggs are very large and

snow-white, but they are not winter layers; Houdans lay white eggs of

great size and almost certain fertility, and are, besides, excellent

table fowls; the Lakenvelders rank with Leghorns as layers and their

eggs are also "of a porcelain whiteness" which insures a fancy market

in New York where the preference is for white eggs.

Do not think that you can just as well house your fancy breeds in with

your ordinary chickens. It is a mistake. They should be kept apart

from the beginning. Light hens of commoner breeds are successfully

employed as foster-mothers for the fancy fowls, but it is important to

provide separate pens even for the young. If young chicks are kept in

the same run with those somewhat older, they are crowded away from the

feeding dishes; chicks with top knots should never be raised with other

sorts. The crest interferes with their sight, and they are not fighters

and will allow themselves to be driven away from the food. Crested

chicks should be treated with a grease lice-destroyer at least once a

fortnight. A little of the lard or sweet oil is enough but it should be

worked into the feathers to be effectual. Use powder on the hens, but

not while the chicks are oily.

Making the neighbours gape in open-eyed astonishment is not all there

is to raising fancy chickens. With a few years' experience in chicken

raising back of you, it would not be risky to raise them for commercial

purposes. The popularity of fancy chickens is just beginning in this

country. There is a fine market for eggs for hatching, but as it is

extremely important to keep the breeds pure your fancy birds should

be kept by themselves practically the year round. Most of the breeds

mentioned are quite hardy, and the same care required for ordinary

poultry as to housing, food, prevention of disease, cleanliness, and

records will insure a good measure of success with fancy fowls.

DOGS

Raising dogs may prove a profitable business for any one who likes

dogs, understands them, and is willing to doctor them when they are

sick, and train them to good habits. An untrained dog is a nuisance,

however well bred he may be.

To start a small kennel does not require any more room than to start

in the chicken business in a small way. Just now the prices are so

absurdly high on high-bred dogs of popular varieties that few but

fanciers can afford to own the best stock. Why is it not better to

raise some first-rate but not fashionable breed, and not enter into

competition with men whose living depends on the number of blue ribbons

they can win at dog shows? Buy a young female dog, teach her, and train

her. Get experience with one dog and her young ones before you put in

much capital. Find out by going to a good dog show what are the points

of a good dog of your chosen breed, make out a score card, and mark

your own dogs. Sell for pets those which do not come up to the mark.

I have before me a balance sheet made out by a young man who began

raising white English bull terriers in nineteen hundred and three. In

spite of a lot of bad luck, which, with better arrangements, need not

have happened, he netted nearly a hundred dollars the first year and

over two hundred the second year. This young man kept chickens, too,

beside his regular business which kept him at an office seven hours a

day; and he found dogs better money makers than chickens.

In raising puppies there are three important essentials: the right sort

of food, fresh, clean water to drink, and exercise. I believe more dogs

get sick from water or lack of it than from any other one cause. If a

dog's dish is not clean enough for you to drink out of yourself, then

it is not fit for your pups. Keep that in mind. Fresh air and sunshine

are as necessary for puppies as for children. Kennels should be airy,

face the south, and have shavings or straw bedding.

Authorities differ about a dog's food. It is safe to feed him about as

you would a growing boy. Like the boy he may overeat of his favourite

dish. For breakfast, oatmeal or other cereal with milk and no sugar;

for lunch, some dry dog biscuit or stale bread; for afternoon tea, soup

or gravy thickened with boiled rice or corn mush. But a puppy's supper

ought to be a good square meal because he is an outdoor sleeper, and it

is easy for dogs to take cold on an empty stomach. For supper, then,

give the puppies some bits of cooked meat, stale bread, and gravy or

cooked vegetables. "Never feed a puppy hot bread or any rich, greasy,

or highly seasoned foods. Avoid all sweets." Doesn't that sound like a

book on what children should eat? But it is quoted right out of a dog

book.

If your dogs get sick, eczema, distemper, or fits, consult a veterinary

surgeon. A good book on dogs and their care will be of greatest value

to you for such minor troubles as dogs are heir to.

Full-grown dogs do not need more than two meals a day. Most dogs are

over-fed, under exercised, and are therefore unhealthy beings. Dogs eat

slowly and should not be hurried. They should be fed regularly but not

fussed over.

A word to boys and girls who own pets: if you live cooped up on a small

lot you have no right to keep a dog, much less dogs. If you have a dog

and let him run at large, you will probably lose him, and you deserve

to. Nobody has any right, law or no law, to allow his live stock, let

them be chickens, dogs, cats, or children, to annoy the neighbours. A

dog or a cat, a rabbit, or a family of chickens can do more damage in a

garden than anybody would believe,--except the gardener. Your dog may

be worth ten dollars; he may do ten dollars' worth of damage in ten

different bulb beds in ten days. A thirty-cent cat can frighten away

more birds in five days than an owner can attract to his garden in a

whole season. Be fair to yourself, your neighbour, and your animals,

and keep them on your own place. If you are out with your dogs, that

is a different matter; if you have them trained "to heel," people will

welcome you.

GOLDFISH

I have already said that the Shetland pony is the ideal pet. That is

true still, but I should have said "for out of doors." Of all the

candidates for the office of ideal indoor pet, I believe goldfish would

get the most votes.

They are peaceful and innocent, their needs are few, and their manners

engaging. They are attractive in colour, shape, and movements and never

get under foot. Above all they have no bad habits. They neither squawk

nor whistle, bark, sing, nor howl. They never stay out late nights, nor

make trouble with the neighbours. They require a minimum of attention

and a minimum of expense both for quarters and for food. For developing

a sense of responsibility in children they serve a good purpose, and

they can even be taught. It is very evident that they have memory as

well as sight, hearing, sense of smell, touch, and taste. They easily

learn, if patiently taught, to know their master's voice and to come

when he signals. They will learn their feeding time and place and seem

to enjoy attention.

Just as with horses, dogs, or elephants, the first essential in

teaching goldfish is to gain their confidence. This can only be done

by patience and gentleness. A restless, nervous goldfish rushing from

one side of the tank to another when any one approaches tells its own

story. Teased, frightened, neglected, and unhappy they are indeed in a

sorry plight, for they are, even more than some other pets, utterly at

the mercy of their owners. The sooner they die and pass into oblivion,

the better!

But what a pretty sight it is to see a well-balanced aquarium, water

plants spreading their delicate fronds, a clean, pebbly bottom, and

bright-coloured, healthy, happy, care-free goldfish glancing in and out

in the sunshine.

China is the greatest place for goldfish. Rearing them there has been

reduced to a science. We find them running wild in our waters, but they

are not native to America. Under ideal natural conditions they are said

to live to be a hundred years old. Many are known to have lived to the

age of ten years in one aquarium.

Goldfish are hardy, live in sluggish streams or ponds, and eat all

sorts of vegetable matter. They also eat soft-bodied insects, worms,

and small fish, even their own spawn and young.

For directions for keeping goldfish happy and healthy in an aquarium

in the living room of your home, I must refer you to various books and

articles on aquaria and on how to make and maintain them.

Raising goldfish for profit is "a horse of quite another colour."

Goldfish are sold by the thousand in department stores as well as in

shops which deal wholly in pets. Some fish are imported, but the bulk

of them are grown in this country. One of the most scientific growers

in this country is Mr. Hugo Mulertt, whose book on the subject is quite

enough to make its readers enthusiastic fish culturists. The best

markets are in cities, and transportation is difficult and expensive.

Fancy varieties would not be in demand except in large cities.

One can begin goldfish growing in a small way at very small expense.

Four tanks or reservoirs are required. Any boy who can make a hotbed

frame can make these. They should be in a series: No. 1, spawning pond;

No. 2, rearing pond; No. 3, storage pond; No. 4, winter pond.

Whether one makes artificial tanks or utilizes a natural valley,

separated by little dams, it is essential that the four ponds should be

so fitted that they can be emptied at will. They should be sheltered

from cold winds and from direct summer sun.

The spawning pond should be built first, and furnished with water

plants as much like nature as possible. Female fish ready to spawn can

be bought from growers. These men are reliable and know how to advise

you. It is to their advantage to increase the interest in goldfish.

While building tank No. 2, keep watch for eggs in the spawning tank.

Laying begins late in April or early in May outdoors. The egg is no

bigger than a pinhead, yellow, or cream-coloured. Look for them on

the plants. Snip the twigs off with great care and transfer the eggs,

twigs and all, into large candy jars in clean water; one hundred eggs

is enough for a gallon jar. Be careful that the water is of the same

temperature in the jar as in the tank. Eggs should be kept not lower

than sixty degrees Fahr., and not higher than ninety degrees Fahr.

They hatch in two or three days or at most in less than a week. Do not

disturb the water. Sudden changes of temperature will kill the young

fish.

When the fish are three days old, they are pretty lively and will soon

begin to need other food than that supplied by the egg. To transfer

them from the "incubator" to the rearing tank is a delicate operation.

Mr. Mulertt advises putting the tiny fish into a small, shallow,

"nursery" tank first to make the change more gradual. The jar can be

emptied very gently, fish and all, into this tank.

Prepare the rearing tank, taking every precaution against enemies. It

should be covered with a screen to keep the dragon flies from laying

their eggs in the tank. Dragon fly nymphs are death on new-hatched

goldfish. If the fish get a good start they will hold their own. Let

me warn you again to take great precaution against chilling the fish.

A few degrees difference may be fatal. When the fish are a week to ten

days old, they should be about a half-inch long, darting swiftly about

in the nursery tank. Be sure the temperature of the water is right,

then set a wide-mouthed pail or jar full of water down in the tank with

the fish, and dip the biggest one at a time with a little hand net of

soft material. Do not crowd the fish in the transfer pail, but rather

make more frequent trips. Extremely delicate handling is absolutely

necessary. Do not dip the fish out of the jar, but put it down in the

water deep enough so they can swim out of their own accord. They are to

stay a long time in the rearing pond so must not be crowded. In a tank

covering an area of one hundred and sixty square feet, two hundred to

three hundred fish can be reared. When they are only one half an inch

long, the tank looks thinly settled, but they soon grow.

The young are silver-gray at first. They usually get their permanent

colour before reaching the age of two months. In warm ponds, in sunny

weather, goldfish may grow to be six inches long in the first summer,

but between two and three inches is more normal.

Goldfish in outdoor rearing ponds do not require artificial feeding.

Nature supplies them with their natural food.

The storage tank is simply to keep the fish in while awaiting

purchasers. It should be divided by partitions into small compartments.

It is convenient to sort the fish taken from the rearing tank, so that

those of one size or colour or variety can be separated and buyers

can readily see the stock. It is easier to catch them in the small

tank also. In the storage tank some feeding is usually needed. Fresh,

dry bread crumbs are recommended by most fish growers; feed small

amounts until they get used to it and until you know just how much they

require.

The winter pond costs the most to build. It should be three feet or

more deep, lined with boards or cement, and located so that water

will be moving through it, in and out slowly all winter, to prevent

freezing. It should be covered during storms. Growers plan to get rid

of their stock except breeders before winter sets in. One can dispense

entirely with a winter tank if he can establish a house aquarium

successfully for wintering the fish from which he expects to obtain

spawn the following spring.

As might be expected of animals which have for so many centuries

been associated with man, goldfish have a good many diseases. Their

ill-health can almost invariably be traced to neglect or ignorance

on the part of the person upon whom they are dependent. The signs of

ill-health are usually quite noticeable. They are: Faded colours,

bloody streaks, coated or inflamed fins, and swollen gill covers.

Most of the troubles have to do with air supply. When a fish loses

colour and appetite, has a slimy coating, and acts weak and dejected,

it should be put into a "hospital" aquarium where plenty of plants

are flourishing, at a temperature of seventy to eighty degrees Fahr.

One teaspoonful of salt to each gallon of water will be good for the

fish, but no food should be offered for several days. This remedy will

usually restore the fish if its trouble is asphyxia or itch and has

not gone too far. In the open water conditions right themselves more

readily, but fish acting queerly should be taken out from among the

others.

The greatest harm may result from hail storms and heavy rains on

unprotected tanks. The natural enemies of goldfish inhabit the same

ponds and to succeed one must daily wage war against crayfish,

tadpoles, salamanders, snakes, fish-eating birds, muskrats, and aquatic

insects. Toad and frog spawn found in goldfish ponds should be removed

to some other pond to mature. These creatures are useful as destroyers

of insects but you can dispense with them in goldfish tanks.

THE STORY OF A BOY'S ANIMAL CAGE

Two years ago, when I was ten years old, my father built me a house for

my animals. It is twenty feet square and ten feet high. The framework

is of wood. The walls are covered with wire netting. In winter they are

boarded in. Last winter we had a fire in a stove in the passageway,

but we decided that the animals were better off without it. The pen

cost about one hundred and fifty dollars. I keep in it three 'coons,

ten to thirty rabbits, and about twenty pigeons. Two 'coons, Tom and

Jerry, I have had three years; the other one, Pauline, I have had two

years. My oldest rabbits, Harry and Lily, I have had six years. The

'coon pens and the passageway have wooden floors. The walls of the

'coon pen have double wire to prevent the 'coons from grabbing the

other animals. Their pens go up to the roof of the house. The rabbit

pens are separated by movable wire panels six feet high. On this side

of the house there is a second story for the rabbits and pigeons. This

is reached by a step-ladder, and is divided by movable panels. The

pigeons' house is over the passageway. There are shelves with nappies

in them for nests. It is open at both ends in summer. I have kept crows

and white rats; they were not a success. The crows killed the rabbits,

and the rats smelled bad.

I feed the rabbits morning and night and water them once. Their feed

is oats in the morning and hay at night. They have from two to eight

little ones in a litter. When they multiply too fast we eat them.

Their meat is like chicken. The only way to distinguish it is by the

bones. I feed and water the 'coons twice a day. They have a sort of

cake made of corn meal. They grow very fat in the fall, but in the

spring and summer they get very thin. They are not of any use except

to look at. I did play with them until they bit my sister. Since then

I have been timid about playing with them. I feed wheat to the pigeons

once a day. I have tumblers and magpie pigeons. Both kinds are great

fighters. I have four ducks, also, two Mallards and two Pekins. Their

pen is outside of the rabbit pen. In summer I keep them shut up here.

In coldest winter weather I keep them in the barn. The rest of the year

they wander about as they please. They have a tub, which I keep filled

with water, where they can bathe. I feed them corn. They are much more

interesting pets than hens.

A STORY OF SUCCESS WITH DOGS

Some years ago two young women, one a bookkeeper, the other a

stenographer, decided to exchange city for country life. Born and

reared on farms, they secured seven acres of farm land, with cottage,

but sixteen miles from Chicago, and started a chicken business. This

did not prove entirely successful, mainly, as the now prosperous

farmers admit, because of ignorance and inexperience.

Meantime the fine collie dog, kept as guard and companion, was bringing

many requests for good puppies, and it was determined to raise collies

instead of chickens. So Daisy Rightaway, an English champion, was

purchased, later being joined by imported Master Clinker, son of the

famous Wishaw Clinker, which was brought from England about three years

ago by J. Pierpont Morgan at a fabulous price. Warned by the trying

chicken experience, Miss Porter, who conducts the farm while Miss

Benson retains her business position and looks after the "city end" of

affairs, resolved to "make haste slowly" in the new direction. Few, but

good, animals were chosen, only the best of the young stock was placed

on the market, and if the farm books at first showed but small profits,

the upward trend, both in cash and reputation, was gratifyingly steady.

With less than four years of professional dog rearing behind them,

and with all buildings, runs, etc., originally lacking, the pleased

proprietors of "Sylvan Farm" rejoice in promising financial statistics

for the last half of that time.

About two years ago came, apparently by chance, that branch of the

business which has, perhaps, proved most lucrative, and which is

especially worthy of note by other women with country homes, love for

and some knowledge of dogs, and a desire to make money. A friend who

owned fine collies envied the splendid environment under which the

"Sylvan" canines flourished, and asked permission to board some of his

young puppies with "Porter and Benson," to give the young women their

official title. The dogs sent thrived remarkably, and he mentioned the

matter to other dog fanciers, and they to still others. Almost without

knowing how it happened, the delighted farmers soon found themselves

caring regularly for from forty to seventy-five well bred dogs.

Only collies were at first accepted, but business and accommodations

alike gradually widened until practically all kinds of dogs are now

handled, in a most progressive and hygienic manner. An isolation house

for dogs when first received or suspected of illness; heated homes

for young mothers, puppies, and lapdogs; winter houses, with shelters

for open-air exercise in bad weather; commodious separate runs--these

are among the conveniences now enjoyed by the happy "visitors" whose

owners are off for the summer or winter or are otherwise unable to care

for their cherished pets. The Desplaines River runs by the farm and a

picturesque "river run" is much appreciated by water dogs and those

enjoying an occasional frolic in cool water. Two fine cows provide

fresh milk in abundance for the nursing mothers and young puppies.

Every dog, whether boarder or family resident, is personally and

intimately known to Miss Porter, who takes sole care of them with the

aid of an intelligent boy to perform the rougher tasks.

Five dollars monthly is charged for the board of healthy dogs, with

special rates for those needing special care. The standard dietary,

varied to suit individual and class needs and varying occasions, is

composed of soup made of meat and vegetables, meat jelly, rice, plenty

of bones, and dog biscuit, with warm milk every two hours for the young

mothers and puppies. The other dogs are fed twice daily--to the minute.

In this incessant, indispensable care is found the chief drawback of

the business for those fond of personal freedom, since the important

duties of feeding, inspection, etc., seldom can be delegated to those

not personally interested in the dogs.

The little farm provides all the vegetables needed and some corn,

but all other food supplies must be purchased. With more ground the

recurring feed bills might be made smaller, but the labour outlay would

be correspondingly augmented. Eliminating unnecessary details, the

financial situation for the two years in which the dog experiment has

been successfully running stands thus:

EXPENDED

Stock, buildings, and fences $785

Miscellaneous expenses, labour, etc. 286

Feed 815

Cash on hand 716

------

Total $2,602

RECEIVED

Original investment $400

Sale of puppies 990

Board of dogs 1,212

------

Total $2,602

The balance of seven hundred and sixteen dollars does not represent a

bad profit in less than three years made from an investment of four

hundred dollars, and while the young farmers feel that perhaps in other

lines of work such increase might have been more quickly and easily

acquired, they feel that perhaps in no other field could they have

received such high dividends of health, happiness, and independence.

The work is hard but enjoyable, while its widening scope and success

bring true satisfaction. Sylvan Farm now receives dogs from, and sends

dogs to, all parts of the United States, and the "farm family" of

high-bred animals from time to time receives judicious addition. Some

famous canines have been raised, welcomed, and boarded, and one young

puppy, born on the place, recently sold for one thousand dollars.

V

WORK AND PLAY WITH TRAINED ANIMALS

DAIRY COWS

If the boys and girls of the farms are looking about for a big thing

to do, the very best place for them to look is at their father's herd

of cows. Even if it isn't a strictly dairy herd it is kept partly

for dairy purposes. Every cow demands stabling, pasture, feed, and

attention. She is supposed to give value received for all this. But how

many cow owners know which cows pay their board with a bonus, which

barely keep even, and which are eating their heads off? The margin of

profit when feed is high is too small to risk feeding an unproductive

animal.

If your father has not been in the habit of keeping accounts with his

cows, you can make him open his eyes. You do not need ledgers and

daybooks for your simple statement of facts. Bring every animal face to

face with her record. On one side of the account put the cost of what

you give each cow. On the other side what she gives in return. You

will have a page like this:

_Roberta Grade Holstein 5 years_

DEBIT

To feed (at prices you would have to pay if you

bought it) $

To stabling, estimate $

To care (so much an hour) $

CREDIT

To milk, so many qts. at so much $

To calf $

To compost $

You will have to reduce the item "feed" to many items, and remember

that hay produced at home is not free hay. It is worth to feed to

Roberta just what you would have to pay wholesale for it if you had to

go to the feed store, minus the cost of cartage. To work this out is

good arithmetic, better than covering acres of blackboard space with

examples in "partial payments." Now Roberta may give a good quantity

of milk but of poor quality. At first you might think that didn't

matter; it brings just as much a quart. But does it, when your mother

and sisters make it into butter, for example? Or, if you sell cream,

wouldn't you want a cow whose milk tested high in butter fat? Your

customers would, whether they bought milk or cream, I know.

[Illustration: Photograph by Julian A. Dimock. Holding a Conversation]

The boys and girls in many of the great dairying states, notably

Illinois and Wisconsin and New York, are learning in school how to test

milk for the butter fat it contains and the chances are that every

agricultural college in the United States is ready to instruct boys and

girls by letter in this important part of dairying. Many of them send

out printed lessons giving careful directions about using the Babcock

testing apparatus, and I have seen a class of boys and girls in a

country school testing milk from their fathers' cows.

It is astonishing how many cows are kept on farms purely for

ornament--or maybe to give the boys plenty of chores. These cows

consume as much food as good ones, but they are idlers. It isn't their

fault but the farmer's. Can your father or you afford to keep money

invested in any cow that returns him less than a dollar a year over and

above the expense of feed? A good cow may cost twice as much to buy,

but a good cow will make thirty or forty dollars a year clear gain.

These figures are not guess-work but facts.

So I say again to the farm boy and girl--if you want to do a big thing

for your home place and for the neighbourhood, reform the dairy herd.

Keep a record for every cow. Weigh the milk of each one separately

every day for a week, then again two months later, and so on through

her milking days. Take an average of all these weights as the weekly

weight of milk and multiply by the number of weeks the cow gave milk.

This will give the total number of pounds produced. Learn how to test

for butter fat. Your neighbourhood creamery tests the milk with a

Babcock test and you can learn how. Persuade your father to sell all

the cows which fall below a fair standard and buy good ones. Test the

milk of the cows he thinks of buying. A poor cow often looks as well

as a good one. The Illinois Experiment Station shows by tests that

twenty-five of the best cows in the state produce as much butter fat

as ten hundred and twenty-one of the poorest cows, while eating only

one fortieth as much food, to say nothing of the stable room, the time

spent in milking, etc. And a quarter of the million cows in the state

of Illinois are making their owners only seventy-seven cents a year

apiece. Can your father afford to keep that kind of a cow?

CLEAN HOME MILK

I know what milking is on the farm. Take it on a frosty October morning

about sun-up, when you make the cow get up from her bed so that you can

stand in the "warm spot" to warm your feet. It gets no better from that

time on, even if you do milk in the cow stable. But the boys that do

the milking do not realize how perfectly filthy the milk often is when

it gets to the house.

Take a milk pail from the shelf, go down to the cow barn. There is

the cow. Throw her down an armful of hay to chew on while you milk,

brush off the stool, rub off the cow's bag with a wisp of hay if she

is especially dirty, never mind your hands or the open pail, throw a

stream of milk onto each palm and begin. Is there a little hay and dust

in the pail? Never mind; it will strain out. When you get through, set

the pail down while you drive the cows out to pasture. To be sure,

they will raise a lot of cow-stable dust and the smell is pretty bad

in there, but if you set it outside the pigs would get into it. It is

nearly school time and you have other chores to do. Take it to the

house and strain it. Mother always doubles the strainer cloth, but it

takes an awful time for it to run through that way. There, you said

the dirt would strain out, and look at it there in the cloth!

This is a cold-hearted picture of one of the chores the farm boy

particularly hates. Compare each item with your own methods and improve

on each. Home milk is not always clean milk.

[Illustration: Sanitary milk pail]

The boy that milks ought to do a better job than this. He ought to

bring clean milk into the house. How shall he do it? A clean place to

milk, a clean cow, a clean boy, and a sanitary milk pail; these four

things are within the reach of every farm that can afford a cow.

