uncle at breakfast on Monday morning. "I ought to get the ten-acre
field finished by Wednesday evening. As soon as that is planted, I
guess I had better take the tractor and haul out some more cement.
John White and I made arrangements on Saturday, when he was here, to
go ahead with the rest of the buildings. There'll be a considerable
amount of cement required for these, and I don't want to stop planting
corn to bring it out, and after that you know we'll be pretty busy. I
wish you would figure up how many barrels of cement it will take
approximately for each of the buildings, Bob; also the rolls of
galvanized wire and steel bars for reinforcing so that I can get these
ordered at the same time. You'll want some window frames and
ventilators, gratings and other things for the cow barn, too. I think
you'd better make some sketches and a list of just what you want. Then
we can get bids, and see where we can buy the cheapest. You'd better
get some catalogs, too, Bob, on cow stable fittings, such as
stanchions, sanitary water bowls and manure carriers. Of course, we'll
want to build the silo, too, at the same time, and you better make a
list of the materials required for that. You and your Aunt Bettie can
talk over the details and arrange the matter between you."
[Illustration: GOOD SEED WELL PLANTED LAYS THE FOUNDATION FOR A
PROFITABLE CROP]
"All right, Uncle Joe; we'll take care of it," said Bob, "and have the
list ready for you in a few days. Of course, we don't want to knock
off during working hours to make up this list, unless we have to, but
when it comes to putting on the roof of the hen house, Tony can carry
on the work by himself, if necessary, while I complete the drawings of
the cow barn and silo and figure out the quantities."
"Don't forget that I'm here," said Ruth, "and I'm going to help build
the rest of the buildings, even though I did hurt my thumb the first
time I tried. I've been practicing out in the woodshed and I can hit a
nail on the head nearly every time now."
At the mention of her nail-driving ability, Bob could not refrain from
smiling.
It was probably nine-thirty that morning when Bob, busy at work on the
hen house, looked up and saw Ruth dressed in her farmerette clothes,
talking with their uncle at the far side of the field where he was
planting oats. It was fully an hour later when he looked up again and
saw Edith standing near him. At first glance she seemed abashed, but
he noticed that the corners of her mouth were tucked up in a roguish
laugh.
"Anything happened, Edith?" he asked.
"Not yet, Bob, but," she replied laughing, "there'll be something
happen to Ruth in a few minutes, if you don't come and rescue her."
"Why, where is she?"
"Come, and I'll show you," said Edith, and Bob turned the concrete
mixer over to Tony and they went over to the old orchard, back of the
smokehouse.
In almost the exact center of this three-acre plot, a tree had decayed
and fallen several years before, and a young apple tree had been
planted to take its place. This tree was now about five inches in
diameter, and forked about five to six feet from the ground. In the
crotch of this small tree, a foot dangling on either side, sat Ruth,
balancing herself as best she could while Jerry, the new Southdown
buck, was prancing back and forth, jumping alternately at one foot,
then at the other, as she let them hang down within his reach.
"How did she get up there?" asked Bob, as he took in the situation.
"I don't know," said Edith, "but she must have been up there a long
time, because I've been hearing her shouting for at least a half hour,
but I thought she was with you and Tony working on the hen house."
"Oh, Bob, come over here and drive Jerry away," cried Ruth, hearing
them. "I've been sitting in this apple tree holding up my feet until
they're ready to drop off."
"How did you happen to get up there, Ruth?" called Edith laughing,
while she and Bob stood outside the fence enjoying the situation and
watching Jerry jump time and again for a dangling foot.
"I went up to see Uncle Joe--say, aren't you going to help me, Bob?--
and was taking a short cut through the orchard and forgot all about
Jerry--confound that sheep," drawing a foot up just in time--"when I
saw him I started to run, and he ran after me. This was the only tree
small enough for me to climb, so I got up here and Jerry has been
keeping guard ever since. Whenever I let a foot dangle down he strikes
at it. Come on, and drive him away, Bob. I'm so tired I can scarcely
keep from falling."
"All right," laughed Bob, "I'll get him away," and vaulting the fence
he ran over to where Jerry was standing, took him by the wool on the
back of his neck and held him with one hand.