I have seen a good many patent milk pails, mostly in stores, seldom on

farms. The sanitary milk pails _keep the dirt out_, they don't strain

it out. Here is one described by the man who invented it for his own

use. This pail is tin, holds ten quarts or so. On one side is a spout

two and a half inches in diameter and three inches long. The spout has

a tin cover like a baking powder can cover. To keep the dirt out of the

top of the pail the man bought a tin pan, just the size to fit tight

into the top of the pail. Just above the bottom of the pan on one side

he had a tinner cut eight or ten small holes, like a collander. Scald

the pail, double the strainer cloth and lay it across the top of the

pail. Press the pan down on the cloth till it goes down into the pail

tight, taking care that the edge of the cloth comes up all round. Do

all this at the house. With this pail, a clean milker can milk a clean

cow in a sweet smelling place, and get clean milk. This may look like a

pound of prevention, but think of the tons of cure it will save.

MARKETING MILK

There are lots of boys delivering milk in towns and cities. Most of

them do their part well. But I believe they would like to do it better.

Driving from one house to another is pretty dull business for a live

boy and unless he has something to think about his mind wanders. Why

not put some thought on the very business he is engaged in? Does he

know what milk is? That children's lives depend upon the care he gives

it? Does he know that dirt in ice and dust from streets may be deadly

if they get into milk? If dust gets into that little puddle that ought

not to be on top of the bottles does he wipe it off with a dirty rag,

ignorant of the danger? If he thought of these things and studied out

ingenious ways of keeping his bottles free from dust, life would no

longer be dull but interesting. He would be well started toward good

citizenship.

TRAINING PET ANIMALS

Trained pets have a greater market value than those which have no

education. Parrots, for example, with nothing but their native harsh

squawk, can be bought for very little. But every word added to Polly's

vocabulary can be expressed in dimes added to her price. There are very

few domesticated or tamed animals so lacking in wit that they cannot be

taught. But it takes a particular kind of patience and persistence.

Some animals learn very quickly; mice for instance. One trainer has

taught them to walk the tight rope, climb ladders, swing in a trapeze,

pull tiny wagons, and do other little tricks.

We have all seen trained animals in shows and have marvelled at them.

It is hard to believe that they are real. It takes genius to train

fleas, for example, or geese, yet these animals are tamed. Every boy

has a little spark of such genius and with use the spark would grow.

Dogs are about the easiest animals to train. Teach a dog first to

obey. He must learn to understand just as a baby does. How long does

it take a baby to learn what "no, no" means? A bright dog will learn

to "charge" about as quickly. When he knows what you mean and that

you really do mean it and are not fooling, he will suit the action

to the word or signal. A little training every day will do the

business. Rewards in the form of food or caresses appeal to the dog's

understanding. Never forget to give the reward. You may sometimes have

to punish a dog, but you should be careful to make certain that he

associates the punishment with the crime. Whipping a dog to "get even"

with him is not the way to make him a good dog. He may take his chance

to "get even" some day. Do you blame him?

Most children expect a dog to learn too fast. For instance, a boy

wants his dog to draw a wagon or sled. The dog is big and strong and

there are leaves to be gathered or kindling to be brought in. Don't

make a harness, force it onto the dog, hitch him up regardless of his

protests, and expect him to trot off like a pony. Ponies are trained to

the feel of the harness from their youth up. Your dog will rebel, not

angrily, but none the less emphatically. He will lie down or slip the

harness or otherwise rid himself of the burden. Or he will balk. Train

him gradually, just as you would a colt or calf. He will learn faster

than either.

Dogs are sometimes trained to carry baskets or bundles and can even be

trusted to go on errands alone, if, by going over the same route daily,

their minds are impressed sufficiently.

Training a dog should begin in puppyhood. Make commands in single

words and accompany the word with a sign. Use always the same easily

interpreted sign with the command word. Teach him his name first, then

to come when called. After these commands are thoroughly learned, teach

him to come "to heel," "charge," and similar commands. A poor teacher

will make a poor dog, so teach yourself patience. Your voice should be

firm but never loud or high-pitched.

A young dog will learn to herd cattle, sheep, or goats more easily from

an old dog than from you. He will follow his leader at first, then

later he can go on ahead driving the herd on his own responsibility or

in obedience to a command.

[Illustration: Photograph by George G. McLean. Gyp Has An Ax to Grind]

Did you try to teach your dog to retrieve by ducking him? How silly!

How soon would you learn to swim by that method? Begin by letting

him think he is bringing you his play-ball, although really you are

pulling it by an attached string. Insist on his giving up the ball

every time. Do it again and again till he is out of the primer class.

Throw the ball a few feet at first, then farther and farther away till

he has that trick "down fine."

When the water is well warmed by the spring sunshine, take him to the

shore and repeat the same lessons patiently, a little each day. If you

have an old retriever with you the youngster will be ambitious to "go

him one better" and will learn more quickly.

It is necessary in training dogs to consider the inborn instincts of

the breed. A terrier is a "nat'ral ratter" and needs little training

for that, but you would have to train a long time to get a spaniel to

catch rats.

A dog on the farm can be trained to save the boys a lot of steps. We

had a shepherd dog once which was a famous runner. When my father

suspected that the cattle were breaking into the cornfield, he would go

first to the top of the knoll by the house, hold Nimp up in his arms,

point in the direction of the cows. Nimp would whimper and squirm and

when let down was off like a streak of brown lightning. He would not

go in a bee-line, but followed first the road, then the line fence

to where the marauding cattle were at work. By the time my father

or one of the boys on horseback reached the break in the fence the

fleet-footed dog would be hustling those cows. If he didn't actually

get them back into pasture he kept them moving so that they got no more

green corn than was good for them. "Good old dog" was all Nimp expected

for little deeds of kindness like this. He wagged his head, hung out

his long pink tongue, and almost smiled with satisfaction. There was no

doubt that he was pleased with having outwitted the cows, for which he

had small respect.

Teaching a collie to herd sheep or goats is a special sort of business;

experienced shepherds can teach you how it is done. Training hunting

dogs is also a work for experts. Anybody knows that a poorly trained

dog makes the difference between real sport and disgusting failure. A

young man with a real aptitude for training dogs for various forms of

hunting can find opportunities to turn this genius into cash.

TRAINING YOUNG HORSES

"Breaking colts" is a phrase handed down to us, I think, from the days

way back when our pioneer ancestors used to go out and catch a wild

horse and break it to saddle and harness. On ranches where colts range

over vast areas and never get acquainted with human beings except at

branding time, it is little wonder that they must be broken. They do a

little breaking on their own account, too. But on the small farm where

three or four colts a year or fewer are raised, no colt should need to

be "broken." All should be trained, which is one way of saying taught

or educated.

Everything depends upon the colt's learning each thing right first.

If you put an old, worn strap on him, or a fraying rope which he can

break, he will just as likely as not become a halter and bridle breaker.

A little colt starts out without any habits. All the bad ones as well

as all the good ones are learned. Every bad habit harks right back to

some mistake. You can manufacture balky horses by overloading a wagon

for your team of colts. I have seen boys tease a colt "just to see him

kick." That strikes me as lacking in "horse sense."

Every time you go out with your father to visit the two-year-olds and

the yearlings, be sure that you pet and caress them. Don't attempt to

mount one till you have accustomed him to the feel of a burden on his

back, a very small weight first, then the saddle of an old harness,

then a very light saddle. Don't act as if you were in desperate need

of a saddle horse. His training cannot all be done in one visit. A

yearling must be taught to lead, then to be driven.

After a two-year old has been accustomed to the feel of a harness,

one part at a time, he can safely be hitched with some old stager to

a light wagon, and taught what pulling means. He should already know

that a pull on the right rein means "gee" and on the left means "haw";

never give the command "whoa" to a colt, unless you have the muscle

to make your command good. A runaway may not break any harness, nor

any vehicle, nor any bones, _this_ time, but a runaway horse is an

ill-trained horse.

It is almost an impossible thing to train an old, high-spirited horse

to regard an automobile or a trolley car with anything but disfavour. A

young horse can learn easily. Soon after a colt is well "halter-broke"

he should be led around where the farm machinery is at work. He must

be held with a strong hand and not be allowed to bolt when the mowing

machine starts. Break the automobile to him gently. Lead him up to

a quiet one. Have a bit of his favourite dainty to offer him from

the seat and see to it that he is convinced that the automobile is

harmless. (Would that it were true!) Speak reassuringly to him. If he

jerks back, don't get mad and whack him, just to vent your impatience.

He will associate your whack with the automobile, and you will

have your work to do over again. I have known of a colt being made

"trolley-wise" in an hour and he never has forgotten; he would no more

shy when one whirls by than he would at his own mother hitched to a

load of hay.

TREADMILLS AND CRANKS

How a boy does hate the sight of a crank. Turning the grindstone,

running the washing machine and churning are part of a country boy's

daily life. He may do these things cheerfully, because he knows they

are boys' jobs or because he hates to see his mother doing them even

worse than he hates doing them himself. But that doesn't prove that the

boy's tastes run to crank turning.

Why not train a dog or a sheep to turn the crank? That's a scheme. It's

fun to train an animal and then it will be more fun to see him do the

work while you read a book and watch him.

Here is a picture of a big wheel from which a belt runs to a

grindstone out under a tree. In the wheel stands a good dog; by his

bright eyes, his erect carriage, and the "near-smile" on his face, you

can see that he is no brow-beaten labourer. A man at the grindstone

holds the axe and the wheel is ready to turn. This fine dog knows that

a certain signal means work. He does not skulk off and hide, nor yawn

and look limp. He steps up into the wheel, waits for the signal, then

begins a steady tread. On Mondays he does the washing, on Tuesdays and

Fridays he churns, on other days he helps grind the axe, the sickle,

the scythe, or the butcher knife. When the job is done, at a well-known

signal, the dog stops, steps off the wheel, and waits for the kindly

pat of his mistress or the "Good old fellow" of his master.

MAKING ANIMALS HAPPY

In training any domestic animal you will find their greatest weakness

is fear, just as with wild animals. You do not want to develop this

but to win their confidence. With horses taken right from the range or

wild, the men who are most successful are those who train by kindness.

A horse whose spirit is broken and who does his task because he is

afraid not to is not a safe horse. I wouldn't trust him in an

emergency. A horse who lives in a state of fear has very little sense.

[Illustration: Photograph by Julian A. Dimock. A Group of Happy Farm

Animals]

One blow, yell, jerk, or even a threatening motion will often

obliterate all the work you have done. So the animal trainer must not

lose his temper, especially with dogs and horses. The more intelligent

the animal, the more kindness and gentleness are required. On one farm,

you will see the calves trembling when coming for their food, trying to

keep one eye out for sudden blows while drinking; the horses jerking

timidly up as if expecting their tender mouths to be yanked; the cows

kicking the milkers; the colts hard to toll in from pastures; the dog

with tail between his legs; the cat on her way up a tree. Do you know

the owners of such animals? How are the boys of the family liked in the

neighbourhood? Are the girls popular and good-natured? Has the mother

the sweet and patient look that the best mothers have?

Every domestic animal ought to be kept happy. A happy hen will lay

eggs, a happy cat will purr and rub your leg in passing, not because

she wants anything out of you, but because she thinks you are a good

fellow and that's her way of expressing herself; she will catch mice

for you, too. A happy cow will give down her milk; a happy pig will lay

on fat faster than a miserable one, a happy horse will almost trot at

the plough. So really it pays to keep animals happy. Having creature

comforts alone is not enough for most animals. They like attention,

caresses, and even seem to enjoy and understand conversation.

Boys that train animals will find that the animals train them. If you

have a hot temper and can keep it in enough to train a dog to draw a

wagon, you will find it isn't so hard to hold in when you are playing

ball. Self-control is one of the biggest things in life.

The training of a calf or colt should begin early, just as with other

animals. If the animal has never been frightened the task is easy.

Begin gradually. Petting for a day or two will get him used to being

handled. A rope may be knotted round his neck and worn for a day or

two, or a rope halter put over the head; something that slips on

easily so that you don't have to hold the youngster's head. When he

is accustomed to the feel of the halter, you can lead him to his food

without his realizing it. Unconsciously he gets used to the pull on the

rope.

A pair of well-matched oxen, trained by kindness, taught to "gee"

and "haw" at the word without reins or goad, with no bad habits like

kicking or turning in the yoke, are worth between two and three

hundred dollars. They started out worth four or five dollars a head

for veal. Training and grass have done most of the rest. If trained

in kindness, they are docile, gentle, industrious, and though less

spirited than horses, they are also steadier and far better suited to

many heavy farm tasks than horses. The harness for oxen is very simple,

costs little, and seldom needs mending.

Every county fair ought to offer prizes for animals trained by boys and

girls. I believe boys train animals more often than girls do. I wonder

how that comes. Practise on the hens, girls, and on the cat. I know of

a cat which picks up nuts and puts them in a basket quite as a child

might. This cat treads a wheel, too, to turn the churn.

If all the animals were happy and earned their living, helping do the

work, as well as reproducing their kind, farm life would be less dreary

and hardships would seem less hard and the country would be a better

place to live in.

TAMING WILD ANIMALS

All little children are interested in animals. It does not take much

argument to convince a boy that he needs a dog or the girl that she

needs a canary bird. If, as they grow older, they seem to lose their

pleasure in the companionship of animals, it means that something is

wrong. Probably home conditions are such that an intimate acquaintance

with any animal is inconvenient or else some unnatural lessons in

natural history have been forced upon the children at school and their

interest in the real things has been deadened. I have heard many boys

and girls say that they dislike zoölogy. Take these same boys and girls

out on an excursion, with an opera glass or with an insect net, or show

them a rabbit's tracks in the new snow, and who will say they are not

awake and interested?

The first thing you want to know about an animal is its name. The

same is true of a new neighbour or a new schoolmate. The name does

not tell you much about the animal or the boy. When you know them

better you will give them names that fit. The new boy's name may be

Reginald. When the boys get to know him they may call him "Piggy," or

"Chief," depending on what kind of a boy he is. But a name is a great

convenience.

Next after the name you want to know where he lives, how he lives, and

above all what he can do. After all "what he can do" is the boy, and

the same is true of other animals.

How are boys and girls going to find out what animals can do, how they

live, how they make a living?

The good old natural way to find out what an animal can do and will

do is to catch him and watch him. Some small neighbours of mine did

not catch grasshoppers and throw them into the water because they were

cruel, although their mother berated them for cruelty. They wanted to

find out whether grasshoppers could swim or not. The boys who catch

squirrels and rabbits and birds and put them in cages want to take care

of them and teach them tricks.

But, seeing the wild ones unhappy and drooping, most boys will

voluntarily let them go. There is no good word to be said for the

practice of caging wild creatures merely for the entertainment their

misery will afford an irresponsible and curious crowd. I am glad to

know that those horrid whirling cages in which squirrels used to be

shut have become less common.

In these days of hunting without guns, there is also a good deal of

taming without cages. This is the real thing, and has everything in

its favour. There are two sides to it. From the animal's side the

tamed one has nothing to lose. He, and for his sake, all his fellows,

receive protection, consideration, care. If he tells any secrets, his

confidence is not betrayed to the enemy. He comes and goes at will and

pays his debts by keeping true that balance which existed in nature

before mankind upset it. From the human side taming wild things is a

delightful though not an easy way to learn to be patient, persevering,

and gentle. You simply have to practise these virtues or you will fail.

Furthermore, the domestication of wild animals useful to man results in

very great practical value. From the naturalist's point of view, this

is a most fruitful method of discovering the true habits of the wild

creatures, about which so much is yet to be learned.

Most efforts to tame full-grown animals result in complete failure.

Taken when young, almost any of them can be tamed.

No one ought ever to have a pet of any kind unless he sees one thing

clearly: Forcing his pet to become dependent upon his protection and

care involves a real responsibility. When I consider the number of

cases of neglected pets I am inclined to discourage children from

keeping them. It is a very good method of developing responsibility,

but, if the method fails, the innocent pet suffers. The uncaged pet has

an advantage over the caged one in that he can, if neglected, return

to the wild and shift for himself.

BIRDS

A great many famous people have made friends with our native birds.

John Burroughs could depend on an audience of robins to perch on his

knee. They would listen politely while he remonstrated with them for

stealing his grapes, well assured that the next forkful of earth he

turned would yield worms enough to repay them for waiting. It is not

uncommon to see photographs of birds perching on the hands of children

or grown people. One noted naturalist is pictured with a piece of bread

in his mouth, out of which a bird is taking a bite. To really tame a

full-grown bird is practically impossible. To gain its confidence is

difficult. It means that the person has never in its presence made a

motion sufficiently sudden to startle the timid creature nor lost his

patience or self-control once during many trials. A bird is not tamed

in an hour nor a day. A quick wave of the arm or a sharp noise is

enough to undo all that has been accomplished in long, patient hours

spent in establishing friendly relations. The photographs are records

of triumphs.

Professor Hodge encourages the taming of young birds in the interest

of increasing our valuable bird life. He says: "It is a rare lesson

in gentleness to capture a young bird without frightening it, but,

if successfully done, your bird is practically tame. If even a young

bird is caught after a severe chase, it is likely to be days, weeks,

and even months, before the effects of its fright can be obliterated.

If they can be picked up without frightening them, they will often

immediately perch on the finger and feed from the hand. I have tested

this with young vireos, chipping sparrows, orioles, grackles, and

repeatedly with young robins, which some even put down in their books

as untamable. Think what a monster the open hand must seem to a bird!"

Those of you who have read Mrs. Stratton-Porter's story of Freckles

will remember how he tamed the wild birds. They were residents of the

great primeval woodland and had not learned yet from sad experience to

hide from men. They swarmed about the gentle Irish lad because he had

made himself a part of the forest. To them he was like some new kind

of beneficent tree, yielding nuts for the nut-eaters, grain for the

grain-eaters, and bits of suet or scraps of meat for all who came for

it. He called them all, "Me chickens." Was there anything wonderful in

this? Yes; so thought the Scotch woodsman with whom Freckles lived.

And no, because anybody can do the same who will follow the same

tactics. If you read on in the story, you will readily believe that

his relations with the birds and the forest helped make Freckles the

lovable boy and the fine, sweet-natured man he grew up to be.

How to do something toward domesticating wild birds in order to make

the country a better place to live in is treated more fully in a later

chapter.

Humming-birds are said to be entirely without fear if tamed when

nestlings. They sometimes fall from the nest and are, of course,

helpless so far as feeding themselves is concerned. They will take

sweetened water from a spoon, but should not be expected to thrive

on this diet alone. Their natural food while growing, and probably

afterward, too, is largely insects. A supply of these should be given

the young birds. They become very tame and perch on the hand and on

the flowers in vases. They will visit your best hat, too, if it has

flowers on it, and will even try to collect nectar from the flowers on

wall-paper or curtains.

TOADS AND THEIR KIN

One is really surprised at the long list of wild animals that have been

successfully tamed. That is, they are sufficiently tame to come to the

tamer, eat from his hand, nestle in his pocket, follow him about--in

short, to show perfect confidence and little or no fear.

The toad for example, "ugly and venomous," (we have Shakespeare's word

for that, but he was mistaken)--, a very useful animal and absolutely

without disagreeable traits. It has been carefully estimated that every

toad is worth twenty dollars to the garden he lives in. Yet how seldom

one hears of a tame toad. At best they are tolerated, but not often

encouraged by protection or by a little attention. To tame a toad, one

only needs to feed him. Frogs, salamanders, newts, snakes, turtles, and

fish have all been tamed in the same fashion. As nearly all are insect

eaters, we are benefiting mankind when we encourage them.

[Illustration: Photograph by Charles W. Miller. The Crow May Be Tamed

When Young]

[Illustration: Photograph by Chester K. Reed. The Skunk is an Amiable

and Well-Mannered Pet]

SQUIRRELS

Tame squirrels are amusing. It takes very little encouragement to

make them tame enough to eat from the hand and even to rummage the

pockets for nuts. I remember a case when the red squirrels made so

free with the books in a great man's study that he became positively

annoyed, although he had himself encouraged them and had enjoyed

their friendliness and tameness. The case got so bad that he was

forced either to vacate or to get rid of the squirrels. He finally

had a trap set. The first squirrel that came in ran straight into the

trap. The great man had really not counted on any such circumstance.

He was nonplussed. In all his diplomatic career no such a situation

had arisen. He gave the matter earnest thought. He considered all the

_pros_ and _cons_. He weighed all the evidence. The squirrel was guilty!

When asked by a friend what penalty he pronounced, the great man

replied: "I read him such a lecture as he will never forget--and turned

him loose!"

The relations of the red squirrel with the birds are such that we are

pretty sure they should be discouraged. They are, alas! egg-suckers and

nest-robbers. The gray squirrel has not been caught in this nefarious

occupation. If plenty of nuts, fruit, and water were supplied for red

squirrels, maybe they could be cured of their bad habits.

The flying squirrel is to me the most beautiful member of his family.

He is said to tame easily, but I remember the only pair we ever caught

were shut in a convenient closet "till morning." When morning came

there were only a little pile of gnawings and a hole under the door to

tell the story. They had flown, nor could I blame them.

RACCOONS, WOODCHUCKS, AND SKUNKS

A raccoon is a most satisfactory pet and will afford about as much

amusement in the back yard as a cage of monkeys. Raccoons are more

numerous, especially in New England, than formerly. They are extremely

fond of green corn, but corn in any form is eaten greedily. Also, I

regret to say, they are nest-robbers. In fact, they will eat fish,

flesh, and fowl, as well as vegetables and insects. This makes the food

problem for a pet 'coon a very simple one. But we can not afford to

encourage them, because of their bird-eating habits.

Sometimes a hunter finds a suckling 'coon in the woods. He cannot let

the helpless thing starve, as it certainly would if left. When he gets

it home, he will realize that its natural food is 'coon's milk. Some

bright member of the family will suggest that a bottle of cow's milk

with rubber nipple will do the trick. Having no such convenience as a

rubber nipple, we once successfully brought up a baby pig on a bottle.

We took a goose quill and wrapped it with a strip of clean old cotton

cloth till we made a stopper for the bottle. This was fine, and I

can recommend it for suckling lambs, pigs, fawns, 'coons, and other

young mammals. There are well-authenticated stories of baby 'coons

being adopted by cats whose young have been "disposed of."

[Illustration: Photograph by E. S. Kane. A Bottle Baby]

A 'coon is a most mischievous creature, and if you tame one you should

really not expect your mother to feel all the enthusiasm you do about

him, for his mischief is sometimes exasperating. An animal enclosure

in the back yard may be necessary, but that means more work for you to

keep the 'coon and his mates happy.

Tame woodchucks are said by experienced boys to be a great success.

Young ones are easy to capture, for they are not allowed to "hang

around" the home nest after the parents decide that they are big enough

to earn their own way. In "American Animals" there is a good story of a

tame 'chuck for which the author traded an old fish line with a broken

hook and thirteen cents "to boot." This little chap was brought up by

hand and developed most interesting traits. He made life miserable for

the family tabbies by nipping their heels, and he tunnelled under the

door step till he made the earth cave in. A wild woodchuck will show

fight when in danger of capture, but the tamed ones are not vicious.

The last creature I should ever think of becoming familiar with is

the skunk. Yet I have a photograph of a lady feeding a full-sized one

from her hand. The account that went with the picture said that this

skunk was in "perfectly good working order," too. Several naturalists

have tamed these little animals, and there is no doubt that they make

amusing and well-behaved pets.

Prairie dogs, chipmunks, badgers, fawns, 'possums, crows, and many

other native wild animals have been successfully tamed. You may have

read of "Red" Saunders's pets, the bob-cat, the snake, and Judge, the

hawk. Whether you would call them tame or not depends. They certainly

had "wild, wild ways," though they frequented the kitchen and slept

under the stove, one at a time. The same methods must be employed, no

matter what the creature is. Gentleness, patience, and common sense

will succeed almost every time with young animals.

VI

MAKING BROOKS AND SPRINGS USEFUL

RECLAIMING A TROUT STREAM

"I used to ketch trout that 'ud weigh two pound in that little crick

back of my pasture when I 'uz a boy."

Who has not heard old men say that? They seem to have just accepted

the lack of trout as one other piece of bad luck, like wormy apples,

blighted wheat, and other dispensations of Providence. The younger

generation are not satisfied with this view. If good wheat can be

grown by modern methods, and wormy apples prevented by spraying, why

shouldn't trout be caught in grandpa's old brook? No reason in the

world. In between you and grandpa there was a generation of neglect.

Your father and his brothers probably went to town to seek their

fortunes. Anyhow, everybody was too busy to fish, and something went

wrong with the brook that needs to be righted.

Any stream that has been a trout stream once can be so again, provided

that the water is not fed with poisoned drainage from some mill

or factory. If the forest has been removed and natural conditions

so changed that the brook that used to be perennial is now only

semi-annual, going dry in time of drought, it will be necessary to

build a series of dams to make sure that the water will always be deep

enough for trout. A spring-fed brook is best; it is cool and constant.

Lower the channel by digging where refuse has choked the natural course

of the stream, but don't tidy it up enough to make it artificial.

The ideal brook, and the country is full of them, has gravelly or sandy

stretches which serve as spawning beds, swift rapids where exercise

is necessary, and deep pools for rest and quiet, shallow places where

insects lurk in the overhanging vegetation, and once in a great while a

real little waterfall where the water gets well churned and mixed with

air. The brook ought to supply enough food for all, but I have seen

fish so plentiful in well-cared-for streams that it was necessary to

feed them. We would take great pans of specially prepared food to the

water's edge; as we threw it broadcast on the surface the trout would

leap entirely out of the water in their eagerness to get the morsels.

We did not feed them liver because the epicure does not like his trout

to have a liver flavour. The natural food of the trout should be

encouraged to breed in the trout stream. You can restock your stream

with the little crustaceans, insect nymphs, and similar fish food

from other streams if you think it necessary. A few pails full of mud

carried across will start them.

[Illustration: Photograph by Helen W. Cooke. Plenty of Trout in This

Stream When Grandfather Was a Boy]

The greatest necessity is to protect your fish from their natural

enemies. Big fish will eat little fish, trout will eat trout, so will

bass, pickerel, and suckers. You can keep the big fish out by screening

the spillway at the upper dam.

There is good fun to be had in raising trout from the egg. This

work has been regarded by most people as too complicated and too

difficult for any but an expert. As a matter of fact, it is no more

difficult than many of the occupations boys engage in, chicken

raising, bee-keeping, and photography, for instance. Visit a fish

hatchery if you have one near, get all the government bulletins on the

subject, and, if you have available running water, you can try your

hand at trout growing. It would not appeal to many, but it is really

fascinating work.

SPRINGS FOR TROUT CULTURE

If there are constant, cold springs on your place, you are neglecting

a golden opportunity for earning money in an easy and delightful way.

A spring is capable of furnishing living room for a large family of

trout. You can sell live trout at sixty-five cents to a dollar a pound

to a first-class hotel. The big fish bring the smaller prices per

pound, those weighing from half a pound to a pound being most popular.

Clean out your spring first and make a basin ten to twenty feet square,

the bigger the better. Put a fine, galvanized iron netting over the

overflow of your reservoir. Young fish can be bought from a fish

hatchery in the form of eggs, fry, fingerlings, yearlings, or even

larger. The government will stock your streams for you free, but it

imposes certain conditions, which is quite just and proper. Get all the

information you can from state fish hatcheries or the United States

Bureau of Fisheries, before you decide finally.

RECLAIMING A SPRING

There is often a neighbourhood tradition concerning a wonderful

spring somewhere near, a spring that never ceases to flow, no matter

how complete the drought. The water is pure, cold, and clear; maybe

the oldest inhabitant had it from his grandfather how the Indians

used always to camp near it on their cross-country marches from the

Catskills to the Blue Ridge. They call it "The Old Indian Spring."

Sometimes they tell hair-raising tales of midnight adventures and

hair-breadth escapes, till you wonder that the spring itself never

turned red with the spilt blood. From stories of early pioneer days

one gets a good idea of the very great importance of the ever faithful

spring. With the certainty of a pure water supply for family and

beasts, a man might safely carve a home in a primeval forest. Without

it, he must push on yet another lap toward the wilderness.

I remember such a spring. Generations of red men, trekking from one

hunting-ground to another or maybe waging their own peculiar war in the

enemy's country, have depended on this spring for their success. Later

generations of pioneers have passed that way and refreshed themselves

with its sweet water. As years went by, the spring fell into disuse

and gushed on forgotten. But forty years ago it was re-discovered by a

searching party, identified as an historic spot, reclaimed, and made

permanently useful and beautiful by public spirit.

Nobody knows just how to appreciate a spring except the person who

discovers it, reclaims it, and makes it do his bidding. No bit of his

own ingenuity pleases the householder quite as much as his spring,

his piping, his reservoir, and his little hydraulic ram, yet one of

the last springs I visited was in a New England pasture. Its only

protection was a sort of fence of poles to keep the cattle out. To

approach it you had to leap from hillock to hillock, in constant danger

of losing your balance and sinking in a deep mud hole. The spring

bubbled up clear as crystal in a most unromantic hole in the ground;

its overflow simply spread out on the ground between the hummocks. It

didn't look thrifty to me. Two days' work would have laid a basin rim

of small stones about that spring with a piece of tile for an overflow

pipe, and a shallow channel might have been dug to carry the surplus

to the edge of the slope where another basin for the cattle might have

been made, or to a trough.

The water of a spring ought to be analyzed by a chemist before it is

used for drinking. Nobody knows what contamination is possible to a

spring whose sources are mystery. Campers ought to be particularly

careful in this, especially if their camp is near settlements.

The first step in reclaiming a spring is to dig out a basin. The

chances are that the one made by the water is too shallow for practical

purposes. Compute the number of gallons you want in reserve and take

out enough cubic feet of soil to make a basin of that capacity. Decide

next what to do with the surplus. Your basin is not designed to hold

the spring's daily output. If the spring is in a ravine, nothing is

simpler than to lay a tile drain from the basin down to the stream bed.

By damming the stream you can make a pond for waterfowl, for trout

raising, or for a swimming hole: but that is another story.

The basin should have a protecting rim. For a number of reasons this

should be solid and permanent. You are sure to want to sit on it and

watch the water, for one thing. Then, too, you want a protection

against surface water. All sorts of decaying animal and vegetable

matter must be kept out of the spring, so cover it tightly.

MAKING A SWIMMING POOL

In a country where wooded brooks are plentiful there is absolutely no

good reason why boys shouldn't have a swimming pool. It needn't cost

a thousand dollars, either. Every outdoor club ought to have one as a

special feature. The same dam that holds back the water for the skating

pond may serve in summer to make the swimming hole. It is really fun to

build a dam. Your father or the other boy's father will know how. You

can dig out the stream at low water, and make the pool deep enough for

diving.

High banks make the place more private; trees and underbrush serve the

same purpose. But if the banks are not high naturally, and the trees

have been cut away you have no idea how quickly you can make a natural

screen. Willows love the margin of streams and they grow tremendously.

A frame of poles covered with wild cucumber or morning glory will make

a good screen the first season while the permanent trees and shrubs

are growing. You don't need to swim all your spare time, so you can

give some time to making the pool more secluded. Move a few big bushes

from the woods in winter. They will never know the difference if you

transplant them while their roots are frozen in a big ball of earth.

Let me make a suggestion to you. You believe everybody ought to know

how to swim, don't you? That includes your father, of course, who

taught you. Does it include your sisters and the other boys' sisters?

"Everybody" is a big word, now you think of it. Why it includes even

your mother! Do mothers know anything about swimming? Some of them do,

already, only they never get a chance to keep in practice; but they

like it. It is precisely as natural for girls and mothers to enjoy

the water as it is for boys and fathers. Just be generous and let it

be understood that a certain day in the week is ladies' day, and turn

the pool over to them. Their bathing suits may not be in the latest

fashion, but you won't be there to criticize nor to see how well they

really swim.

A HOME-MADE SKATING POND

The family who own a tennis court and enjoy no skating in the winter

have their own want of ingenuity to blame, if they live in the Jack

Frost belt. Any level piece of ground, even the grass plot in the back

yard, can be skated on.

You need first to set a six-inch board on edge all round the level

plot. This board should be three inches in the ground and three inches

out.

As winter approaches, rig a trough from the pump to the pond-to-be or

have the hose where it can be attached to the spigot at a moment's

notice. Wait for a hard freeze. When it comes, and the ground is like

rock, give the word "all hands to the pumps." Let on enough water to

cover the surface, then let it freeze. If you get a smooth surface the

first go you are luckier than most boys. Cover the first coat with a

second and that with a third layer until you have smooth ice.

Then skate. On cold nights spray the worn places if you use a hose, or

run on another half-inch of water.

A good skating pond can be made by boys with a little ingenuity, which

in this case means engineering ability, by damming a brook until it

floods a naturally flat area above its own level. Or by damming the

outlet of a pond before dry weather comes on and holding the water at a

higher level than it would naturally have. It is perfectly astonishing

what a small dam will do, if cleverly placed. Study the work of beavers

if you know of any. You can get pointers from mill-dams built by your

great-grandsires, if there are any in your vicinity. In one of the

books for boys, mentioned in the book list, are practical suggestions

about building dams.

Sometimes boys think nature has not done as much for them as for boys

who have a natural swimming pool, a skating pond, or a trout brook.

Maybe if you helped her out a little, nature would do her part in your

case, too.

THE STORY OF RECLAIMING A SPRING

When I was fourteen years old my father bought his property in Ithaca,

N. Y., on which we live. That part of it on which there is now a

fine spring was considered worthless. Through this property ran a

well-wooded glen, the upper end of which was very wet and swampy. This

condition was due to several small springs emerging from the ground

at the head of the glen. All of these springs joined and flowed down

through the glen, forming a fairly large stream. This stream flowed

continually throughout summer and winter, without change of volume.

The first step in the reclaiming of this spring was to collect all

the water through tile drains into a large, concrete reservoir. This

reservoir, which was four feet wide, four feet high, and twelve feet

long, was constructed about two feet under ground. An open spring basin

was connected with this reservoir by a two and one-half inch iron pipe.

This basin was made of rough stones laid in cement, and the back side

of it arched over a foot or more, forming a partial roof. On the open

side is a concrete seat where one can conveniently sit and get a drink.

My father and I did all the work except part of the ditch digging. From

this basin was laid a one and a quarter-inch iron pipe which carried

the water down the glen a distance of about sixty feet to a hydraulic

ram. This ram is always running, and is made to go by the constant

pressure of the water from the spring basin. The water is forced

through a half-inch iron pipe to a large tank in the attic of the house

situated on the hill above. The tank, which holds about five hundred

gallons, supplies the house with pure, cold water for all purposes.

As the water is always flowing into the tank it is provided with an

inch and a half overflow pipe, which carries the surplus water back

into the glen. Thus, through a series of pipes and a ram, the water is

conveyed from the reservoir throughout the house. By building a small

dam farther down, we made a fair-sized pond on which to domesticate

some wild fowl.

The ground drained by concentrating the springs was well adapted

because of its fertility for the growing of shrubbery and flowers

of many sorts. In the wetter places, ferns and pink and yellow lady

slippers were planted, and in the dryer area shrubbery, such as the red

bud and azalea. Thus, what was once a mud hole was transformed into a

useful piece of ground.

JOHN NEEDHAM

A BACK YARD SWIMMING POOL

Somewhere and somehow our boys came into possession of the idea that

they could make a swimming pool. I think the original suggestion came

from _Country Life in America_, wherein was described, with beautiful

pictures, a swimming pool that cost five thousand dollars or six

thousand dollars. The boys had land a-plenty, water, too, and a will

to work if they were shown what to do. With the decision made that a

swimming pool must be had, a council was held to decide on ways and

means. The oldest boy, aged thirteen, stoutly maintained that he could

do the entire work himself, while the youngest, aged four, was equally

confident that the job was entirely within his capacity. It was finally

agreed that I should stake out the ground and furnish the material, and

the boys would do the work. With some slight modifications this plan

was followed throughout. It was decided to make the pool twenty-five

feet long, ten feet wide, and four feet deep. The ground was thereupon

staked off and the boys fell to with a will removing the earth.

It was hard digging, but the youngsters stuck to the work and finished

within a week. Earth to the depth of three feet was removed, and by

piling this around the entire margin of the excavation the level was

raised about one and one half feet for a distance of eight feet on all

sides. This plan avoided the necessity of hauling away the earth, gave

the desired depth, and provided a flat surface eight feet wide all

around the pool.

The rough digging being finished, the sides of the excavation were

trimmed with a spade to an angle of about forty-five degrees. Rough two

by four-inch studding was then cut into lengths of four and one half

feet and placed four feet apart all around the banks. Where each piece

of studding was set, the earth was removed, so that the timber was made

flush with the soil. The end of each piece of timber was also sunk in

the earth at the bottom of the pit for about three inches, in order

that it might be held firmly against the bank. Rough pine boards, free

from cracks and knot holes, were then nailed to the timbers at the top

only. These boards were twelve inches wide, and thus formed a border

or rim all around the upper portion of the pit, one foot in width. At

right angles to the twelve-inch rough boards others of the same size

were nailed, the last projecting out on the level ground, thus forming

a boardwalk around the excavation. The main object of these boards was

to keep the waves from washing the banks and to give a clean place upon

which to stand or sit while not actually in the water.

The boards being up, there was still left about three feet of the

sides, and the entire bottom of the excavation, without covering of

any kind. It was decided to cover the sides and bottom with cement,

plastering this material directly upon the earth. The cement was mixed

with sand, one part cement and two parts of sand, and was spread on

with a mason's trowel. Two and a half barrels of cement and about four

barrels of sand were used. Toward the last, pure cement was applied as

a thin wash to the entire surface.

The cementing was a pretty tough job, but with the help of an old

coloured man the work was finally done in a thorough manner, and the

pit was then as tight as a jug. It was allowed to dry for two days;

then the water was turned in. The water was supplied from the service

pipe of our home near by, and as it is furnished by meter, we had no

qualms as to the quantity used. The pool holds about eight thousand

gallons and requires from twelve to fifteen hours to fill it through a

three-quarter inch pipe.

The entire cost of the work, not counting the boys' time, was as

follows:

12 boards, 1 × 12 × 16 $2.25

8 pieces rough pine, 2 × 4 × 16 1.05

2½ barrels cement at $1.50 per barrel 3.75

------

Total $7.05

The pool was located in the shade of some willows on ground slightly

higher than the adjacent territory. Every few days some of the water

was siphoned off through a piece of hose and fresh water run in. Once

a week, however, about a handful of copper sulphate was tied up in a

piece of cheese cloth and thrown into the pool, where it was whipped

up and down in the general fun until all the copper was dissolved. The

copper kept the water absolutely pure and sweet throughout the entire

season, and not a sign of algæ appeared.

The pool was a source of constant delight, not only to our youngsters,

but to those of our neighbours. All but the four-year-old learned to

swim, and by the end of the season even he could make some preliminary

moves in that direction. The moral of the story is that if you have

some youngsters, a back yard and a city water pipe you do not need to

go to the seashore for fun. Give the boys a chance to make a swimming

pool and they will enjoy it all the more if it is the result of their

handiwork.

BEVERLY T. GALLOWAY

VII

KEEPING BEES

I picked up a number of the _Bee-Keeper's Review_ one day and my eye

caught this surprising headline:

"A BOY'S BUSINESS WORTH $1000"

I opened my eyes and read on in astonishment about a boy who started

with no more capital than any boy could get together, and, without

sacrificing his school or college plans, built up a bee business which

he sold for one thousand dollars. In the meantime his bees had not only

paid their own board but his as well. If one boy can make a success

like that, other boys can. So can girls, for bee-keeping is a form of

outdoor work which seems admirably suited to sensible, nature-loving

girls.

HOW TO BEGIN

There are a good many ways to begin this like any other business, but

there is probably a _best_ way for each person. Fortunately one does

not have to begin on a large scale. In my opinion the only way to learn

how to keep bees right is to keep them. Experienced bee-keepers advise

young people to visit a practical apiary and watch the owner among his

bees, taking note of what he does and says. Offer your services if he

needs help, asking him to explain what he is doing and what for. Stay a

few days or a week if he will keep you and learn all you can. One young

woman spent a summer vacation on a farm where twenty or thirty colonies

of bees were kept, and helped whenever anything was to be done with the

bees. When she went home she took a colony of bees with her, and now

she is manager of her own apiary with a larger income than the average

teacher and ten times the leisure.

For beginners the cheaper bees are satisfactory. Later, nothing will

be too good. A stand of bees can be bought for two dollars or three

dollars, but a colony of choice Italians in a modern hive with tested

queen may come as high as fifteen dollars. Better have them to sell

than to buy at that price.

There are cheaper ways of getting them than buying them. If a runaway

swarm which no owner claims, alights in your yard the bees may be

yours by right of discovery and if you hive them successfully, by

right of possession. This method though practised by some has not the

sanction of the golden rule, and is not here recommended. What fun

it would be, though, to secure a runaway swarm and make the visitors

comfortable in a temporary hive. You would probably find they belonged

in the apiary nearest you and ten to one the owner would just as

soon you kept them unless they were a very choice kind. He will be

so pleased that you were able to hive them that he will offer you

something substantial for your work. He may give you the bees, and your

bee-keeping will begin "by accident" as did the life-work of the famous

veteran apiarist, Mr. A. I. Root.

Make a small beginning. Many successful bee-keepers had less than

twenty dollars to begin with. One colony is a start. It is astonishing

how quickly bees begin to "pay their way" and this test ought to

be applied in all your ventures. Keep a strict account of all your

expenditures in supplies, and credit the bees with all the honey you

take off and with the new swarms. If I say this often, it is because it

must be repeated to fix its importance in the mind. If you make good

interest on your money you know it is safely invested. If, however,

you charge up your time against the bees you must credit them with the

fun you have, the outdoor exercise you get in caring for them and the

consequent freedom from doctor bills.

THE BEST PLACE FOR BEES

You will read of keeping bees on a city roof, in a suburban attic,

and on boats; but the most natural place for them is in the village

or country, where fields of clover, groves of basswood, and patches

of buckwheat abound. An orchard or large garden is incomplete without

a few hives. The young bee-keeper with these advantages is to be

congratulated; the conditions are ideal. All he needs is a liking for

bees and spunk.

Before you get the first colony decide where your apiary is to be

located. Even one hive must have a place and you must plan for

increase. An orchard is a fine place, and the hives should be at least

fifty feet from the street or road, because bees do not recognize the

laws of the open road and turn neither to the right nor to the left. If

necessary to put them next the street or close to a neighbour's garden,

there should be tall bushes, a hedge, or a high fence to protect the

passers-by. Otherwise your venture into bee culture may make you "bad

friends" with the neighbours and even carry you before the justice of

the peace.

In very hot weather some shade is necessary for beehives, but too much

shade may result in failure. The morning sun and the late afternoon

sun are good for bees, but the heat of the mid-day sun may cause the

comb to melt and bring disaster to bees young and old. As moving the

active colonies is not always safe, it pays to make a plan in the

beginning for the whole number you expect to have. This is a case where

it is justifiable to "count your chickens before they are hatched." It

will not take much imagination to draw a plan on paper locating the

principal objects in and near the apiary-to-be, and to sketch in the

location of the ten, fifteen, or twenty hives you are likely to have

five years from now. If you have no large, deciduous trees to offer

ideal shade you needn't give up the idea of keeping bees. With the

modern ventilated covers, bees are successfully kept out in the sun, if

protected from wind and storms. A grape arbour affords good protection.

It should run from east to west. Any trellis with quick growing vines

like hops, Virginia creeper, or grapes, will serve well. Grapes give

best return as they bear fruit and their blossoms supply honey in

season. Where no natural shade is possible a shade board or air-spaced

cover supplies the lack. A shade board can be made of any old box

material. Lay a couple of sticks across the top of the hive to rest the

shade board on and to let the air circulate.

Wind is worse for bees than too much sun. Bless the pioneers of

the windy country if, by reason of their forethought, you have a

real evergreen windbreak on your place. If you have not this ideal

windbreak, a building will serve, or your hedge or high board fence

should be on the windy side.

If you start, as many have, with one or two colonies let them face the

south or east and leave space enough between the hives to run a lawn

mower. As your number increases, your original plan may be changed, but

it always pays to make the plan.

Try to consider, in the arrangement of the hives, not only convenience

but beauty. If a board fence is necessary, train vines to cover its

bare ugliness; a fringe of low shrubs will help make it beautiful. As

your apiary grows, experience will teach you how to group the hives to

get the best results. Twenty hives grouped in fives under the north

side of four big, spreading apple trees would be the ideal I would set

for myself if the orchard was ready for occupancy. If I began at the

age of fourteen years, I could easily reach this ideal in six years

and keep my other duties up, too. By that time I should know whether

I wanted to be a bee-keeper or not. A great many people find that the

chicken business combines well with some other business or profession.

It is surprising that more people do not consider bee-keeping in the

same way. Barring accidents, bees are far easier to handle, cleaner,

and they board themselves. You can leave them over Sunday without any

qualms of conscience and without arranging with somebody to feed and

water them. The bees will not get out and scratch up your garden or

your neighbour's, but they will do work in the garden that is too fine

for your hands to tackle, and your crops will be bigger because of

their visits. Chicken owners always sleep with one ear open, expecting

night prowlers to appear and carry off their best stock. But who ever

heard of a burglar alarm on a beehive? There are honey thieves, but

they are not common.

Beehives look best on a carpet of grass, but if you have to be away

during much of the summer wide rough boards should be placed in front

of the entrance to the hives to keep the grass down. A bee is likely to

come home heavily laden and pretty well fagged out with a long flight.

If she should settle in a tangle of grass she would be likely to give

up the struggle and fail to answer to roll call the next morning. Keep

the grass short in front of the hives, then, if you have to cut it with

shears, which is not as dangerous as it sounds, once you get used to

it. This is best done on cold or wet days when few bees are going in

and out. Salt, ashes, or gravel may be sprinkled close up to the hives

to kill the grass.

BUYING BEES

Even the people with bees to sell advise beginners to buy from some one

in their neighbourhood. It is not safe, though, to move bees less than

a mile and a half as they are likely to return to their old location.

Buy from an up-to-date apiary if you can, and get standard hives;

the old box hives are not worth anything; neither are fancy hives of

complicated structure. The entrance to the hive should be closed with

wire cloth after the bees all get home in the early evening. If closed

in the middle of the day you are cheated. In warm weather the cover

should be taken off; in its place should be put the super over which

wire-cloth has been tacked. Strips of wood can be nailed on top of this

to which the cover can be fastened. By this arrangement ventilation

is secured. We once lost a colony shipped by express without any

provision for the circulation of air. Night is the best time to move

the bees, though it can be done in the daytime; a cold day is best.

Remove the wire cloth the first night after placing in permanent

location.

Spring is the best season to buy your first colony. The price may be

higher but the risk is less. Get a strong colony that has wintered

well, which contains, on the average, twenty-five thousand to

thirty-five thousand worker bees.

It would be well just here for the beginner to get acquainted with the

opinions of the best bee-keepers about the kinds of bees. There are

varieties among bees as well as among hens, pigeons, dogs, and horses.

Americans like to be "hail, fellow, well met" with all their live

stock, and although even the best tempered bee might resent a cordial

slap on the flank, there are bee-lovers who tell of stroking their

little winged friends with a grass stem. It requires real sympathy to

succeed with bees just as it does with chickens or cows. No one can

work long with them without becoming intensely interested. Most people

learn to love them and find absorbing occupation in studying their ways.

Two races of hive bees are common here, though none are native:

German, or black, and Italian. All the books and magazines as

well as bee-lovers unhesitatingly recommend the latter as the more

good-tempered, being at the same time hardy, prolific, and industrious.

Good hybrids, that is, a mixture of black and Italian blood, may do

almost as well as pure stock, but pure-bred queens are a necessity to

keep the grade up. When you hear of people who gather bees by handfuls

into aprons or baskets you may be sure that those concerned are all

thoroughbreds.

If there are no bees for sale near by, the best plan is to order from a

dealer in the spring what is known as a nucleus. This is a very small

colony, about a quart of bees (three thousand two hundred), should

be accompanied by a tested queen, and housed in a modern hive with

three frames of comb. The queen sets to work laying eggs in the cells,

new frames should be added as needed, and if pollen and nectar are

plentiful the hive will soon be full of busy young workers. By fall the

frames should be stored with the honey needed for the winter.

Your first expense after securing a colony will not be for "mixed

grain" or "middlings," but for a smoker, a bee veil and gloves, extra

hives for your swarms, honey sections, and other supplies. Don't buy

everything that looks useful or is highly recommended by the salesman.

Maybe he never saw a bee. Sometimes an old spoon or other cheap utensil

can be made into a more useful tool than the one he wants fifty cents

for.

The following list includes the supplies you are pretty sure to need

the first year:

One colony of bees, in an up-to-date though simply constructed hive.

On the whole, the ten-frame hive seems to me to have advantages over

a smaller one. A deep telescope cover gives room for two supers on

top at once. The only advantage in the chaff hives seems to be that

winter protection is not needed for bees housed in them. The obvious

disadvantage is their greater cost, size, and weight. Single walled

hives are so easily made weatherproof, (see Wintering) that the expense

of the chaff hive is not necessary.

Three extra hives.

Two supers; four super covers.

Two to five hundred section boxes for comb honey. You will not need

very many of these the first year, but they come cheaper in larger lots.

One smoker. Of the several kinds offered, you may safely choose the one

that you have seen used successfully.

One pair bee gloves; one bee veil.

One pound brood foundation, for the new swarms to begin on.

Two pounds thin super-foundation for starters in the honey sections.

One foundation fastener. One experienced bee-keeper tells me that he

likes the "Dewey" best. Others prefer the "Daisy."

One Porter bee escape.

One bee brush.

One queen and drone trap. The new Alley trap is made with bars instead

of perforated zinc, and works better.

A bee-keeper's guide. (See list of books in the appendix.)

Complete directions for putting together the hives, etc., should

accompany the filled order, and the novice should work with one eye on

the printed page. A good book on bee-keeping should be included in the

beginner's order. Those recommended in the book list in the appendix

are all good books for beginners.

BEES AS WAGE EARNERS

Average American boys and girls are a pretty sensible crowd and they

don't expect to get much for nothing. If they make money they like to

see "for value received" written on it. They may get enthusiastic over

the work they undertake, but there is a difference between enthusiasm

and gush. Enthusiasm helps you do the hard part of your job. Gush only

makes you ridiculous. Is there anything worth doing that doesn't take

time and work? The honey-producing business is no exception. But the

people who keep bees like their job. "Yes," they say, "it takes thought

and energy and some hard work, but it is _such fun_." The "little

people" are so interesting that you forget that it is work. Compared

to "butter money," "egg money," and "fruit money," the women of the

household regard "honey money" as "easy."

How much can you count on your bees earning? General statements will

give you some idea. You may do better or not so well as the average. A

good colony ought to turn out thirty or forty pounds of comb honey a

year beside what they need for winter, which is fifteen or twenty-five

pounds if wintered in a cellar, twenty-five or thirty-five pounds if

wintered outdoors.

The best market for honey is the home market, and the price is the

best. You get the commission man's profit and the retailer's profit as

well as the grower's. The last honey I bought was twenty-five cents

a pound. If I bought your thirty pounds at that price you can see for

yourself what you would get per hive. The new swarms add to your assets

and you are out nothing except for supplies. Compare this with the

expense of going into chicken or squab raising. The following is quoted

from a good authority: "Two dollars a year clear profit per hive is the

very lowest estimate and twenty to thirty hives infringe very little on

one's time. This many colonies may easily be managed by a woman or by

the younger members of the family."

The United States has to import two and a half million pounds of honey

annually, and a half million pounds of beeswax. Will not our bees

work just as cheaply as those in foreign countries? Let us have more

bee-keepers.

HIVES

Little flat-topped white houses varying in height, standing under the

trees in back yards are not an unfamiliar sight to most of us. We say

as we pass on the road, "Those people keep bees," and our mouths begin

to water. But what do the hives look like inside? They are not mere

hollow boxes. Wild bees are content with a hollow tree, but modern

domesticated bees require a special kind of furniture.

The first eaters of honey were simply robbers of the wild bees. When

man began to domesticate bees, and that was so long ago that we cannot

stop to count the centuries, there came to be two sides to the bargain.

In return for a share in their stores he kept them in clean quarters,

provided abundant pasture, protected them from their enemies and from

the weather. The old-fashioned hives were very picturesque affairs; you

see them in pictures, and when you travel in Europe you may see them

still in use. Those skeps do not encourage doing much with the bees

or knowing what is going on in the dark hive. I wonder how the folks

ever got any honey to eat. The modern bee-keeper wants to open his hive

for a good many reasons. He not only wants honey when the bees have an

over-supply, but he wants to know what is doing. He wants to know if

his expensive queen is doing her duty; he wants to know if too many

young queens are being developed; he wants to know if any diseases or

other enemies are present. He therefore must have a hive that permits

frequent and minute inspection of its interior.

"But," said one boy, "I don't intend to open my hives and get stung all

over." Now who expects to get stung all over? There's no denying that

bees sometimes sting, cats often scratch, dogs sometimes bite, goats

butt, cows hook, horses kick, and so on. Some method of self-defence

is their right, and I doubt if we should find bees so interesting if

they did not carry concealed weapons. We certainly respect their rights

as we might not if they were defenceless. A bee sting is uncomfortable

while it lasts, but people afraid of bees get very little sympathy from

me. Rest assured that you will open your hives often and the less said

about being stung the better.

[Illustration: Modern hive, showing parts in their correct order]

If possible examine at a dealer's or at some apiary an empty hive.

Learn the uses and names of the parts. The bottom board represents the

foundation, the brood chamber is the living room, and the supers are

the attic store rooms. The flat cover is the rain-proof roof. The hive

must be a good home for the bees and easily handled by the operator.

The bottom board should not rest directly on the ground because of

dampness, which rots the wood and is not good for the bees. Some use

hive stands, others set the hives on a platform, supported by wooden

blocks or on tiles as illustrated here.

Beehives, like cottages nowadays, must have all the modern

conveniences, and up-to-date furniture. In the brood chamber there are

movable frames into which the bees build the combs where the young are

reared. With the introduction of these movable frames by Langstroth,

fifty years ago, a new era in bee culture began. The furniture of the

second-story rooms consists of rows of little section boxes, empty at

first, but ready to be stored with comb honey. When nectar is plentiful

and the brood-chambers are full to overflowing with honey, the workers

are quick to take the hint and begin to store their surplus in the

section boxes.

You will notice that there is just one entrance to the hive. This

front door is sacred to the occupants. When going among his hives, the

bee-keeper who knows his place keeps to the rear. If you respect their

privacy to this extent, the bees will come out in front, rise, and

sail off above your head without taking the slightest notice of you.

WHAT GOES ON IN THE BROOD CHAMBER?

Bees are the most public-spirited of creatures. They devote their time

to the service of their colony. Their industries are all directed

towards one end: the increase of the number of bees in the world. When

the hive gets too full of bees, the colony divides and a "swarm" is the

result. Thus two colonies are established where there was but one, and

the number of individuals goes on increasing twice as fast.

The honey bee, like its wild cousin the bumble bee, passes through

four changes of form during its development. These are the _egg_, the

_larva_, the _pupa_, and the _adult_. The queen is no ruler, but she

is the mother-bee, and upon her depends the future of the bee colony.

Dealers in bees rear some of her young before selling each queen, in

order to be sure that she has mated with a pure-blooded drone. These

are called tested queens. Their progeny can be depended upon to possess

the good qualities of both parents. If the eggs of fine Italian queens

develop into nervous, lazy, black-coated, and black-tempered workers,

you may safely say, "They take after their father's family." The

egg-laying begins in the spring and at the height of honey harvest the

queen bee may lay as many as three thousand eggs every day. She hurries

over the open comb inserting her body into the empty cells, and leaves

an egg stuck fast at the bottom of each.

The worker bees grow from egg to maturity in small, hexagonal, or

worker cells. Three or four days in the egg, six days as a footless

grub or larva floating serenely in a tiny well of liquid food supplied

her by the nurse bees, twelve days wrapped in a silk coverlet of her

own spinning, the young worker bee passes through her four stages of

growth. At the end of her three weeks some inner impulse tells her to

be up and doing, and she obeys the stern call. She cuts a hole in the

cap of her cell, sheds her skin for the last time (she did this five

or six times during the larval or growing stage), and comes forth.

It takes her about one day to dry her "feathers," adjust herself to

her environment, and "get busy." She finds many little open wells of

unsealed honey, and as nobody pays any attention to her she drinks

her fill. A round of duties await her, and she goes at them without

being told how. She must do nursing, comb-building, cell-capping, and

general housework, and all without the least training. After about a

week of this, the young worker goes out to play, and then to work.

She is young, inexperienced, and self-conceited, and tries to call

attention to herself like any vain young miss. When she brings in her

first load of pollen she fairly swaggers with importance. Mr. Root

says, "Her first load of pollen is just what the first pair of pants is

to a boy baby."

When a bee is a month old, she is in the prime of life. Three or four

months of hard work in summer means old age for the workers, but in the

bee colony there is no such thing as an old ladies' home. With their

wings worn to stumps, their once velvety backs rubbed shiny, they may

be seen creeping away from the hive to die, having given their very

lives in willing and faithful service of the commonwealth.

Of the unexplained wonders of the development of queens and drones, the

mystery of the laying workers, and the other many and varied activities

of the hive, we cannot tell much in detail here. Your own book on

bee-keeping and larger books of reference will be mines of information.

But there are undiscovered North Poles in the bee world, and the young

bee-keepers of to-day may be the Greeleys and the Pearys and the

Shackletons of this new-old science.

SWARMING

Did you ever wonder why bees swarm? They have no regular dates for

doing things. Although they have been known to swarm in May, and even

in April, you are not likely to get a swarm before June. Early swarms

are the most valuable, therefore you should be ready, for bees are

like time and tide. Have the hive fitted with frames and keep it in a

cool place. Bees swarm to increase the number of colonies. The date of

swarming depends on local conditions and nobody can tell but the bees

themselves, and they won't, what these conditions are exactly. If there

are too many bees, too much honey stored, thousands of workers hatching

daily, many young queens ready to emerge, the bees are likely to swarm.

The bee-keeper is on the lookout after he knows the signs and can guess

pretty shrewdly whether the swarm will be out in a few days or later.

He gets his apparatus together and his hives ready. Bees often "hang

out" on the outside of the hive, and we used to think that was a "sure

sign," but it often fails.

It is the old queen that leaves the hive, but the bees that go out

with her are a mixture of young and old ones. No one knows how the

decision is made as to who shall go and who shall stay behind, but

there is never any indecision in the community that we can reckon with.

Some hot Sunday you will be roused from your book by the excited

cry: "The bees! Look, there they go! The air's full of them. They're

swarming. I'll bet they get away. No, they're settling." Meantime, if

you are the boy who owns the bees, you are getting ready to hive your

first swarm.

It's no joke, for thrills will be chasing up your spine, and if you

didn't have so much to do you would be as excited as the rest. But

success may depend on your keeping cool. You have probably already

instructed the family in modern methods so that no one will be raising

a din by beating an old wash boiler, etc. If you have a garden hose

handy, let some one play a fine spray on the whirling bees. Nothing

brings them to time more quickly. When the bees have settled, place the

hive conveniently near them, with a sheet or hive cover in front. Cut

the branch on which the bees are clustered and shake them off into or

in front of the hive. If well disposed they will go in promptly.

If high trees and no shrubbery is the rule in the vicinity of your

hives, you will probably need your long-handled swarm-catcher. Or you

will very soon begin the practice of clipping the wings of your queens.

When the clipped queen brings out a swarm she hops about near the hive.

She may climb into a shrub if one is near by. Why not provide her with

a still more convenient forked stick as some bee-keepers do? She climbs

up this, calls her family together, and you do the rest. You may prefer

to capture the queen in your little queen trap, and place her at the

entrance to a new hive which you should place on the stand where the

old hive was. The bees will return to their old location when they

discover that the queen is not with them. The new hive will receive

them and the queen when released will go in with her family. If the

bees refuse to stay in the new hive, it may be because the hive is too

hot. Prop up both hive and cover to allow extra ventilation.

MAKING APPARATUS

While I do not advise any amateur bee-keeper to try to construct his

own hives and frames, I do think it is a fine idea to begin right away

to study how to improve the appliances now in use. You will have to

discard many of your own ideas as useless when you come to try to

apply them to practical use. There are lots of patented appliances for

sale that make an experienced bee-keeper smile. He undoubtedly knows

a clever boy at home who can rig up a home-made contraption that will

cost nothing at all, and do the work better than the expensive tool. A

boy that keeps bees will find a knowledge of tools and wood-working of

great advantage to him, and a girl's deft fingers will know how to put

materials together that a professional would never think of.

In this connection I will here describe a swarm-catcher, devised by

a practical bee-keeper many years ago and recommended by an expert

in Apiculture of the United States Department of Agriculture. The

construction is so simple that I believe I could make one myself!

Though home-made, it is interesting to see how thoroughly scientific

are the essential features of this device, all based on a knowledge of

bee instincts.

This description is adapted from an article by Dr. B. N. Gates in one

of the annual reports of the Maryland Bee-Keepers' Association. The

accompanying drawing was made from a picture of the swarm-catcher in

the same report. The apparatus consists of a box with one end open and

supported on a pole. The materials required are nails, a large wire

hook, some thin boards, and two or three poles of different lengths.

A saw, a bit and brace, and a hammer are the only tools required for

making it.

[Illustration: Swarm-catcher that works like magic. Any handy boy can

make it]

It is bee nature to try to get into some small hole. To take advantage

of this instinct the five sides of the swarm-catcher are perforated

with holes about one half an inch in diameter. While the framework of

the box should be light, it should also be strong and the materials

good so that the swarm-catcher will last for years.

A convenient size has been found to be eight by eight by sixteen. A

hole to fit the size of the poles should be bored in the centre of the

top and one at the bottom. The big wire hook should be screwed into the

top far enough from the centre so that it will not be interfered with

by the projecting end of the pole. A slot should be cut lengthwise of

the top, sufficiently large to allow a frame of honey-comb to be put

in so that it hangs down inside to attract the bees. This honey bait

is essential to the successful working of the swarm-catcher. You can

devise other ways of suspending it to the top inside of the box. It is

thought that a coat of green paint on the outside and one of black on

the inside induces the bees to enter the box more readily.

A swarm-catcher like this cuts out all the loss of time and danger of

losing a valuable swarm of bees while preparations to hive them are

going on. And you can practically catch a swarm anywhere with this

device. If they light on a stone wall, a tree trunk, or on the ground,

you simply brush a pint or so of them into the box, stick the sharp

lower end of the pole into the ground near by, and go off and leave

them to go in at their leisure. A whiff or so of smoke is needed when

you first go up before beginning to wield the brush.

For swarms hanging in the ordinary way from limbs of trees or vines,

while the bees are clustering, take a frame from one of the hives and

hang it in the swarm-catcher. It is best to take a comb containing

developing brood and some honey. This forms a well-nigh irresistible

lure for the swarming bees. One look at the pendant mass of bees will

tell you what length of pole you need in the box. Put on your veil and

gloves and hoist the box up into the tree. Put the open end of the box

up against the mass of bees and get as many of them into it or onto it

as possible. Catch the branch with the hook on the box and give it a

vigorous shaking. This unsettles the rest of the bees and they will be

attracted instinctively to follow the rest into the box where the brood

cells are. Once the bees are safely clustered in and on the box there

is no rush about hiving them. They are safe to be left hanging by the

hook within ten feet or so of their original clustering place or with

the pole stuck in the ground near by. They are secure there for hours,

even for days, but one usually has time to hive them the same day. The

swarm should not be left in the hot sun.

Hiving is done in the usual way. After the hive is prepared with combs

or foundation, shake the bees from the swarm-catcher either into or in

front of the hive. With large swarms it is advisable to prop the hive

body up slightly from the bottom board to enlarge the entrance. The

"marching in" is a wonderful sight.

An established colony of bees cannot be moved five feet without

causing them confusion. Before the newly hived bees have had time to

locate themselves and set to work at honey gathering, the hive should

be moved to its permanent location. It is not safe to delay longer than

twilight of the day they are hived. When once they get a location fixed

they return to it and are lost.

If they refuse to be reconciled in a new hive, put in a frame of young

brood from some other hive and try them again. They seldom desert an

obvious duty like the caring for young.

OPENING THE HIVE

The modern art of bee-keeping was made possible by the invention of the

hive with movable frames. Some of the many reasons for opening the hive

are:

1. To take off honey.

2. To see if enough honey has been stored for winter.

3. To find the queen.

4. To introduce a new queen.

5. To examine the brood.

Before opening the hive know just what you are going to look for. Get

the smoker well going; shavings, punk, excelsior, or chips crowded in

make a good smudge; you want much smoke and little fire. Put on your

bee veil. For a greeting, blow a little smoke in at the entrance of

the hive you are going to open. Loosen the cover which you will find

to be glued tight with propolis by the bees. A dull putty knife or

screw-driver is a good tool for this job. As fast as you unseal the

cracks, blow smoke into them. At this juncture it is well to close the

hive for a few minutes to give the bees time to "think it over." The

better the grade of bees the less smoke is required. Take your time.

Keep your nerve steady and the smoker handy. Loosen the frames and take

them out one by one. In order to see what is going on in the frames

you must clear off the bees. Do this in such a way that you will not

endanger the queen if she should be on the frame. Poke the bees off

so that they fall bewildered back into the hive. Set the frame down

against the outside of the hive and take out another.

There are cells of three sizes in the brood combs. Queen cells are

large, standing out from the surface of the comb quite prominently.

The drone and worker closely resemble one another, but the drone cells

are the larger. Honey is stored in both drone and worker cells. If you

wish to destroy the queen cells to prevent swarming you will find it

a ticklish job, even with a sharp, slender knife, not to ruin a lot of

comb.

[Illustration: Drone and queen trap at hive entrance]

It is often important to locate the queen. If you wish to clip her

wings, find her you must. She is usually near the middle of the hive,

surrounded by her court, a rosette of workers. She is quite different

in shape from the workers. It is well to study her picture before going

to look for her. A queen's wings are not much to cut, but you will need

a steady nerve if you do it free hand. Many devices are to be had to

make the operation less difficult and to insure safety to the rest of

the queen. The danger is all to her, for although she is armed she will

not sting you. She reserves her sting for some rival in her own class.

Harvesting any crop has interesting features, but nothing has the

peculiar charm of taking off honey. Loosen the cover, puff in a little

smoke, lift the cover, then the whole super off. Put on a new super

and replace the cover. Have your bee brush ready and as you lift the

fitted sections out of the super, brush the bees that cling to them

down to the entrance to the hive. This is the old way and is fraught

with dangers. Moreover, the bees may regard one robbery as sufficient

excuse for another. Robbery is a serious matter in the apiary. The

modern way is to use the Porter bee-escape. This device obviates all

the difficulties and once you have "got the hang of it," you will have

no further trouble getting honey from your hives.

STINGS: PREVENTION AND CURE

The bee mittens, the veil, and the smoker are all preventive measures.

A good deal depends on the way you behave when working with bees. If

you are nervous and anxious you probably will act that way and the bees

have a way of understanding and are likely to find you.

Remove the sting by a scraping motion with a knife blade or some hive

tool you happen to have handy. If you use the thumb and finger you

squeeze the tiny bulb at the outer end of the sting, and inject the

poison into your blood.

Experts have little or no faith in cures which are rubbed on. They

underestimate the comfort one gets "doing something" for a spot that

hurts so mighty bad. So go ahead and put on alcohol or baking soda or

ammonia; you can't do a bit of harm that way. In the meantime nature is

busy neutralizing the acid the bee punished you with.

Mrs. Comstock, in "How to Keep Bees," gives these maxims for opening

the hive:

Have the smoker ready to give forth a good volume of smoke.

Use the smoker to scare the bees rather than to punish them.

Do not stand in front of the hive lest the bees passing out and in take

umbrage.

Be careful not to drop any implements with which you are working; take

hold of all things firmly.

Move steadily and not nervously.

Do not run if frightened, for the bees understand what running away

means as well as you do.

If the bees attack you, move slowly away, smoking them off as you go.

If a bee annoys you by her threatening attitude for some time, kill her

ruthlessly.

WINTERING

Before buying your hives you must decide where your bees are to winter.

If you have a suitable shelter you can use the ordinary hives; but

if your bees are to winter outside, you may decide that you want the

great chaff-packed, double hives. As the summer wanes every hive must

be examined to make sure that the colony is strong and that the supply

of honey is not short. If the season has been a bad one for flowers,

or if the region provides few blossoming fields it may be necessary

to feed the bees. Special directions are needed and any bee book will

supply them. A strong swarm, supplied with twenty-five pounds to

thirty-five pounds of honey, will winter without serious loss in a

chaff hive. Other protection than that afforded by a good windbreak is

unnecessary. In our furnace-heated houses no part of the cellar is cool

enough all the time for the bees. The temperature should not go above

forty-eight degrees Fahr., nor below forty degrees; forty-three degrees

is considered just right. Sudden changes are bad for bees.

[Illustration: Beehive covered with newspapers and waterproof paper for

wintering outdoors]

Many experienced bee-keepers winter their colonies successfully

outdoors with home-made protection. The ordinary hives, with the covers

on but with the supers off, of course, are put into winter quarters

in this way: Fold seven or eight thicknesses of newspaper over the top

of the cover and sides. Make a neat job of this as if you intended to

send the box by mail. Use a few tacks if needed. Over this fold a large

piece of tar or other waterproof paper. There is a right way to fold

the ends of this outer wrapper, and a wrong way. The illustration shows

the right way. If the paper is brought down from the top first and

round the ends from the sides over that (the wrong way), pockets will

be formed which hold snow and water. Nail thin pieces of wood on to

hold the folds securely. The entrance to the hive should not be closed

as bees come out more or less on warm days in winter. Be sure that the

entrance is always free from dead bees.

Another way to protect hives from the cold when wintering outside is

to construct a packing case three and a half inches bigger in all

dimensions than the hive. Set one of these down over each hive and pack

the space between hive and case with any kind of dry packing material,

such as shavings, sawdust, cork chips, dry leaves. Any of these

materials used wet would do more harm than good. Some sort of shelf or

projection should be so placed over the entrance as to keep it open as

with other forms of winter protection.

FEEDING

In the spring, bees need water. If the tree blossoms are late in coming

out, sirup is often fed to the bees to give them a start. Patented

feeding devices are not necessary. A flat tin pan works admirably. The

best sirup for all purposes is plain granulated sugar and water, made

cold. Stir in all the sugar that the water will hold. Fill the feeding

pan with excelsior first, then sirup, and place it in the super. Little

ladders leading up to the top of the pan will help the bees get at the

sirup.

Feeding is also practised in the fall if the amount of stored honey is

short. The feeding of honey is likely to start the bees to robbing.

Under no circumstances should "market" honey be fed to bees. Diseases

are transmitted by this practice.

PLANTS THAT FURNISH HONEY OR POLLEN OR BOTH

gill-over-the-ground }

shadbush }

tulip tree }

willow }

grape }

sorrel } spring.

elm }

maple }

dandelion }

hawthorn }

red bud }

fruit trees }

clovers (cultivated) }

alfalfa }

wild sweet clover }

raspberry }

bee-balm }

blueberry }

chestnut }

corn } summer.

fig-wort }

locust }

basswood }

catnip }

horse mint }

mustard }

sage }

sumach }

buckwheat }

spider flower }

sunflowers }

fireweed }

smartweed } fall.

milk-weed }

golden-rod }

aster }

rape }

THE PRODUCTS OF THE HIVE

Besides honey, bees make use of wax to construct combs, bee-bread for

larvæ food, and propolis for glue. If you think the bees gather honey

from the flowers you are greatly mistaken. Nobody knows yet quite how

honey is made. Chemists say that it has in it water, grape sugar, a

little formic acid, some mineral matter, albuminoids, and essential

oils. But this list leaves us little the wiser. No chemist has been

able to combine these materials into honey. The nectar gathered by bees

passes directly into a receptacle, the honey-sack or honey-stomach,

which is used for that purpose only. It does not go the same road

as the bee's food. The notion that bees swallow the nectar and then

unswallow it is as erroneous as it is unappetizing. The flavour, body,

and colour of honey depend on the source of the nectar, the age, the

amount of chemical change wrought by the bees, and the completeness of

the ripening process which goes on in the hive before the cells are

capped. Honey is a very wholesome sweet, far more easily digested than

cane or grape sugar.

If the making of honey is mysterious, what can we say of wax

production? In the height of the honey season we can watch the bees

making wax through a glass-sided hive. Mrs. Comstock says: "A certain

number of self-elected citizens gorge themselves with honey and hang

up in chains or curtains, each bee clinging by her front feet to the

hind feet of the one above her, like Japanese acrobats; and there

they remain sometimes for two days until the wax scales appear pushed

out from every pocket." Sometimes a honey-and pollen-laden bee will

come home from pasture with flakes of wax exuding from the wax plates

on her abdomen. But this happens only when wax is needed for comb

making. At other times no amount of honey gorging will produce a scrap

of wax. Does this not hint at mystery and something higher than mere

intelligence?

You would think in such a perfectly organized community there would be

something like specialization. Such appears not to be the case. All the

workers seem to do all the different kinds of things. Let us say a bee

goes out and gets a load of honey the first thing in the morning. When

she comes in she goes to the comb to deposit her honey, then to the

brood cells where she combs the pollen off her legs into a cell where

it is stored to feed the young bees later. Perhaps she sees in passing

some cells which need capping, does that, then away to gorge herself

with honey and make wax, then builds her own or her neighbour's wax

onto the comb. If the day is hot it may occur to her and a thousand

others to construct a living fan and keep the air stirring inside the

hive by waving their wings. In a system like this there is no resting,

no play, no shirking, no specializing. There is always work to do and

always somebody doing it with a will in the perfect socialism.

Many boys and girls of these days are fortunate in having had at school

an observation hive. No bee-keeper will be long without one if he has

any curiosity about what is going on in the dark hive, or if he is

ambitious to solve some of the mysteries. An ordinary hive can be made

into a good observation hive by putting a pane of glass in the sides

and top. There should be hinged doors to fit tightly over the glass. A

two-frame hive devised by Prof. V. L. Kellogg has both sides of glass

so that the whole domestic economy of the bee family can readily be

observed.

DISEASES AND ENEMIES

You will not be in the bee business long before you learn that bees

have diseases and enemies. In fact, it is better to face that fact

at the beginning and learn how to recognize and combat the troubles.

Carelessness along this line is inexcusable and will surely cause

failure. Several states have official inspectors whose business it is

to know bee diseases and methods of controlling them. He is required

to inspect apiaries where diseases are suspected, and the best thing to

do is to interest him in your work and get all the help from him you

can. An ounce of prevention will save a pound of cure, every time.

If there is a Bee-Keepers' Association in your county, by all means

join it and help make it a live, active organization. The United States

Department of Agriculture can give you much needed information as to

who the men are in your locality who are officers in the associations

and official inspectors.

MARKETING HONEY

The best honey market is the home market as I have said. You may have

to work up a demand in your neighbourhood and there are many ways to do

this which ingenious boys and girls will devise. Most of us, if we can

afford to use honey at all, know it only as a "spread" for hot biscuits

or griddle cakes. But not every one knows that honey is a very much

more wholesome sweet than cane sugar. Many people cannot eat sugar at

all, but find honey does not cause indigestion. If you could persuade

your neighbours to buy your honey for their children instead of candy,

"all-day-suckers" coloured with cheap dyes, and sirups made of nobody

knows what, you would be doing something worth while.

Honey is used in cooking too, in many ways. Get your mother or sister

interested in trying some receipts in which honey takes the place of

sugar. If you make a success of this you can get other people to making

honey cakes, thus creating a demand for your product.

One enterprising chap made a great success by first going from

house to house and giving away samples of his honey. He also left a

self-addressed postal card with prices and order blank printed on one

side, and nine out of ten of the people he called on sent orders. It

seemed a pity to waste a good postal card and everybody likes to help a

bright boy along; and beside they wanted the honey! It might be well to

have a little pamphlet telling about your honey and of the many uses it

may be put to, with a receipt for honey cake, perhaps. You will get a

reputation, if you try, for pure products, neat packages and courteous

dealings. As your output increases from year to year your market will

grow, until you, like the boy we mentioned at the beginning of this

chapter, have a business worth at least a thousand dollars.

MY EXPERIENCE WITH HONEY BEES

It was just by chance that I ever got started in keeping bees. There

were several boys about my size in the neighbourhood at my home and we

used to go swimming and play ball together. One fine spring day a few

of us were walking down the road toward the swimming pool when we found

a swarm of bees on a fence post. One of the fellows knew how to hive

the swarm, so we got a box from the store and watched while he got the

bees into it. It was the first time that I had seen a swarm hived and

the performance proved very interesting to me.

I bought that swarm in the old box for seventy-five cents, very well

satisfied with the bargain, for of course the box would be full of

honey in a short time!

The colony was placed upon a bench in the front yard. One night the old

bull got out and upset the bench. The bees were ready to sting anything

next day. I bundled up until I was sting proof and then got them

straightened up. The combs were broken which gave the bees a setback

from which they did not recover. I did not get any honey from them and

they died out in the winter.

An old bee-keeper who lived near us gave me two swarms the next spring.

One of them left the hive and flew to the woods and the other was weak

and died. It began to seem as though bees were hard to keep. I got a

book called "A B C of Bee Culture," and read it. I soon learned that

bees should be kept in movable frame hives so they could be easily

handled.

I had no bees now, but, although we were laughed at, my father and I

entered into a partnership. He furnished the hives and implements and

I furnished the bees and labour. We were to divide profits equally. We

bought two hives, a smoker, and a bee veil. I caught one swarm in the

woods and bought another. They were both late swarms and died in the

winter.

Success was still far off and things did not look very bright, but I

had learned how not to do lots of things. The two hives we had were not

the best, so we sold them and bought five of a different kind for the

next spring. The outlay was large and no profits, but I was determined

to succeed.

In the spring I caught a swarm early in the season and it made a few

pounds of surplus honey which we used at home. During the latter part

of August my chum and I were out squirrel hunting and he found a swarm

that had built combs on the limb of a large tree. We got it into a hive

and I bought his share of the swarm. This colony needed feeding, so I

fed it on sugar and water. Both colonies lived through the winter and

made a strong start in the spring. Each gave a swarm and I caught both.

The book and the old bee-keeper taught me that Italian bees were

better than the wild bees, so I invested in two Italian queens which

I got by mail from a queen breeder. I killed the old queens in two

of the colonies and introduced the new ones. They did some good work

that summer and lived through the winter. The next spring I had two

colonies of black or wild bees and two of Italians. The blacks together

made about twenty pounds of surplus honey, while the two Italians

made nearly two hundred pounds. This showed me that there was a great

difference in bees. Each colony swarmed once, making eight in all.

We had now made a success and the business was on a good footing even

after four years of failure. That last honey crop was worth about

thirty dollars, and the bees and hives were worth about forty-five

dollars. We were encouraged.

That fall I was sixteen years old and had decided to go to college.

The president of the agricultural college in this state offered me a

chance to work my way through college by taking charge of the bees on

the college farm. I gladly accepted it and sold my bees at home.

Life at college was very different from home life, but the bees always

furnished a source of pleasure and recreation during my spare moments

on week days and on Saturdays. In the summer months I either worked

with the government bee-men or for the college.

The bees have not only given me lots of pleasure, but they have made it

possible for me to pay my entire tuition and expenses for five years

at college. Besides studying and attending to my bees, I have had time

for much other fun, and this year I made the 'varsity football team and

played in every game.

Some people think that the honey is not worth the stings, but my advice

is to get a colony and try your hand.

SYDNEY S. STABBLER

HOW I EARNED TWO HUNDRED DOLLARS

I had helped with the bees more or less all my life, so that I already

knew how to handle them when my high school course was broken into by

illness and I had an enforced vacation of one year and a half. I was

able at this time to devote to the bees one full season, that is, from

April through July.

My father allowed me the use of bees, hives, combs, etc., for queen

rearing. The queens I sold for seventy-five cents and one dollar each,

according to the grade. To my father I furnished one hundred queens

at the reduced price of fifty cents each as rent for the bees, hives,

etc. I had about ninety nuclei of two frames each. During the swarming

season I used a good many natural cells from the better colonies. Later

I used artificial, dipped cells which I made myself. In the latter case

I took larvæ from the very best queens in the apiary and placed the

cells in queenless colonies to be developed, or sometimes in colonies

which were superseding their queens. When the cells were nearly ready

to hatch they were placed in the nuclei where the young queens remained

until they commenced laying, when they were ready for sale.

Altogether I made a little over one hundred dollars that season. I was

then eighteen years old and determined to go to college. Two years

later I began my studies at the University of California, working for

my board in a private family and drawing from the one hundred dollars

for incidentals. Clothing I had received at home and had made myself

for the most part.

The San Francisco earthquake occurred on the eighteenth of April, in

the spring of my freshman year, and college was closed immediately, so

that I was able to enter again into the queen rearing business. That

season I sent out advertising cards to the members of the California

Bee-Keepers' Association and sold nearly all my queens to them. The

financial result was nearly the same as for the former season.

So in all I made about two hundred dollars, which paid for the

incidentals during three years of my college career which is as

far as I have gone. By "incidentals" I mean books, paper, and such

necessities, also subscriptions to the college daily paper, class and

association dues, tickets to college jinks, theatricals, games, etc. I

also spent a good deal for tickets to concerts, plays, etc., as that

was my first opportunity to hear the great musicians and actors and I

considered that a part of my education.

FLORA MCINTYRE

PROFITS OF BEE-KEEPING

I have been asked to tell something of my early experiences as a

bee-keeper, for boys and girls who may become interested in this very

fascinating, and, I may say at the same time, profitable, pursuit.

I think it may be said of bee-keeping as sailors say of seafaring--once

a bee-keeper always a bee-keeper.

I should like to tell you in a few words what can be expected from a

dozen and a half hives of bees with an average of one and one half

days a week spent in the apiary. I believe really, though, that when I

began keeping bees it was not because I expected to make much money.

The whole story of the bee life, as read from different books which I

secured after becoming interested, was so wonderful and fascinating

that I could hardly wait until spring so that I might study the two

hives acquired through the winter. That first spring and summer there

were only those old box hives, which could not be opened for inside

study, and all observations had to be confined to watching the bees

from the outside. The next summer some modern hives that could be taken

apart and every nook and corner laid open to observation were bought.

In the fall I was very fortunate in securing eighteen colonies of bees

at an auction sale, paying therefor only fifty cents a colony, much

to my satisfaction and my neighbours' amusement. Most of the hives

were frame, but of an undesirable sort of frame. The next summer these

colonies were transferred to up-to-date hives. That summer, and for the

next succeeding six summers, these colonies did not fail to yield on

an average about seventy dollars' worth of honey and wax. Counting out

winter losses the number of colonies per year would average twelve, the

number of pounds of honey about three hundred and seventy-five, worth

twenty cents a pound. The bees received only a small part of my time

each day.

Later, when a student at the Ohio State University, as manager of

the apiary there, about the same results were obtained, so that an

average of about five dollars a hive is a conservative estimate. If

one begins in a small way, in a few years he should be able to manage

one hundred colonies. But it should be remembered that the yield per

hive may decrease somewhat as the number of colonies increases, because

of the danger of launching in the business on a large scale. The best

insurance against loss is a thorough study and understanding of all the

details by the practice of bee-keeping on a small scale for a term of

years first.

I may say that the income from the bees aided not a little in helping

me through college, and I may say, also, without exaggeration that

this interest in bees by one enthusiastic student helped in no small

degree toward the inauguration of a course in bee-keeping at our own

Ohio State University. To make the story complete I think I should add

that the writer of this article is at present engaged as assistant in

apiculture, doing experimental work in apiculture in the government

apiaries at Washington, D. C.

There is opportunity for those who wish to take up some problem

relating to apiculture as a subject of investigation, and the

agricultural colleges and experiment stations will no doubt in the

future give more and more attention to the investigation of problems

related to this interesting and profitable pursuit.

ARTHUR H. MCCRAY

VIII

RAISING SILKWORMS

Although silkworms are not actually reared in the open air, there is so

much outdoor work and moderate exercise connected with their care that

the subject may properly be included in a book on outdoor work.

The best food for silkworms is the leaf of the white mulberry. If you

have already a hedge of this or several trees you can begin at once.

If not, several years must elapse while you raise your preliminary

crop of mulberry trees from seeds or cuttings. It is useless to buy

silkworm eggs if you have not the wherewithal to feed your infant

caterpillars. You may not think of going into silkworm rearing in a

commercial way but only as an interesting bit of nature study. Why not

make up some neat attractive cases, each containing a little collection

illustrating the four stages of the growth of this insect? Heat a few

eggs to destroy life, then glue them to a card; preserve a caterpillar

in a vial of alcohol; glue a cocoon to a card; pin and spread two of

the moths, a male and a female, and pin them into the box. From such

a box school children will get a far more definite idea of insect

metamorphosis than they will ever get from a book on zoölogy. Such

little collections ought to sell well in schools where nature study,

zoölogy, or agriculture is taught.

The mulberry silkworm makes the best silk, although it is by no means

the only silk-spinning insect. Every now and then we read of some one

who is experimenting with the silk of our American or giant silkworms,

the _Promethea_ or the _Cecropia_, or with the silk spun by spiders.

But none as yet compares with _Bombyx mori_ in either quantity or

quality of its product or in ease of rearing or in reeling of the silk.

The adult moth lays between three and seven hundred eggs during the

first three days after she emerges from her cocoon. In a week or ten

days she dies, her work finished. Moths in the wild state are at some

pains to deposit their eggs on the favourite food plant of their young,

but in the case of _Bombyx mori_ this instinct has been lost in the

countless years of domestication. The eggs, when laid, are moist with

a sort of glue which secures them to the surface upon which they are

deposited. The winter is passed in the egg stage. A cool, dry place is

safest for them, where no sudden changes of temperature are possible.

A steady temperature of thirty-five degrees is ideal, and they must

be enclosed in something that is mouse proof, though not air-tight. A

perforated tin box is right for this purpose. Silkworm eggs for study

may be obtained from dealers in miscellaneous insects, birds, animals,

etc.

As spring approaches you must watch the mulberry leaves and make your

preparations. Any room in which temperature and ventilation can be

regulated will serve for rearing silkworms. You should have some racks

made of lattice work, and shelves, open to the air, on which to place

them. I have seen a clothes-horse, with racks resting upon the rungs,

used for this. A supply of cheap wrapping paper or newspapers should

be on hand to put on the shelves, and some coarse netting, the use of

which will be described later. Do not make the mistake of getting too

many eggs. An ounce does not seem like very much, but the well-grown

worms from an ounce of eggs ought to have at least seventy-five square

yards of shelf space. They will require during the first six days

only eleven pounds of leaves, six meals a day, but during the eight

days just before spinning they will require over half a ton of food.

Imagine lugging in two hundred weight of fresh mulberry leaves five

times a day to feed these ravenous things so dependent upon you!

[Illustration: Movable frame and light shelves for feeding silkworms]

Warmth and moisture are required for hatching the eggs. As the spring

advances and the mulberry shows signs of putting forth its leaves, the

silkworm eggs should be spread thinly on sheets of paper on the shelves

in a temperature of about fifty-five degrees Fahr. The temperature

should be increased after three or four days and gradually raised to

seventy-three degrees Fahr. Sprinkle the floor to make the air moist,

but do not wet the eggs. At this temperature hatching will take place

after about ten days' time. Watch the eggs. When they begin to whiten

you must get to work, as the first worms will soon be out. Take two

thicknesses of coarse tulle or bobinet cut the size of the racks. Chop

some young, tender mulberry leaves very fine. Scatter a thin layer of

these bits over the cloth and lightly lay it over the hatching eggs.

No sooner do the young silkworms become aware of the presence of their

favourite vegetable than they make their way to it, coming up through

the holes of the bobinet as easily as "rolling off a log." They are

tiny creatures. Eight of them laid end to end would hardly measure an

inch. As hatching usually takes place in the morning, by ten o'clock

the worms will all have crawled through the netting to the leaves on

the upper layer of the net. This can now be transferred to the rearing

shelf. The netting should be kept well stretched, as the worms may

be injured if buried down amongst the leaf bits. All through life

silkworms must be handled with extreme care. If necessary to lift any

individual from one shelf to another it should be done with tenderest

touch. Rough treatment is fatal.

[Illustration: A clothes-horse fitted with racks for feeding silkworms]

For young worms the newly opened leaves are the best. As they grow

older their tastes change and the more mature leaves may be given. A

quantity of leaves may be gathered at one time and kept fresh. The

leaves themselves should never be put into water. Prepare the food

by removing the foliage you intend to feed from the stems. Then chop

or cut it into fine shreds. Six times a day a small quantity of the

prepared leaf should be sprinkled lightly over the netting.

Like other caterpillars, silkworms shed their skins at certain

intervals. The six-day period between hatching and the first moult

is called "the first age." On the fourth day it is best to change

the beds, as the droppings from the worms and the litter of uneaten

leaves are not healthy for the moulting caterpillars. Spread fresh

leaves on nets and place over the worms in the evening. By morning all

will be ready for the clean shelf and doubled space. As the sixth day

approaches, the worms lose appetite and cease to move about. Finally

the skin whitens, the head seems to grow larger, and each little

creature pulls himself out of his old skin and finds himself clad in a

new suit. I imagine he must feel very much as a boy does when on the

first really warm day in April his mother allows him to shed his winter

underwear, get his hair cut short, and wear his summer blouse and

knickers.

The young worm, however, does not feel very lively at first. No food

should be given for several hours. When signs of waking are evident,

food should be given and the worms transferred to clean shelves by

means of the nets. On the third day they should be changed to fresh

papers. Four meals a day are needed by the caterpillars at this time.

The second age is shorter than the first, being only four or five days.

The skin now changes in colour from gray to yellowish white. After the

second moult their food need not be cut much, but they require a lot of

it, as they should double their size during the third age, which lasts

six or seven days. If the weather is pretty warm their development is

faster. They should never be crowded nor allowed to go hungry. Always

change to clean shelves when the dead leaves and excrement become the

least offensive. This odour, which you can escape by leaving the room,

may be deadly to your pets. They are helpless to escape it, and are

entirely at your mercy.

During the fourth age, _i. e._, after the third moult, give more space

and feed small branches with leaves on. Always remove every berry from

the mulberry branches or the worms will eat them and be made sick.

Their appetites are enormous, their growth rapid. Change the beds four

times during this period of nine days.

[Illustration: A rack or ladder for silkworms to spin on]

After the fourth moult the worms pass into the last age. Five or six

days of voracious feeding brings them near that most dramatic event

in their lives--the cocoon spinning. For three days, now, instead

of eating steadily they wander aimlessly about, as if seeking they

know not what; they wag their heads; they behave in an altogether

restless and uncertain way. Is it some mortal ailment or mere

"weakness of intellect?" You are expecting this and have prepared

for it beforehand. They will not need to search long for a place to

mount and spin in safety and security their cocoon of shining silvery

silk. Farmers' Bulletin, No. 165, recommends the use of small, clean,

leafless brush tied together into bundles and fastened between the

shelves in rows a foot or so apart. Some use a sort of rack or ladder

of narrow strips of wood which should be placed upright on the shelf

where the worms can easily find it. They spin between the slats. Any

worms which seem not to be ready to spin with the others should be fed

until they, too, feel the impulse to travel.

As the process of spinning takes some hours, there will be no

difficulty in observing it from start to finish. You are entitled to

this exhibition, for, without your constant care and feeding, these

creatures would not have been able to develop. The dull, inactive

silkworm has acquired wonderful agility, and without practice is able

to weave himself into his sleeping bag with astonishing celerity,

reeling out his twelve hundred or sixteen hundred yards of silk in one

continuous thread. There are no knots or kinks in it. It is inaccurate

as well as rather silly to refer to the cocoon as a shroud or burial

casket, as some do. The creature inside is just as much alive as ever

it was.

The cocoons with the live pupæ inside are called green cocoons. To

prepare them for market they are usually subjected to heat either in

the oven or by steaming. No water should touch the cocoons, neither

should the oven be hot enough to brown them. After heating they should

be dried in the sun or other heat. Open one when you think they may be

dry; if they are, the pupæ inside can be rubbed into powder with the

fingers. A good price per pound is paid for dried cocoons, but it takes

five hundred or more to weigh a pound.

If you have never seen a moth emerge from its cocoon you should keep

several of your cocoons. In eighteen or twenty days the moth comes out,

usually in early morning. Invite your friends to have a look, too. Must

the moth break the threads in getting out, or is the cocoon woven in

a manner to provide a gateway when it shall be needed? How does the

creature get out anyway, and what is it like when it first arrives in

the open? Wonderful happenings must have been going on inside to make

a winged moth out of that naked caterpillar. Something left in the

cocoon rattles when you shake it. Examine the dried ball and you will

recognize in it the cast-off clothes, hat, coat, socks, and boots that

he had on when he shut himself in. There, too, is the brown shell he

wore as a pupa. You may think you know these things by reading about

them, but you do not, really. Hearsay is not the real thing in any

realm of life, least of all in the realm of nature.

IX

MAKING COLLECTIONS

PLANTS

Collecting plants has always been an important feature of practical

scientific work. Great sums of money and many years of time have been

spent in searching through little-explored countries for new plants.

Agents of many governments, representatives of great nursery companies

of this and other countries are all the time looking, looking, often

at the cost of the greatest hardship, for new plants. Why is this? Not

as you will readily conclude, merely to add new specimens to museum

collections, nor merely to find and name a new species, though some

collectors are in the field for these purely scientific reasons.

But our Department of Agriculture is on the lookout for new plants

from foreign parts which will be commercially valuable to us. Our

enterprising nurserymen are after the same game. At the present time

very great interest is being taken in plants from western China, a

vast and little-explored region. Strangely enough, the plants from

that far away country seem to be peculiarly fitted to thrive here, and

while the government and the nurserymen are telling the people about

these new plants, the botanists are trying to discover the reasons why

Asiatic plants fit our conditions better than the plants of Europe seem

to.

The making of collections of plants, then, is a big, important work,

and well worth the while of any boy or girl. If you would read

stories of exciting adventures, narrow escapes, thrilling encounters

amid romantic surroundings, read some of the accounts of scientific

explorations. The collectors of plants and insects in the Philippines,

Central Asia, little-known islands of the far East, and such "wild

nations," must needs be men of valour, and to know any one of them is a

liberal education.

Making a collection of plants is probably not the best way to arouse

an interest in outdoor life. Indeed it was made such a deadly dull

business for me that my early interest was entirely "nipped in the bud"

and lay dormant many, many years. Collecting is one of the recognized

and useful ways of introducing ourselves to our neighbours of the

vegetable kingdom. Living in a plant-infested world as we are elected

to do, eating plants, wearing their products, utilizing them in all

our arts, buying and selling them daily, unable to get through an hour

of the day without being constantly reminded of our entire dependence

upon the members of the vegetable kingdom, what is more natural than

that we should wish to know them? To know their names is not the end

and aim of plant study. The name is a convenient handle for a plant.

It enables you to talk about the plant to others without the necessity

of a lengthy description. It enables you to read understandingly what

other students have said about the plant in books. It is only the

beginning, like the introduction to a stranger. To make of a stranger a

friend, you must know something of his family, of his relation to the

rest of the world, how he lives, gets a living, how he makes use of his

faculties, what are his peculiarities, his habits, his environment,

in fact all about him. In discovering the name of a plant by use of a

botanical key you learn a few but not all of these things.

As with some people so with some plants, the more you know of them the

less you think of them; the less you wish to have to do with them. Take

poison ivy for an example. Knowing its characteristics you pass it by

without touching it. You observe it from afar off, so as to be able to

warn others of its whereabouts. On the other hand, if you had only

known well the giant puff-ball you so wantonly crushed under your heel,

you might have enjoyed a delicious supper of creamed mushrooms.

Making a collection of plants is an extremely simple job. The materials

needed are not expensive nor hard to get. Here is a list of what is

required for a beginner's collection:

(1) A dozen or so newspapers.

(2) Driers, two or three dozen, 12 × 18 inches.

(3) Two boards, 12 × 18 inches.

(4) A stone of twenty to thirty pounds weight.

(5) Mounting paper.

(6) Genus covers.

Cut the newspapers into half sheets. Each specimen is to be placed in a

folded piece of this. The driers may be cheap blotting paper or pieces

of carpet felt, cut to the desired size.

Arrange a specimen just as it was taken from the ground, inside of

one of the half pages of newspaper. While it is not desirable to put

too much time on the arrangement of each specimen, it is as well to

place it in a natural position and in such a way that the leaves will

not lie all over each other and the flowers be crowded so that the

appearance will be awkward. But do not overdo this: if a flower droops

naturally, do not make it stick upright. With one of the boards as a

foundation build your pile of pressing plants up as follows: Lay on

two or more driers, then a folded newspaper holding a specimen, then a

drier or two. (If the specimen is a juicy thing, several blotters are

needed between it and the next one.) Now another specimen, a drier, a

specimen, etc., until you are through with the day's collecting, or

until the pile begins to topple. Finish with a drier, then put on the

other board, and weight it with your big stone.

The driers must be changed every day. Do not disturb the specimens, but

lift each folded newspaper from the old to the new pile, building up

with fresh driers as before. In a week or ten days most plants will be

thoroughly dry. If at all moist they are likely to mould after being

mounted and your work will be spoiled. A dried specimen is brittle and

needs careful handling.

Mounting paper, to be standard and uniform, should be white, plain

paper of a very heavy quality. It costs a cent a sheet, size eleven

and one half by sixteen and one fourth inches. No other size would be

acceptable if you wish at some later time to donate your collection to

the local museum or to sell it to some school.

There are several ways of fastening specimens to the sheet. Some

like to use little strips of gummed paper or court-plaster, but

old-fashioned glue is about the most satisfactory stuff. It is mussy to

work with till you get your hand in, but it holds the plants fast to

the sheet, and "that's the intintion." It is best to keep the specimens

in the newspaper wrappers until you have a lot ready to mount. Then

with a pot of glue, a dry cloth, a damp one, and a small brush you are

ready for business. Lift the specimen from the newspaper and lay it

first on the mounting sheet to get some idea beforehand of how you will

place it. You may have to prune it some to get it all on, but this is

not likely as your drying sheets are the same size as your mounting

paper. Having decided at what angle to place it, lay the specimen back

on the newspaper upside down. With your brush wet, but not dripping,

with glue, brush the stems, buds, leaves, and flowers lightly over the

back. Lift it again, turning it over as you transfer it to the white

sheet. With a light pressure make the parts fast and lay the sheet

aside for the glue to dry.

Small specimens should occupy a place just a little below the centre of

the sheet, and if more than one specimen is required to show all parts

they may be arranged on the sheet as their various shapes and sizes

look best.

[Illustration: Plants should be mounted on paper 16¼ × 11½ inches]

A few facts should accompany each plant to refresh your memory of that

specimen when you come to study it later. These facts should have been

recorded by you in whatever way you like and referred to the specimen

by a number while in the press. Finally each mounted specimen should

have its label, bearing the name of the plant, the collector's name,

the date collected, locality, and any useful information regarding it.

Glue the label into the lower right-hand corner, which should always be

reserved for that purpose.

These loose sheets, covered with mounted specimens, must not be allowed

to lie in a shelf or drawer unprotected. Each group of them should be

put into a folded sheet of manilla paper. Such a holder is called a

"genus cover." Its size, folded, is eleven and three fourths by sixteen

and one half inches.

This word "genus" suggests that in time the collector is going to be

able so to classify his specimens that each genus cover may contain

only plants so closely related one to another that they are of the same

botanical genus. The beginner need not be seriously disturbed if there

are many plants in his collection that he does not know the names of

yet. The collection is for study or it is worth nothing. Knowing plants

is more important than knowing names. You cannot handle plants much

and observe them in their places without noticing how different they

are. Then you begin to see that some are more like than others. This

is the beginning of classification. You need not know even the common

names of the plants to do this, although you will know some, of course.

Professor Bailey says: "Learn first to classify plants; names will

follow. Look for resemblances, and group plants round some well-known

kind. Look for sunflower-like plants, lily-like, rose-like, mint-like,

mustard-like, pea-like, carrot-like plants. These great groups are

families."

After you have handled your common plants a good deal you will be

surprised to find how easily you can guess at one's family, and guess

right.

When you have reached this stage in your collecting you will feel that

you need some book to guide you and act as a check on your studies. All

the books mentioned in the lists in this book are useful for beginners.

If you find a book which pretends to take the place of the plants

themselves, you would better throw your money away than buy it. Instead

of helping it will hinder your progress. You will find in beginners'

botanies what is known as a "key." Now, a key is obviously to unlock

something with. If you had a door key which turned with difficulty, or

fitted the lock imperfectly you would be sure to have it repaired or

get a more modern one. Some of the old botanical keys seem to be rusty

and it is difficult to use them. Choose the key that works most easily.

In making a key for classifying plants one begins by dividing the whole

vegetable kingdom into two big departments, thus:

A. Plants which never have flowers.

AA. Plants which do have flowers.

As your specimens are all of the flowering kind we shall for the

present forget all about the others and begin to divide our big group

AA into smaller groups. This is how it is done:

AA. Flowering plants.

B. Flowers not showy, seeds in cones (usually), leaves needle--or

scale-like, evergreen (usually).

BB. Flowers showy, seeds not in cones, leaves of various shapes,

deciduous (usually).

You will see that in dividing a group it is important that A is just

the opposite of AA, and B is just the opposite of BB, and that the

place to look for BB is just the same distance over from the margin

of the page as B although it may not be on the same page, if there

are a great many divisions under B. These little things make the key

easier to use than the old-fashioned ones were. Some people still use

botanical keys as mental gymnastics but I do not believe in that. After

all you are studying plants not keys.

You will want to go back to the group we called A, for to the

non-flowering plants belong the lovely ferns which must certainly

grace your collection. This is a delightful group to study and it is

possible with a reasonable amount of persistence and by exchanging with

fern collectors in other parts of the country to get a very nearly if

not quite, complete collection of native forms. Only one hundred and

sixty-five of the four thousand species of ferns are native to the

United States. Such a collection should be very valuable.

Some boys and girls lose interest in collecting plants after the first

season, especially if they have done well the first year and secured

most of the species in their locality. If the opportunity to collect

elsewhere does not come the next spring there can be nothing more

interesting than to try to get the same things you already have, but

in some other stage of their growth. For example: most collections

will have several kinds of violets, blue, white and yellow, in all the

beauty of their flowering. But whoever thought of getting one that

showed the seed pods? What is a violet's seed pod like anyhow? Is the

seed pod of the white one like that of the yellow? Are the seed pods

of one plant all alike? When do the pods open and how? How do the

seeds germinate and when? These and other questions are waiting to be

answered by every plant in your collection. Would it not be fine to

know the pure white trillium in midsummer when it has grown a leaf

nearly a foot across and has a red fleshy seed case thrust up where it

will be conspicuous? Some plants are far more showy in fruit than in

flower and you will begin to see why these and other things are true as

you carry on your studies throughout the year.

Many a teacher of botany is forced to depend upon pictures when she

wishes to teach children to discriminate between two kinds of leaves,

kinds of roots, kinds of stems, kinds of inflorescence. What a boon

to those teachers would be a collection put up to illustrate the

lessons as they came along! I wonder if there is not a market for such

collections in schools where no herbariums are made or kept.

For little children, making blue prints is delightful occupation. I

knew a child of four who learned to recognize the leaves of most of the

common trees one spring by means of this work, and she did every bit

of it alone. A small printing frame, blue print paper of the required

size, and plenty of water is all that is required. A child soon learns

to use good judgment in printing, exposing the frame just long enough

to get a fine blue. The outline of the leaf comes out distinctly in

white against a blue background. The prints should be thoroughly washed

and may be dried on panes of glass.

The blue prints of leaves and of flowers do not show anything but the

outlines, of course. Leaf prints of other kinds are made which bring

out the veining as well. The outfit for this work is simple. Two print

rollers, a pane of glass, and a tube of printers' ink, sheets of paper

to print upon, and leaves. Put a small quantity of the ink on the clean

glass, and work it into a thin film over the surface. Lay a leaf upon

this film of ink and go over it with the inky roller. Transfer the

leaf to a sheet of paper and cover with a second sheet. One whirl of

the clean roller ought to give you the desired print. It is surprising

how delicate and true these are and how perfectly they show the

characteristic margin, indentations, venation, and even something of

the texture of each leaf. A little practice makes one able to make

impressions which are like leaf shadows, so delicate and lace-like can

these prints be made. It is an excellent way of fixing the leaf forms

in the memory, as well as in the note-book.

In making a collection of plants the same "rules of the game" should

hold good as in collecting insects and other natural objects. Take only

what you need. Do not uproot and leave to die the near neighbours of

the specimens you select. The taking of rare specimens is discouraged.

I shall never forget the look of indignation our dear old professor

gave an ambitious youth who had uprooted for his paltry collection

every plant of a species of rare fern which the professor had been

trying for years to re-establish in its old location. After all is said

and done, a live plant is better than a dead one. This is all a part

of the great spirit of conservation that has so taken possession of

our people of late years. Out of these little acts of preserving our

resources will grow a more beautiful America and a better appreciation

of all things beautiful.

COLLECTING SEA-WEEDS

Every child ought to be familiar with that musical poem of Percival's

beginning:

"Deep in the sea is a coral grove,

Where the purple mullet and goldfish rove."

And then when the child grows bigger he should have an opportunity to

go out in a glass-bottomed boat, at Santa Catalina Island or elsewhere,

and see for himself that those "yellow and scarlet tufts of ocean,"

"bending like corn on the upland lea," are not pictures from a poet's

dream, but beautiful realities.

Sea-weeds are exquisite things and few people can resist the temptation

to collect them when spending a vacation at the beach. When going on

a collecting trip for these it is well to take a net and two pails,

one small enough to hold the smaller things and carried inside the

larger. A heavy knife may be useful, too. The best time is after the

spring-tides, because at the lowest ebb of the water one may find

forms of great beauty and brighter colours than elsewhere. The rocks,

the rubbish left by the tide, the pools, the piles, the sea-wall,

the surface of the waves themselves, are all good places to look for

sea-weeds. They are fewer on sandy beaches than elsewhere. They vary in

size from great, coarse, leathery rock-weeds to those so delicate as

hardly to be seen at all.

Sea-weeds are real plants, belonging to that great group of

non-flowering plants mentioned before. They are called algæ. They do

not have true stems and leaves, neither do they feed by means of roots.

Many of them are so shaped that they appear to have stems, roots, and

leaves, but as these parts do not do the work of true stems, roots, and

leaves they are not classed as such. The root-like parts of a sea weed

are usually simply hold-fasts, which anchor the plant to the rocks.

Algæ which live in sea-water get their nourishment from the water which

washes their entire surface.

When collecting algæ, every specimen which is intended for immediate

mounting should be kept continuously in sea-water. This is what

the pails are for. Every part of the plant should be taken, as the

attachment to the rocks is as valuable as the rest. The knife is useful

here, or a staff with a metal point, for scraping the weeds off the

rocks.

The natural element of the sea plant is sea-water. Do not put your

specimens into fresh water even to wash or rinse them, as they will

lose some of their beauty. Unless dried soon after gathering they will

decay and fade. In collecting, try and get plants of various sizes even

though they look alike. The larger ones may be in the fruiting stage.

Do your mounting out of doors if possible, where you can have all the

basins of sea-water you want and need not be careful about spilling.

If your collection of sea weeds is for a regular herbarium you should

by all means have mounting paper of the standard size and quality;

heavy white, unruled paper, of a quality which will stand wetting

without being spoiled, eleven and one half by sixteen and one fourth

inches. If you are merely making a few souvenirs of your summer at the

shore, your own taste is the only thing to be considered. You will

require genus covers, labels, etc., just as for flowering plants.

For the work of mounting you will want plenty of driers, some pieces

of muslin the same size, sheets of standard size mounting paper as

described above, a heavy needle fitted into a wooden handle, a pair

of forceps, scissors, two smooth boards, and weights. For complete

enjoyment of the work you will surely have a little magnifying glass,

for your pressed specimens will never be as beautiful as the fresh ones.

[Illustration: Sea weed mounted on paper of standard size]

With several shallow dishes of sea-water within easy reach of your

hands, and your pails of specimens floating in sea-water, you are ready

to begin. Select your first specimen and lift it with care from the

water. Dip it up and down gently in clean water. Every bit of matter

that does not belong strictly to that plant must come off, and all

the sand or other dirt. Let it spread out naturally in the water and

with your scissors prune it to suit your purpose. Some grow in such a

bunch that they will not show well on the paper, others may have to be

trimmed to get them onto the page. Do not, of course, trim them down

to look alike but preserve their peculiarities and characteristics.

The great charm in a collection of this kind is in its variety. When

the plant is absolutely clean, float it in a dish of clean water. This

last dish should be a broad one for now you are to slip your sheet of

mounting paper right into the water and get the plant onto it, floating

it out in a natural attitude. This takes a knack, you may be sure, but

the knack can be acquired with practice. If you can provide yourself

with a pane of glass to lay the sheet upon when you take it from the

water you will have the best conditions. Some people get along very

well with a shallow plate. Some of the delicate parts will be certain

to cling together as you lift them out of the water, but you can remedy

that by dipping a few drops of water onto them and with your needle you

can arrange them as you wish. Take your time. This is not a job for a

person in a hurried mood. Examine and admire each piece as you work at

it. Make it yours for all time, although you may sell it the following

day and never see it again. Lay one of your driers on the lower board,

put a mounted specimen all wet as it is, on this, then spread over the

sheet a piece of muslin, lay on another drier, mount another sea-weed,

cover it with cloth and so on you may build up your pile. Top it with a

drier, put on the second board, and your weight, of ten pounds or so.

Coarse, thick algæ should not be pressed in the same pile with the fine

ones as they would make the pressure uneven. Blotters and cloths must

be changed every day at first, dried in the sun to be ready for the

next day. After two or three days the cloths may be taken off, and the

plants left in press at least a week longer, changing driers every day.

If you can set aside a regular time each day for this job, it is not so

likely to be forgotten. Moulding specimens are very disappointing.

After one has made a little collection of sea-weeds all the stories

about the wonders of the deep will take on a reality. You will want to

read all you can find about the Sargasso Sea, which sounds like a fairy

story. Maybe you have a specimen of this sea-weed in your collection,

maybe you have been fortunate enough to sail through that "vast acreage

of vegetation as large as the continent of Europe, lying southwest of

the Azores!" Do you wonder that the first navigators, sailing uncharted

seas, were alarmed by this vast expanse and thought of course there

were concealed shallows beneath the feathery fronds of this gulf weed?

You must read, too, of some of the giants of the sea-weed tribe; the

"devil's apron," the "sea-otter's cabbage," with its air-vessel as big

as a hogshead, and its stalk a slender cord hundreds of feet in length.

These are all algæ, and so are the microscopic plants which produce

that wonderful phosphorescence on the surface of the ocean. There

are still unsolved mysteries about these plants and there is always

a chance that the boys and girls who collect sea-weeds to-day on the

beach may in the years to come read some of the secrets now hidden from

all eyes. It is well worth while to keep such a big thought in mind

even while doing the simple and easy work of mounting specimens.

COLLECTING SHELLS

Of all the kinds of collections of natural objects that I have seen,

there is none that has quite so much beauty, in itself, as a collection

of shells. How easily they can be displayed in a cabinet for our

friends to enjoy, too, and they are never attacked, so far as I know,

by what we call museum pests, those destructive little creatures which

make life a burden to the owners of collections of insects, plants,

stuffed birds, and the like. Perhaps the products of the sea possess an

especial charm to the "landlubber," but most people admire shells and

love to handle them and to wonder where they came from and what kind of

creatures built them.

Did any one ever visit the shore and come home without a pocket

bulging with shells? Or a big handful tied up in a grimy handkerchief?

Probably that is the way most of the great collections in the country

were begun. You can begin one this summer or any time that you visit a

beach, and add to it daily if you are spending the summer on the shore.

As your collection and your interest grow, you can exchange specimens

common on your coast with collectors who live on the other oceans and

the Gulf. Remember that every shell is rare until you get it in your

cabinet and what is common as the sand on your coast may be a rarity in

other parts of the world.

You will probably begin your collection by picking up empty shells

of various sizes, colours and shapes. Sometimes you will find a pair

still held together by the tough tendon that worked the hinge when the

bivalve that built the shell was alive and going about his affairs.

Many of these will be worn by their daily encounter with the tide, and

some will be pierced with small round holes too neatly ground to have

been made by accident. These holes give you a hint as to why this shell

is empty for they are the work of a band of little pirates which live

by boring into their neighbours and sucking their life-blood. Many of

the dead shells are those of animals which live far out at sea or in

the deep water and have been washed ashore when the tide was high.

Search along the shore where the water has drifted a line of sea-wrack.

It looks like rubbish at first glance but it is almost sure to hold

many small shells you will want, some even from far-off coasts.

The collector will not long be satisfied to gather only such shells

as he finds on the beach. His eyes are opened. What seemed to him at

first a flat, smooth surface of sand strewn with bits of rubbish and

a few shells, most of them not worth picking up, has awakened into

life. Every pool has become as a village, its inhabitants engaged in

a variety of occupations. The smooth sand is inhabited. The centre of

population is down at the low-water line. The rocks, the bridge piers,

the wharf piles, and the sea-walls are seen to be covered with living

things. Now collecting begins in good earnest.

On the sandy beach one needs a net, a sieve, and a shovel. The best

costume for such work is the same as that worn when bathing. You will

need to be in the water part of the time and will not wish to be

hampered by anxiety as to clothing. The best time to go is the time

you can go, of course, but you are more likely to find a great variety

of things at the very lowest tide. You have heard of planting "by the

moon" and you are right in supposing that the moon has little influence

on potatoes and cabbages. But to go collecting on the sea-shore "by the

moon" is quite reasonable. When the moon is full and when it is new

they have what are called spring tides at which times the ebb is lower

than ordinarily. After a storm is a fine time to look for things which

have been dragged by the force of the water from their anchorage in the

depths, and tossed ashore.

When you arrive on the sand all will appear to be quiet. Your best

plan is to sit still and wait for some signs of life. In a moment some

clam may send a jet of water into the air near you. If you are quick

enough with your shovel you may catch the joker, but he has had more

practice in the game than you and will probably elude you. Watch for

bubbles and jets of water and dig frantically. You will be able to work

up speed after a few trials and land your "fish." After some practice

you will be able to unearth many living things you little suspected of

being there. Crabs of various kinds are common and sea-worms of rainbow

colours and curious forms. Creatures in snail-like shells, little and

big, are common in the sand of our coast. As you shovel away try to

have presence of mind enough to throw the sand into your sieve. Take

this to the water's edge and wash it. You will in this way get many

small things which you otherwise would not see.

Do not discard anything about which you have an unanswered question.

Many of the mollusks leave egg cases on the sand or these are washed

in by the tides. They are no less wonderful than the shells, for they

are chapters in the same story. The egg-cases of the whelk are common.

Those of the skate are called "devil's pocket-books" by natives.

Muddy shores have their own special forms, while rocky coasts differ

from all the rest. Some creatures, like the hermit crab, are abundant

everywhere. You can read the story of this fellow in any book on

shells. Take some of the stories about him with a grain of salt. He

may not be as bad as he is painted for much of the gossip about him has

never been proven. His affairs need investigation.

The creatures which build the shells are for the most part soft

bodied and can not be preserved except in some liquid like alcohol or

formalin. These would be difficult to transport but will be of greatest

value if you are studying the structure of the mollusks. If you wish to

preserve the shells only, you should take great care to free every part

from any animal matter that adheres to them. Boiling the shell will

usually accomplish this.

Labels should be used and record made of the locality, date,

collector's name, and other interesting data. Every naturalist of any

experience has the note-book habit. Many a collector who trusts to

his memory finds himself sadly at a loss when he comes to work with

his specimens and especially when he wants to write about them. If

his note-book tells him the story he will be able to make his account

accurate as well as interesting.

COLLECTING INSECTS

The two principal reasons for making insect collections are first,

to study, second, to sell. The beginner's outfit will be the same

whichever reason is his. Time was when any one carrying an insect net

was looked on with a sort of pitying suspicion. He or she was thought

to be the victim of a mild form of lunacy, which might or might not

take violent shape. All that is past now that insect study has grown so

important and popular. It is quite safe to conclude that the hundreds

of trained scientists employed by the government to investigate the

problems involving insect life all started their studies by making a

collection.

Probably the easiest kind of collection to make is one of plants.

Once you see them, their fate is sealed. Escape is impossible. But

collecting wild plants about your own door yard and in the woods is

tame work compared to insect capturing. Your eye marks a butterfly or

a dragon fly for your own, but you have him yet to reckon with and his

wings may carry him far beyond your reach.

The outfit necessary to an insect collector is simple and inexpensive.

For general collecting, and that is the best for a beginner, you need:

1. A net.

2. A killing bottle.

3. Insect pins.

4. Insect boxes.

While you can add to your collection almost every day in the year

when once "you have the fever," the best time to begin is summer. More

insects are in evidence then, and their active flight, their beautiful

colours, and wonderful variety of form all help arouse the interest. As

the collection grows you will find that many insects can be captured

without a net, but as you will want every new butterfly, moth, dragon

fly, and grasshopper that comes into your line of vision you must

certainly have a net the first thing.

The materials needed for a net are these:

1. A smooth, light, but strong handle about three feet in length. (An

old broom handle will answer.)

2. A strip of tin, four inches wide, and long enough to fit around the

handle. (Why not use a piece of a tin can if you have strong shears?)

3. Three and a half feet of heavy wire. (No. 3 galvanized is the thing.)

4. A piece of cheese cloth, three fourths of a yard. (Get a good grade

to stand a season's wear.)

Almost every boy knows a tinsmith and when it comes to putting these

materials together, the services of a skilled workman are very

valuable. If pocket money is scarce, there are any number of jobs a boy

can do for the tinsmith in exchange for his help in making the net.

That piece of wire is to form the ring which holds the cheese cloth

bag; the ring must be fastened securely into the end of the handle.

Bend the wire into a circle a foot in diameter, then bend back three

inches of both ends and force them into the end of the handle, a hole

for the purpose first having been made by burning or boring. Bend the

tin round the handle at the net end to keep it from splitting when in

use, and tack it on tight.

[Illustration: Insect net]

If you know how to sew you are more fortunate than most of the boys I

know, although why should not a boy learn to use a sewing machine? The

bag ought to be sewed on the machine. You must first lay the finished

edge or selvedge around the wire to make sure that it goes around and

has a little extra for the seam. Pin the cloth together where it meets

around the wire, then lay it on a table, double. Cut the bag, rounding

the bottom neatly. Cheese cloth is the worst stuff to ravel, and if

you sew the bag with a single seam you will soon be sorry. Pin the

cloth so that the two edges are exactly together and sew a seam about a

quarter of an inch wide all the way round. Now turn the bag inside out

and fold it so that the seam you just made will be right on the edge.

Sew another seam, three eighths of an inch deep this time. The ragged

edge of the goods will now be inside of this second seam and can not

fray out and make a nuisance of itself. If all this is worse than Dutch

to you, take the bag to your sister. She is not so much cleverer than

you but the chances are that if you ask her to sew you a French seam,

she will make it just as I have described. Sew the finished bag onto

the wire with heavy double thread and your net is ready for use.

Materials to make a killing bottle: 1. A wide-mouthed bottle. (I advise

every collector to have two bottles, one to carry in the pocket all

the time, the other for special trips for large things. For the first

a small olive oil bottle, a test tube, or any convenient sized bottle

with a mouth nearly or quite as large as the body of the bottle. A

fruit jar, pint size, does well for the very large things.)

2. A cork which fits the bottle tightly, and is an inch long. A cork

any shorter than this is an aggravation as it is so unhandy.

3. A lump of cyanide of potassium as big as a hickory nut for the

small bottle, two or a little more for the big bottle. Yes, cyanide

is a deadly poison, and the druggist will not sell it to you and your

father will not let you buy it. But if you convince your mother that

she can trust you to use a cyanide bottle as it is intended to be used,

her objections will melt away. Just as likely as not she and your

father, too, and your teacher, and maybe the druggist all made insect

collections when they were your age and one or the other will make your

cyanide bottles for you following these directions:

[Illustration: Killing bottle]

4. A teacup full of plaster of Paris.

Handle the cyanide with a couple of sticks or drop the lumps from the

paper into the bottles so as not to touch them with your fingers, mix a

little of the plaster of Paris and water till it is like a thin paste

and pour enough in on the lumps of cyanide to entirely cover them. Put

in on top of this all the dry plaster of Paris the water will take up.

Let the bottle stand open for an hour or so, then wipe it out with a

rag, which may be burned afterward. Put in the cork and your killing

bottle is ready to do its share toward making a collection for you.

Don't forget to label your bottles "poison," and always be careful not

to inhale the fumes. The smell of the breath of the bottle will be

enough to remind you.

It was a Japanese student, who, when he found one of his pinned moths

had come to life and beaten its wings to pieces in the box, said: "It

ought-a be dead. He in cy'ni' bot'l' a' night." I should not wish to

be quite so stoical. His bot'l' was probably an old one, which did its

work too slowly.

MOUNTING INSECTS

The first insects I ever saw in a collection were a sorry sight.

Beautiful as the specimens had been, they were all spoiled by the

collector. The moths were all out of shape, wings half folded, the

pins used were short common pins, and every specimen was disfigured

with masses of verdigris, they were pinned into rough boxes in

higgledy-piggledy fashion, and showed every sign of neglect and

careless handling. My interest in insect collecting did not date from

that hour but from a look I had at a friend's cabinet years later.

The first mistake a beginner makes is to use common pins. Really,

before you begin to collect, you ought to send away for a supply of

German insect pins. These can be bought from dealers in entomological

supplies and a hundred each of Nos. 3 and 5 will cost thirty cents.

With them your collection may be salable, and you may exchange your

duplicates with other collectors, while if you use common pins your

specimens will have no commercial value, and will soon be spoiled, by

the corroding of the pins.

[Illustration: Cross-section of spreading-board, showing construction]

The first insect you get will probably be a butterfly, or a moth, for

these showy ones are all you are able to see. Later the smaller ones

will attract your attention. Therefore you will not be able to mount

your first specimen properly without a spreading-board. The drawing of

one which appears on this page will tell you more about how to make as

well as how to use it than any amount of description. If you can earn

seventy-five cents more easily than by making a set of three of these

in assorted sizes, you can buy for that amount an adjustable one which

will serve you for all winged insects of all sizes.

[Illustration: Spreading-board, in use]

I will suppose that you have captured your first butterfly. Do get a

good sized one first as it will be easier to learn on that than on a

small one. An hour in a freshly made cyanide jar is long enough to

insure a painless death. If any one calls you a cruel boy at this time,

assure the person that butterflies are very short-lived and that this

one would have been eaten by a bird within an hour or two anyhow. The

cyanide is the least painful form of dying for the butterfly. Its work

is probably done, already. You can prove that you do not kill insects

for the fun of seeing them die, by putting the bottle back in your

pocket where they can die in private, and by never killing any unless

you need them for your collection. A few duplicates for exchange is

also legitimate. It does not injure a specimen to leave it in the jar

over night. If you cannot spread it immediately, do not take it from

the jar, as when dried they cannot be spread, as they are very brittle.

If you never looked at a butterfly before, you will look at this one.

You will note that it has four broad wings attached to a rounded body.

The portion of the body to which the wings are fastened is called the

thorax. For a medium-sized insect, a No. 3 pin should be taken. The

butterfly should be pinned through the thorax, half way between the

front wings. Direct the pin so that it will come out in the middle on

the under side of the thorax. One fourth of the pin's length should

remain above the insect. This may seem a small matter but insects

unevenly pinned look badly, and it spoils their salability. You will

want some black-headed pins for use on the spreading-board. Common

pins hurt the fingers, insect pins are too flexible and expensive.

Pin strips of paper on to hold the wings in place. With the picture

of butterflies on a spreading-board as a model, you will, after some

experience, get so that you can do this well. It is no job for an

impatient person, though. Leave the butterfly on the board until it is

thoroughly dry, which takes three days. Put the board where the air can

have free circulation around it, but not the mice.

[Illustration: Showing how to pin common insects]

The only insects that are not pinned through the middle of the thorax

are the beetles, those hard-shelled creatures like June bugs (which

ought to be called May beetles), and potato bugs (which are also

beetles). If you put a pin through the centre of a beetle's thorax, it

spreads the wings out in an unnatural way. So collectors agree to pin

them through the right wing-cover.

[Illustration: Pin butterflies through the thorax, between the front

pair of wings]

Your next requirement will be boxes to put the specimens in. Many a

fine collection has been begun in ordinary cigar boxes. At first you

will probably try to pin the insects right into the bottom of the box.

After you have spoiled two or three of your rarest ones, bent a dozen

or so expensive pins, you will conclude that the wood is too hard and

does not hold the pins well. Be warned in time to save yourself this

bother. The boxes should be lined with a thin layer of some material

which, though soft enough to push a pin into easily, must at the same

time be elastic and firm enough to hold the pins. Cork, linoleum, and

slices of pith are all used. You may have noticed, though, if you have

been to a large, up-to-date museum, that the specimens of insects

are all pinned into solid blocks of wood. Many an hour I have spent

pinning specimens into blocks in their permanent places in a great

museum collection. It is hard work and has to be done with a tool.

When once fastened on a block the insect is supposed to be a fixture;

when it moves the block goes along. But the material you use in your

boxes ought to be soft enough to make shifting of specimens easy. For

example, at first you will get a great assortment. A butterfly to-day,

a beetle or two to-morrow, a pair of moths the next day, some crickets,

a dragon fly, a cicada, a waterbug, and so on. Take everything unless

you already have it. That is the only way to collect. If you say, "Oh,

I'll get a better one to-morrow," the chances are that the season will

go by and you will not get that variety at all.

[Illustration: Glass-topped insect case]

CLASSIFICATION

Your first box full will be a varied assortment. When you have all you

can conveniently pin into three boxes without crowding, you will want

to arrange them. If you have begun to study science you will know what

"classify" means. Every school is made up of classes. So with insects.

You will know by the looks of the insects that certain ones belong

together. A good way to start is to put all the butterflies and moths

into one box. You may not know what you have done, but you have simply

separated the members of the order _Lepidoptera_ from all the others.

Look over those that are left and you will see that some, like the

blundering June bug, have their wings so placed that a straight line

appears down the middle of the back. These belong together, regardless

of their colour, size, shape, habits, or other considerations. They

belong to the order _Coleoptera_. Grasshoppers, katydids, and crickets

belong to another group and can be pinned together. All the flies have

two wings, and belong in a group apart from all the four-winged ones.

The dragon flies go together. You will have representatives of other

orders, less easy to distinguish, but by the time your collection has

grown to this extent you will be ready for some beginner's book on

entomology, which will make further classification simple enough. As

you shift your specimens from one box to another observe a certain

regularity of arrangement. The heads should all point in one direction.

When pinning a group all of which are about one size, set the pins all

in line, in military fashion. How much better they look! This neat,

formal arrangement of the specimens adds greatly to your satisfaction

and enjoyment of your collection. Avoid crowding and breakage. A dried

specimen is almost everlasting, but at the same time it is the most

fragile thing you can imagine.

As your collection grows in size, value, and interest, you will

certainly want wooden cases. Perhaps your manual training teacher will

be willing to let you build a box under his direction. A cabinet-maker

can make them at one dollar or less, apiece, of well-seasoned basswood.

Before you have been collecting long, you will have learned by

observation quite a lot about insects and their ways. You will know

that some localities are very poor collecting ground, that other places

yield an abundant variety; that the best time for butterflies is in

a sunny forenoon; while moths are abroad in the early twilight and

later. You will see that dragon flies are fond of flying about over

streams or ponds and you may wonder why as you try in vain to net a

fine one without getting your feet wet. Other insects are frankly

aquatic and you can get them only by dipping your net in. It is well

to have a second net if you expect to do much water collecting as the

cloth is hard to smooth out after a wetting. As a majority of insects

are vegetarian you will naturally seek among plants for specimens. If

the winged forms are not eating the foliage you may discover that they

are laying eggs on the leaves of the food plant on which their young

must develop. If you live in town you will find it worth while to carry

your bottle with you when you go out in the evening. Nocturnal insects

of all kinds are attracted to electric lights, many of them to their

death, as you will see. A candle in your open window will attract some

valuable additions to your collection and also some you will sleep

better without. Some collectors care nothing for a specimen unless it

is rare. A better way is to regard them all as rare until you secure

a specimen for your box, and of equal value towards building up a

complete collection.

A LIFE HISTORY COLLECTION

You can not collect insects very long before you begin to see a lot

of things you never noticed before. You see leaves cut or eaten in

strange forms, or you find a cluster of tiny eggs on a leaf, or several

leaves sewed or stuck together with strands of silk. Perhaps you find

strange abnormal growths on certain plants, swellings on their stems,

leaves transformed into balls, or pod-like or cone-like affairs which

do not look natural. These things are sure to arouse your curiosity.

Sometimes the answer to your question is right there. Cut open a

swollen golden-rod stalk and you will find the culprit which caused the

plant to grow that way. But how did the footless, helpless grub get

there and when? You break down the mud-dauber wasp's nest from among

the rafters of some building. What is that yellowish object that rolls

from among the ruined adobe walls? Look! It is a spider. What business

has a spider in the wasp's nest, if it is her nest? Spiders have none

too good a reputation, but this spider does not act very spry. Seems to

be alive, yet not alive.

The secret of the relation between the spiders and the wasps you can

read in many a book. You might even guess at it, but there was no guess

work about the observer who first studied out this secret. He did not

get his knowledge from books. He patiently watched the mud-dauber going

about her house building. He knew that her painstaking labour could

have but one meaning. She was building not a home for herself, but for

her children.

The wasp's children are not little wasps, yet they are none the less

young wasps for being footless, colourless, wingless, stingless grubs.

They are eggs at first of course, just as all insects are. When the

mother wasp has one cell of her apartment house finished she concerns

herself immediately with stocking the larder. Knowing the tastes of her

yet unborn young, she leaves for a time the mud hole, and visits the

haunts of certain spiders. Finding one to her liking, she captures it.

Not appreciating the fact that the law forbids the use of preservatives

in meats, she injects a drop of some wonder-working fluid into the

spider and preserves the creature, not only fresh but alive, though

paralyzed. Upon the inert body she places an egg, then seals the cell,

well assured in her mind that when the grub hatches it will find the

food just as she left it and just enough to nourish the young one to

maturity.

Before your first season of collecting is past you will find yourself

bringing home as specimens many insects which you will see are not

fully grown. Little grasshoppers, scarcely bigger than a fly yet

possessed of such strength of leg that they can hurl themselves into

the air for a distance equal to twenty times their own length. How do

you know that they are young grasshoppers and not fully grown ones of

some tiny race? Look at one closely and you will see a look of youth

about him that is unmistakable. He is fuzzy, his head is too big for

him, his legs out of all proportion to the rest of him. Then, too,

he has no wings, just little buds where the wings will be some day.

By these tokens you will know him for a baby. You can find them in

all sizes and can have a series to show the stages of growth. This is

one of the first steps in the making of a "Life History Collection,"

far more valuable to the naturalist than a collection containing only

mature insects.

Generally speaking, all adult insects have wings, and all winged

insects are adults. There are exceptions to this, but they will take

their places when the time comes. The young of the insects belonging to

certain orders resemble their parents enough so as to be placed where

they belong at a glance. This is true of the grasshoppers, katydids,

and crickets, of the true bugs which include the squash-bugs, the

chinch-bug, the stink-bug and others. Of most of the other orders

this is not true. The young do not look at all like the adults. In

many cases as, for example, the dragon fly and the mosquito, they

are fitted in the immature stages to a life in the water. They must,

on this account, have organs for swimming, for aquatic breathing, and

for getting a living in the water. The forms of these young insects

are just as varied as those of the adults, but they do not resemble

the winged ones in the least. The life history collection must contain

specimens of the immature forms of insect life as well as adults if it

is to be most useful and complete.

Some orders of insects, as for example the moths, butterflies, beetles,

flies, bees, wasps, ants, and others pass through four distinct

changes of form. They always follow the same order. Every generation,

beginning with the egg, passes next to the larva (called caterpillar

or incorrectly worm, or grub, or maggot), on to the pupa, then to the

adult. The egg of an insect is often a most beautiful object. With a

hand lens, which every collector will surely need, one can see its

delicate colouring, its pearl-like shell, its curiously carved or

sculptured surface. To get some idea of the great variety in form,

colour, shape, and markings of insects' eggs, ask at your library for a

book on butterflies, with coloured plates, and the chances are that you

will be surprised.

The second or larval stage of the insect's life is the eating, growing

stage. During this stage the young bee, butterfly, ant, or moth

moults several times. In this process the entire old skin is shed, an

operation well worth seeing. Under the old coat a new one has formed,

which being larger, accommodates itself to the insect's increased size.

The larval stage is in the case of many insects the active time when,

if they are vegetable feeders, they injure crops.

When the larva has completed its growth it changes into a pupa. Some

insects pass this third stage inside of silken cases they spin about

themselves, others, after shedding the larval skin, find themselves

each clad in a sort of horny coat of mail. We call these chrysalides.

Some larvæ creep away into the ground, there to shed their old coats

and rest inside of the pupa cases which nature provides. Each one

follows the fashion of his own family and is in no danger of being

mistaken for any one else.

Out of the pupa, whether it be cocoon, chrysalis, or just plain pupa

case, comes the adult. The main business of adult insects is to

reproduce their kind. After the eggs are laid there is little excuse

for their living. In the case of a great many kinds of insects death

follows soon after. There are some noted exceptions to this rule as

for instance the wasps which build with so much skill and patience

the homes in which to rear their young, the ants and the bees, both

social and solitary, which carry on such a complicated home life. Of

these highly "civilized" insects only a word can be spoken here. From

the chapter on "Bee-Keeping" and from other books you may learn of the

wonders they perform. We must return now to our life history collection.

How the subject opens as we add specimens of cocoons and pupa cases to

the collection! To get a complete series illustrating the life, let

us say, of one of our common butterflies, the monarch or milk-weed

butterfly, you should visit the clusters of milk-weed along the

roadside or anywhere, in the forenoon of a sunny July or August day. A

few butterflies are probably flitting about in rather casual fashion.

Watch them light on the leaves, mark the leaf with your eye and hurry

to the spot. Search well. The tiny speck of pale yellow may be a

drop of milk but if it stands up on the leaf it is likely to be a

butterfly's egg. Your lens will tell you. Having made sure of one you

will find others.

You may find a young caterpillar lunching on the leaf. If just out of

the egg it is a dull lead colour, but when half grown a young monarch

is striped with rings of greenish yellow and black. Though handsome

as to colour scheme, this caterpillar has manners unbecoming a plain

citizen, let alone a monarch. Touch its back with a grass stem and see

what happens.

If time permits you should visit your clump of milk-weed daily or

better still take home the eggs and the young caterpillars. Keep the

food plant fresh in a jar of water and get more when needed. As you

want a specimen of the egg-shell for your collection, you must be on

the spot when the young caterpillars come out. They sometimes eat the

shell the first thing. It is a delicate operation to glue a thing as

frail as this shell onto a dried milk-weed leaf, and you may have

to content yourself with making a sketch of it on a small square of

drawing paper. Pin the leaf or the drawing in the box. It is not easy

to keep specimens of caterpillars. There is a method of preparing

the inflated skins, but as the process is a difficult as well as a

ghastly one, you can wait till you go to college to learn it. For the

milk-weed caterpillar I suggest instead, a coloured drawing. When your

caterpillars are full-sized they will transform into chrysalides.

It is worth sitting up all night to see a sight like this. When

a caterpillar spins a little mat of silk and suspends itself by a

tail-hook, you will know that the performance is about to begin. The

chrysalis is a lovely light green with spots of gold upon it. All this

beauty was hidden under the skin of the caterpillar. With an egg, a

caterpillar, a chrysalis, and an adult you have all four stages of the

monarch's life represented.

INSECT HOMES

Nothing in the insect world interests me more than their homes. The

collector sees many of these in his rounds, and begins to consider

how he can complete his series by adding samples of them as specimens

to his collection. I was lucky enough to find, when on a collecting

trip one day, a curious structure made of mud on a weed stem. It was

declared by the professor to be an ants' "cow-shed." Knowing that the

museum specimen was in a bad state of repair I readily offered my find

to replace it. The professor refused the gift, but offered me what he

thought it was worth. I accepted and bought a pair of shoes with the

money, which shows that these things have a market value.

It is well to press a specimen of the favourite food plant of a species

of insect and make it a part of the collection. But dried butterflies,

fastened in utterly unnatural attitudes upon dried plants they would

scorn to eat in life, framed or put under glass globes on the parlour

table do not appeal to the naturalist. They are "fakes" pure and simple.

There will be a few among the many who begin to make collections of

various kinds who will keep at it. I know one young man who sold his

stamp collection for enough to take him on his first trip abroad. Six

hundred dollars was the sum realized, I believe. Those of you who have

read Mrs. Gene Stratton-Porter's story "The Girl of the Limberlost"

remember that "the girl" sold Indian relics and insects enough to send

herself to high school and start a college fund. She made up little

life history collections to illustrate the talks she gave as special

teacher of nature study in the grades in a city school system.

The Limberlost girl had an offer of three hundred dollars for a

complete collection of the butterflies and moths of the United States.

She had a wonderful collecting ground in and about the big swamp,

and she had enough duplicates to exchange with other collectors for

things she could not get at home. In order to have perfect specimens,

both male and female, she made breeding cages and reared the moths

and butterflies. She dug in the earth about the tree roots and other

"likely" places for pupæ, she searched the shrubs and vines and trees

for hanging cocoons, she brought in innumerable eggs, caterpillars,

and chrysalides and the story of her successes and failures fills many

delightful pages. It all rings so true that you can't help hoping that

you may see her insect collection some day, and hear her tell how

she brought this butterfly up "by hand," how she had to wait a year

to get a male to complete one series, how narrowly she escaped the

quicksands in a wild chase she had for another, and other details of

her occupation.

REARING INSECTS

[Illustration: Bandbox breeding-cage for insects]

Breeding insects is easy. Look at the home-made breeding-cage

illustrated on this page. Materials needed: One round or oval hat box,

a strip of wire screen, two and a half feet wide or so and long enough

to fit around the inside of the box and lap three inches. Either sew

the screen together in the form of a cylinder or fasten it every

six inches with paper fasteners. (Any way to keep it together good

and tight.) Push the screen down inside the box till it touches the

bottom, put the lid on and you are ready for business. If the screen

is too wide you will have trouble in reaching to the bottom of the

box which you will have to do sometimes, for one reason or another.

Into breeding-cages made on this general plan you can put all sorts of

material while waiting developments, and get many additions to your

collection that you would otherwise miss entirely.

Some surprising facts are often discovered by accident. A breeding-cage

containing a female _Cecropia_, one of our largest and most beautiful

moths, was accidentally left near an open window over night. The next

morning between twenty and thirty moths of that species were found

fluttering about the cage. They had evidently been attracted from some

distance, but found their way to their imprisoned sister unerringly.

Collectors have many ways of capturing night flying moths. One way

is known as "sugaring." This consists of daubing a sticky, sweet

preparation on the trunks of trees and visiting the baits later in

the evening with cyanide jars and capturing the specimens which are

attracted by the odour to the feast set for them. It is unsportsmanlike

and entirely unnecessary to put any poisonous substance in the bait and

this practice should be darkly frowned upon.

The best places for sugaring are these: a strip of woodland edging a

stream, the rim of the woods adjoining an open field or pasture, old

roadways through woods of beech, oak, chestnut, or any mixed growth,

wooded slopes in city parks where there is some protecting undergrowth,

anywhere about the old groves surrounding country homes. Windy or wet

nights are not the best for sugaring, neither are moonlight nights.

The ideal night for this is the evening after a hot, sticky day in

late summer, the sky overcast and dark but not foggy. You will need a

lantern to work by. Keep calm. Quick, nervous movements frighten away

more moths than the light.

The following is the unspeakable concoction recommended by one

collector as "the best ever" for baiting moths:

Four pounds darkest sugar.

One quart New Orleans molasses.

One pint stale beer or ale. (This should have been allowed to stand

uncorked in a warm place for a week, before using it.)

Mix all together and heat gradually. Boil till about as thick as

varnish, which takes about five minutes. When cool add four ounces of

Jamaica rum. Cork loosely and keep in a cool place. The strong odour

of this mixture pervades the air for a long distance, and proves

attractive to the olfactories of moths though none of us would care to

have it about.

A good evening's work at sugaring ought to furnish moths enough to

keep you busy spreading all the next forenoon. A night in the cyanide

jar will do them no injury. It is well to have a pair of light pincers

to take specimens out with. If all are emptied out at once some will

dry too much before you are ready to spread them. Every time they are

handled they lose part of the scales and become slightly defective. If

practical, put the very large specimens into the jar hinder end first.

This will make it easier to get them out head first.

It is almost inevitable that the inveterate collector of insects shall

become a naturalist. By constant watching, he discovers how insects

live, and how they affect plants. He will witness many a tragedy. He

will find that there are among them thieves and robbers, pirates,

cannibals, assassins, scavengers, and disease carriers. He will witness

many acts of heroic self-denial, some feats of strength, endurance

tests, and acrobatic turns. He will admire the ingenious architecture

and wonder at the never ending variety of forms, colours, and markings

they exhibit. Many questions will come up in the course of his studies.

He may seek the books in vain for information on some of the commonest

insects of the garden. Entomology is a new science. Boys and girls who

begin the study by collecting their first insect to-day may, before

they stop, discover some important fact to add to the sum of human

knowledge and make the world a better place to live in.

X

ODD JOBS

KINDLING WOOD

Cutting kindling wood was ever a boy's job. Most set tasks have little

to them but drudgery. But cutting kindling used to be interesting. What

is there about it? The struggle to master a stubborn stick, the danger

that a slip may bring the axe down elsewhere than on the stick, or that

a careless blow may cause the stick to rebound, leap into the air, and

give the chopper a whack on the head? Scarcely a boy but can show a

hatchet's scar on the foot and I know a girl who will always carry one

in the place where most people carry a corn.

The problem of a source of kindling supply on the farm is never one

to be reckoned with. There are always old fences going to pieces, old

buildings being torn down, and the problem is rather how to store

the supply where it can be had when needed. In town things are

different. The fences, if any, are iron, the buildings are few and kept

in repair because they cost so much to build. There are practically no

loose boards lying around and kindling has to be bought outright. The

ex-farmer always resents this as an uncalled-for expense. But kindling

is a necessity wherever fires are to be made. No patent article quite

fills the bill.

[Illustration: Photograph by Helen W. Cooke. An Odd Job That is Never

Out of Date]

Why should grown men monopolize the kindling business? Because there is

good money in it? But any boy can go into this business, if he has any

spunk. The capital required is very small. If your credit is good you

can borrow a hatchet. The chances are that spunk will supply the wood.

It may be rotting in somebody's wood lot waiting till the right boy

comes along.

Boys in the South are lucky. They can get fat pine which is in great

demand both North and South. Some say the supply has given out, but who

believes such tales? The demand for this will never be less than now

and there is no substitute for fat pine.

Collecting driftwood is another occupation for boys, sea-coast boys,

this time. A kind of substitute for this is being sold. It is a mixture

of chemicals and does very well for toy fireplaces in city apartments.

But the real thing will always bring a fancy price.

It is the common practice of American lumbermen to regard no part of

the tree as valuable, but the trunk. All the rest is rubbish and the

expense of trimming off the branches reduces the amount of profit on

every log. Some day when our young foresters get enough experience to

see all round the great subject they are working at, they will think

out ways of disposing economically of the tops and branches of the cut

trees. This is one of the big problems of forestry for these reasons:

(1) The huge amount of this refuse wood chokes out the young growth and

the forest cannot renew itself as it would naturally. (2) The brush

dries quickly and whenever a small fire gets started there is fresh

food for it everywhere. (3) The brush prevents the fighters from making

their way to the threatened district. They have to fight the brush

piles before they get to the fire.

This refuse wood might be put to a number of uses, e. g., for pulp

wood, thus saving the trunks for lumber; for fuel, nothing makes better

fires than the smaller limbs; for kindling, the branches which are too

small to use for stove wood make splendid kindling, particularly for

fireplaces.

Some of us think gathering faggots too slow and laborious. But we

needn't make work of it. When I see men, women and children poking over

the masses of evil-smelling rubbish on the mammoth dump-heaps that

deface the landscape near some of our great cities, or going from house

to house collecting old iron or rubber or newspapers, or picking over

the slag along the railways for chance lumps of coal, I wish that there

were some way of getting them away into the woods where firewood is

rotting and doing harm besides, a waste that works both ways, you see.

There is no excuse for the poor people of a village near woods

suffering for fuel. They needn't steal. Let them get permission from

the owner to clean up his wood lot. It will be good for the wood lot

and the owner knows it if he is an intelligent man. The boys and girls

are much safer gathering faggots in the woods than coal along the

tracks.

Faggots for kindlings bring a fair price, too, and I recommend it as

a way of earning money out of your father's wood lot if he has one.

In some villages in Germany the people have the right to break off in

the forest all the branches that they can reach when standing on the

ground. In those forests there is never any loss of life, nor lumber,

by fires, no choking out of young growth by brush piles. You could walk

through the forest there and see in every direction miles and miles of

clean trunked trees of varying ages, but no underbrush, no rubbish, no

decaying logs, no diseased wood.

Maybe those thrifty German people made mistakes when their country was

as young as ours. But they found out the way to take care of their

forests hundreds of years ago and we can learn how from them.

CLEANING A CARRIAGE

If you get home late at night after a drive in the mud the chances are

that you will not clean the carriage till the next day. But if thin mud

is allowed to dry on a varnished surface it will be sure to leave spots.

Water is the "first aid to the injured" in cleaning highly polished

vehicles. Plenty of it should be flushed onto the varnish, the mud

washed off by the force of the water rather than being rubbed off or

scraped off. Keep your buggy out of the bright sunlight when not in

use, especially when it is wet. Slow drying is better for the varnish.

A coarse sponge is a good thing to wash a carriage with; this should be

thoroughly rinsed after each rub to free it from grit. Never use soap

on varnish. It may be used on the metal parts of the carriage. Prepared

chalk is the best for polishing the ornamental parts. For glass, clean

water and a cloth or chamois skin are all you need.

WORK IN THE ORCHARD

[Illustration: Shield-budding]

Many are the light jobs in the orchard or fruit plantation, which fall

to the boys. I know a boy who at thirteen was his father's expert

budder. There are high school boys in localities where nurseries and

orchards are plentiful who follow this as a trade, making good wages

at it. It is a wonderful thing to do, a very neat job in handicraft,

and while a book might tell how it is done, nobody could learn how to

bud or graft without seeing it done and then trying, till the trick

is learned. Boys also follow the grafter and tie in the bud or wax the

graft.

Boys are often employed in vineyards to follow the pruners and tie the

vines to the trellis or wire with rags or raffia. They become very

expert and tie an incredible number in a day. In fact many of the light

jobs grow pretty heavy after eight or nine hours.

MAKING RUSTIC FURNITURE

Collecting material for making rustic furniture is a pastime that is

suggested by walks in the woods. Sometimes a bit of twisted branch may

look like the arm of a settee or the leg of a tea-table. Procuring the

first part suggests the quest for the other pieces and the fitting them

together to make a natural looking, balanced, artistic piece. Rustic

furniture to be good, should appear to have grown that way. There is

too much of the kind that looks as if it were made to sell. The truth

is that the more truly artistic it is the better price it will bring

in the right market. Laurel wood is particularly adapted for rustic

furniture.

SELECTING SEED CORN

By a careful study of what experts have to say about the best corn for

seed, and of the photographs of ears of prize corn, any young man

of intelligence may learn to select from his father's field the best

corn for seed. It may be that your father buys his seed corn from a

seedsman. My experience is that seed corn bought in bulk contains a

large number of poor grains. They probably shell the whole ear. The

best farmers never plant grains from tips or butts of ears, since it

costs just as much to plant and cultivate and harvest a runty corn

stalk bearing a nubbin as it does a lusty, towering stalk with two good

ears of corn on it.

[Illustration: Prize seed corn]

Find out what a good ear of corn looks like. Make note of all the

points to be encouraged. The habit of producing two good ears of corn

is a good one to establish. Go through the field when the corn is ripe,

before the huskers, and select the best ears, with all the points you

have learned in mind. Take off the outer husks and draw the rest back,

exposing the entire ear. When you have ten or a dozen ears braid the

husks together, starting with three ears, adding one after another to

the braid till all are secure. Fasten with strong twine and make a loop

to hang the bunch by. Seed corn should hang for a few weeks in the open

to cure, but should be taken inside before snow. You will have to use

a good deal of ingenuity to keep chickens, rats, squirrels, and other

thieves away from your seed corn.

When spring comes the corn should be shelled, and every imperfect grain

should be discarded. By selecting the seed in this way, demanding of

each ear that it shall be perfect, you find the crop will improve, if

cultivation is good, the soil well enriched, and the season normal.

Every time a farmer boy uses his mind first in connection with any kind

of work, the quality of work improves and his interest in his work

increases. Selecting seed not only gives better corn but it helps make

a better farmer.

MAKING CIDER VINEGAR

Every good apple year there are thousands of bushels of apples that go

to waste. It doesn't pay to pick and put them into barrels when the

price of barrels is more than you can get for the apples. The farmer is

the last man to learn how to make use of what ordinarily goes to waste.

Nature is lavish always, but wastes nothing. The farmer has learned

to be lavish and wasteful too. They say that every part of the pig is

utilized in the packing house except the squeal. That is the principle

which the farmer will have to live by if he would succeed. What can be

done with those wasting apples? Let the boys have them to make into

pure cider vinegar. Every one knows how vinegar has been adulterated,

and now the law-makers have put their veto on the practice and a

penalty to match the crime.

There is nothing very difficult about the physical part of vinegar

making. Nature does the hard work but we can aid nature by providing

the ideal conditions for making the product we want.

The best apples for making pure cider vinegar are clean, ripe apples.

If you use green, dirty, decayed, or over-ripe apples, your vinegar

will probably not meet the lawful tests and your time and work will be

wasted. Green apples have not enough sugar in them. The same is true of

over-ripe apples. "But there isn't much sugar in cider vinegar," you

say. No, that is true, but without sugar in the cider you wouldn't get

any vinegar. If you were a chemist you could find out just how much

sugar was contained in the juice of your apples. Unless the cider has

85 per cent. of sugar it will not make vinegar good enough to satisfy

the requirements of the law. However, plenty is found in cider made

from sound, ripe apples, and he who makes cider out of anything else

deserves to fail.

Expose any fruit juice to the air and it will change. We say, "Oh, that

is fermented," and throw it away. But what is this ferment? Set a glass

of fresh apple juice in the sun and watch it. In a few days you can

actually see that some change is taking place. It is "working," as they

say. The sugar is changing to alcohol; so the chemists tell us. What

makes it do this? The chemists must answer again. They say that there

are yeast plants in the apple juice. How did they get there? We did not

put yeast in the apple juice. No, but the air is full of the spores

of wild yeast plants so the juice does not have to wait till we put

in domesticated yeast from a little "silver" wrapper. As these yeast

plants grow they cause the sugar in the juice to change to alcohol.

There are lots of other wild spores in the air and in the dirt which

collects on the apples if they are left out very long. Some of these

spores may be of a kind that would delay the fermentation. For this, if

for no better reason, we should wash our cider apples.

In a glass of cider set out in the sun it does not take long for the

yeast plants to convert all the sugar to alcohol, because warmth

hastens the work. In the barrel set in a cool cellar it takes longer,

about six months.

But you have no vinegar yet. You have nothing but "hard" cider which

isn't fit for anything. But in the barrel along with the yeast plants

are lots of other bacteria, to be seen under the microscope. Among them

is a kind that causes alcohol to change to acetic acid. Did you ever

pour off the vinegar from a jug and find a mass of jelly-like substance

stopping the mouth of the jug? They called it "mother" didn't they?

This mother contains great numbers of acetic acid makers and if placed

in your barrels will hasten the changes that fit the hard cider for use

on the table.

The making of cider vinegar is almost all profit for there is very

little outlay for materials and very little work is required. It

does take some knowledge of what to do and when. A little study and

experience makes success almost certain. A bulletin of the New York

State Experiment Station at Geneva gives the following directions,

somewhat abbreviated here, for making good cider vinegar at home:

"Use sound ripe apples, picked before they have become dirty or

crushed. Observe ordinary precautions to secure cleanliness in grinding

and pressing, and use no water. Let the juice stand a few days to

settle, then draw off the clear liquid into barrels that have been

cleansed and treated with steam or boiling water. Do not fill more than

three fourths full. Put a loose plug of cotton into the bung hole.

If kept at a temperature of fifty to forty-five degrees Fahr. the

alcoholic fermentation will be complete in about six months. This time

can be shortened to three months by keeping a temperature of sixty-five

to seventy degrees in the storage room and by adding one cake of

Fleischmann's compressed yeast dissolved in a little water, to every

five gallons of juice. When the cider stops 'working' you will know

that the sugar has all been changed to alcohol. The clear liquid should

now be drawn off, the barrels rinsed and filled again. To each barrel

should now be added from two to four quarts of good vinegar containing

some 'mother.' If kept at a temperature of sixty-five to seventy

degrees Fahr. the vinegar may be ready for use in six months. If kept

very cool it may be two years. When sour enough to be 'just right' the

barrels should be filled as full as possible and tightly corked or the

sourness may disappear."

MAKING GRAPE JUICE

Any girl with a little experience in canning fruit can make for home

use and for sale a harmless and delectable beverage out of the surplus

grapes. Every good grape year on the farm there comes the question of

what to do with the grapes. A little jelly is made when the grapes are

green but most people prefer currant jelly or blackberry or crab apple.

Canned grapes are pronounced "no good" by all the family, and grape

marmalade is full of "splinters of glass," though how they got there

who can say?

The housekeeping magazines give receipts for preserving grapes but

cold storage alone gives good results and few farms have cold storage

plants. Those grapes hang there by the bushel and try as you may you do

not get them all eaten fresh.

Grape juice is not wine. If you should try to make wine you would

probably fail. But unfermented grape juice is easier to make than jelly

and as it needs no sugar your investment is small. Grape juice has food

value, as it contains more solid matter than milk, and is recommended

as a drink for children and for invalids. In many European countries

"grape cures" have long been popular. In the pure, unadulterated,

unfermented juice of the grape we have a palatable, nourishing food and

a refreshing drink in one. It is highly recommended as a preventive

of some diseases, a cure for others, and as a restorative of general

health.

So much for the product. Now how is it made? It is possible to make

grape juice from start to finish in the open air. If the grapes grow

on an arbour what more delightful occupation can you imagine than

spending a day or two converting the perfect fruit into nectar? Idling

in a hammock may appeal to some, but a row of shining fruit jars worth

seventy-five cents apiece looks better to an enterprising girl than a

finished novel.

You will need a table, a rocking chair, a large basket and scissors,

granite pans and double boiler, an oil or gasolene stove, clean jelly

bag and flannel filter, jars or bottles, corks, rubbers, etc.

When the grapes are just right to eat out of hand they are right for

grape juice. Green or over-ripe grapes are not worth working over.

Discard all unsound fruit, wash, and crush. Put into a freshly washed

bag of coarse, strong muslin, tie securely and twist and squeeze it

until the juice is all out. Two people can work to advantage at this

job.

The juice should now be put into a stone jar set in a pan of water or

heated in a double boiler. It is just at this point that most people

make a mistake and destroy the fine flavour of the grape by boiling the

juice. _It should never boil._ If you have a thermometer use it now.

The object of heating this juice is to destroy the yeast spores and

other organisms which have alighted on the grapes as they hung in the

arbour and which are so small that they came right through the mesh

of the muslin bag. A temperature of one hundred and eighty degrees to

two hundred degrees Fahr. is high enough. Take the juice from the fire

when the two hundred Fahr. is reached. A thermometer is not absolutely

necessary. When the juice begins to steam it is getting close up to two

hundred and twelve degrees Fahr., the boiling point, which you must

avoid.

Making prime quality unfermented grape juice requires two forenoons.

If you want your jars to be clear from top to bottom instead of

muddy with sediment you will set the juice away in an enamelled or

glass vessel until morning, when you will see why this precaution is

necessary. With greatest care dip the clear liquid off and filter

it. A flannel bag made in the shape of a cone with a stiff wire or

wooden ring at the top to hold it open, is the best filter. Several

thicknesses of flannel or felt are better than one. All the tiny

particles of sediment will be caught in the woollen meshes and the

juice will be pure. The last traces of settlings, will be removed and

the liquid will be clear. The colour and flavour will depend on the

kind of grape used.

Put the filtered juice into bottles or fruit jars that have been

sterilized by boiling in water. Do not fill them quite full. Wiping

is unnecessary. Fit a false bottom made of a thin board or slats into

the bottom of the washboiler and set the jars of grape juice with

rubbers and covers on but not screwed down in on this. Put water into

the boiler till it comes up to the shoulders of the jars. Heat now

until the water is on the point of boiling, but do not let it boil.

Remove jars from the water and screw down the covers. If bottles are

used, clean, sterilized corks must be put in, while the juice is still

in the hot water. If the corks are very tight further sealing is not

required, but wax or paraffine is put over them by cautious persons to

make assurance doubly sure.

Quart jars are probably most economical and will find a ready sale.

Grape juice will ferment very soon after unsealing and should be used

immediately. Even a small family will have no difficulty in consuming

a quart if given the opportunity. Many delicious desserts can be made

with this juice combined with sugar, eggs, gelatine, cream, lemons, and

other fruits.

MAKING LEAF MOULD

Every year I see boys and girls raking leaves from the lawns and

either piling them in the street or in the back yard and then burning

them. Nobody likes an outdoor fire more than I do, whether it is a

real camp fire, a little back yard faggot fire just enough to roast

a few potatoes and onions and play gypsy, or a big blazing bonfire,

almost dangerous and wholly splendid. What I don't like is a sickly,

smouldering pile of leaves sending out a suffocating smudge, bursting

with sudden flame at night and having to be put out after you had your

slippers on and had begun a new book. Such a fire is a nuisance to you

and to the neighbourhood and no satisfaction.

Burning leaves is like burning money. That is quite another way of

looking at it. "Why, most people have to pay out money to get their

leaves taken away," you say. True, but that is because we are such

a lot of wasters. We are just beginning to learn to be economical,

because we must. To make a long story short, turn your leaves into

money by composting them.

For greenhouse work pure leaf mould is a necessity and the supply of

the real article is never equal to the demand. Ask the florist in your

town where he gets leaf mould and how much it costs him.

Making leaf mould is simple. All you have to do is to rake the leaves

into a pile where they can lie still and rot. To make a really neat

job and lose none of your work or leaves make a frame of boards a foot

high or so and as large as you think your leaves will require. Set this

frame in some part of the yard where it will not look unsightly but

as near the source of leaf supply as is permissible. If you have to

carry the leaves by wheelbarrow you will see the force of this. Use a

pony and cart for the job if you have them. A big box or barrel on a

wheelbarrow is better than the wheelbarrow alone. Get a layer of leaves

a foot deep, then tramp it. If water is handy, wetting them with a few

pailfuls would make them pack well. Put on layer after layer of leaves

if pure leaf mould is to be made.

Lay boards over the top to hold the leaves down or the autumn winds

will scatter them for you. Forking over a few times will hasten the

process of decay. A very small quantity of leaf mould for home use can

be made in a store box or barrel. This should not be water tight. Let

the leaves be exposed to all the elements; the rain, the air, freezing

and thawing, help on the process of decay.

Leaves are a very valuable ingredient in the making of compost for the

garden. I have from an expert gardener this receipt for his favourite

"GARDEN FRUIT CAKE"

Three parts selected leaves.

Three parts cow manure.

Two parts garden soil.

One part kitchen refuse and weeds.

One part pasture sod.

Compost these in alternating layers for one, two, or three years under

cover. The result is a rich, brown, moist compound which, added to

common garden soil at suitable times, is warranted to raise flowers and

vegetables fit for the queen's table.

Now then, instead of burning your leaves, go out and gather all you can

from the neighbour's yard as well as your own and make leaf mould.

Combine the boys on the street into a "Leaf Mould Syndicate" and get

the local florists interested in a home-made product.

MAKING LAVENDER STICKS

The weaving of lavender sticks has been described to me as "the

harmless occupation of old-fashioned fingers." In these days when the

revival of old-time industries is so often undertaken, it is well to

learn from our aunts or our great-aunts some of the fancy work that

employed their elegant leisure when they were girls. The lavender

stick is such a sweet and dainty object that I hope for it a renewed

popularity. It is one of the always acceptable gifts the Pacific coast

can send to the Atlantic where it is so hard to make lavender grow.

I might say here that there is good reason to advise the growing of

lavender in the light limestone soil of some of our Southern states.

Immense quantities are used in the manufacture of lavender water and

perfumery, and although the dried flowers are retailed as a preventive

for clothes moths, I have grave doubts about that.

The best way to learn how to make lavender sticks is to have some dear

old lady show you. Failing this you may try to follow these directions

and the picture that goes with them. Late June is the best time,

September the next best. The lavender must be in full flower. If too

young the stems will cure limp. The finest odour passes with the going

to seed. Cut the flower stalks in clear weather and before the heat of

the day.

[Illustration: A lavender stick]

As some lavender sticks should be shorter and some longer to suit their

various purposes, you should next sort the stalks into groups according

to length. For a handkerchief box nine short ones would be right. To

make a large "stick" for a linen closet shelf choose twenty-five of

the longest, heaviest heads. Always have an odd number. Strip off the

leaves, draw the stems down till the heads are all on a level, then tie

them "gently but firmly, under their chins" with soft cotton yarn that

will hold but not cut. Use plenty of string and leave very long ends.

Build the thistle-like head into a shapely oval--but not with cotton,

after the way of the Philistines. Plump it out with a little sheaf

made of the heads that are too small to use, and add a few leaves to

round it out. With those long string ends wind the head, now, and tie

securely.

The next step is one where skill and care are necessary. Each stem

is to be bent directly backward at a sharp angle and it will be a

wonder if you do not break every other one. Crease each stem over your

thumb-nail before turning it back over the head. When all are safely

reversed, double one end of a bolt of lavender ribbon over one stalk,

close to the top and begin to weave. The simplest weaving is the most

artistic, under one stalk and over the next, passing round and round

till the head is covered. At this point it is best to fasten the end of

the ribbon, wind the stems with common string and begin on another till

you have brought all to the same stage. Lay them all away for a month

to cure. You will find that the weaving will then have to be tightened

about the head. Now wind the ribbon tightly round the handle and fasten

it there. A tuft of loops at the end is a simple and old-timey finish.

The less attempt at decoration the better. A lavender stick is a very

acceptable gift for one who is fond of its perfume and can detect the

aroma of homely sentiment that mingles with its sweetness.

DRYING CORN

In my girlhood the surplus sweet corn was not left to dry on the

stalks. It does not make very good fodder. The best ears were marked

and left to ripen for seed, but the surplus green corn was dried. The

boys would bring in a bushel or so of ears in the husk. We prepared

these as carefully as if for immediate use on the table. Every silk was

removed. The ears were then put into boiling water a few at a time and

left only five or six minutes, just long enough to "set" the milk. As

soon as the corn had cooled sufficiently we began to cut it off, with

thin, sharp knives. With the butt of the ear resting on the flattest

big platter, one sliced from top to bottom. We had orders not to cut

deep the first time--just to take off the tops of the grains. The next

cut was thin, too, and came off in a slice which fell apart. We cut

three slices, at least, before we came to the cob. By this means we

obtained a final product far superior to that of the neighbours who

made one cut suffice. When a platter was full, the corn was spread

evenly and put out in the sun, on a long table and covered with netting

to keep off flies. When partially dry we transferred it to a large

cloth and continued the drying until every vestige of moisture was

gone from it. It was then put into a loose muslin bag and hung up

near the ceiling where mice and dampness could not get at it. I have

eaten evaporated corn, and find it a poor substitute for the sun-dried

article.

To prepare dried corn for the table wash well, soak over night, and

then steam slowly on the back of the kitchen stove from morning till

late afternoon, with salt to taste. By this time most of the water will

have been absorbed or evaporated. The corn will be soft and all its

native sweetness will be right there. Add a generous libation of cream,

a lump of butter, a whisk of pepper, and you have a delectable dish.

MAKING A TENNIS COURT

The largest item in all the estimates for making a tennis court is

for labour. If a boys' club can supply this they can have a court

without expense except for the wire netting and the necessary posts.

A standard double court is seventy-eight feet by thirty-six. Choose a

well-drained piece of ground; the more nearly level the better. Locate

the courts with reference to the time of day when they will be most

used and the direction of the sun's beams at that hour.

The first job is to get rid of the grass and weeds, root and branch. If

a plough is used do not begin the levelling until every root is gone.

Turning grass under is bad practice. Some kinds of grass can grow no

matter which end is up. Next with rakes make the surface fairly level.

_Level_ is one of those adjectives that can not be compared. If a court

is level it can't be any leveller, and to be right it must be done with

a straight edge and a spirit level. If there is one boy in whom you all

have confidence, it is a good plan to elect him boss of the job and

follow his instructions. "Team work" is the right thing in this kind of

a job, just as in games. When the court is level it must be rolled and

rolled and rolled again, with the heaviest roller you can get.

A surface of ordinary dirt does not wear well. Some people prefer to

spread on a layer of ashes, next three inches of sand, soil, and clay

mixed.

Roll each layer thoroughly. For a top finish a very fine gravel is used

on some courts, sand is used on others. You will probably use that

which is most available. Clay is hard to work with, but when overlaid

with fine sand makes a hard court on which the swiftest experts can

play with enjoyment.