"Now, slide down, Ruth--he won't hurt you. All he wanted was someone
to pet him."
"I tell you he's cross, Bob. He would have butted me if I hadn't got
up into the tree."
"He was only trying to play with you, Ruth. Now, come down and I'll
prove you're wrong."
But no sooner had Ruth placed her cramped feet on the ground than
Jerry broke loose, and with head down, went charging after her, as,
letting out a scream, she dashed for the house as fast; as she could
go. The gate, opening into the yard by the smokehouse, was too far
away, so she changed her course and headed for the fence between the
orchard and hen house, near the spot where Edith was standing. She had
placed her right foot on the second board of the fence just ready to
jump, when Jerry arrived just in time to take advantage of the
opportunity presented. With one strong butt he hoisted her clear of
the fence, landing her on all fours on the soft, plowed ground on the
other side. She jumped up quickly, spitting out a mouthful of the soft
earth she had scooped up. Bob and Edith were doubled up with laughter.
"Oh, you two probably think it's very funny," snapped Ruth, "sitting
up in an apple tree for a half hour, with Jerry trying to knock your
feet off every time you let them hang down, to say nothing of his
butting me over the fence. Well, laugh if you want to, but it's not so
funny if you're IT."
"Perhaps you'd better come into the house, Ruth, and get rested,"
suggested Edith, "or maybe you'd like to help Aunt Bettie plant the
garden."
"You help her yourself, if you want to; I'm going to help Bob and Tony
build the hen house," she declared suddenly. "I was coming over to
help you, Bob, when Jerry treed me in the orchard, and if it hadn't
been for him, I would have been there an hour ago."
"All right," laughed Bob; "I'll be glad to have you help me now,
Ruth," and he helped brush the dirt from her clothes. Edith caught a
merry twinkle in his eye, as they left her to go back to the concrete
mixer.
"What can I do to help, Bob?" asked Ruth, when they arrived at the
work.
"I think I'll let you be the engineer, Ruth, and run the mixer. That's
an important job," he added, winking at Tony. He instructed her how to
start and stop the engine, and which levers to use in filling and
emptying the drum. She was still busy with the mixer when the dinner
bell rang.
"I'd like to get a turtle, Uncle Joe," said Ruth at dinner. "How can I
catch one?"
"Get Bob to shoot a ground squirrel for you and bait a couple of
hooks; then set some lines in the new pond. Perhaps you can catch one
that way."
"Is that what you bait turtle hooks with?" asked Ruth.
"Ground squirrels make the best kind of bait," said her uncle. "If
there are turtles in the pond, you'll get one of them with that."
"Let me shoot the squirrel myself, Uncle Joe," said Ruth.
"I won't have time to go hunting squirrels this afternoon, but perhaps
you and Bob might be able to find one on the fence down back of the
barn. You can take my shotgun, Ruth, but be careful that you don't
shoot yourself instead of the squirrel."
"Oh, I know how to shoot, Uncle Joe; don't worry," she declared.
"Let's go as soon as we get our dinner, Bob," she said
enthusiastically.
When they had finished, Bob got two turtle lines and hooks from the
woodshed and the double-barrel gun and four shells. They went down
along the fence back of the barn toward the pond. When they were
almost at the foot of the hill, near a chestnut tree, they saw a
ground squirrel sitting on the top of a fence post.
Bob handed the gun to Ruth and explained to her how to operate it, and
much to his surprise and admiration, she quickly raised the gun to her
shoulder and fired-the squirrel tumbling off the fence.
"How did you happen to do that?" he asked, lost in admiration, for it
was a neat shot.
"Throw your hat up in the air and I'll show you," she said.
As he hesitated, she asked.
"You're not afraid I'll hit it, are you, Bob?"
"No, I'm not," said Bob, and with that he threw his straw hat high
into the air and it came down with a nick in the brim and two holes in
the crown.
"Where did you learn to shoot, Ruth?" he demanded, looking at his
damaged hat.
"Oh, I learned that long ago," she replied, pleased that at last she
had won his genuine admiration. "I've two medals for shooting. My
brothers are both crack shots and they taught me. I usually shoot with
a rifle, however."
"That's fine shooting," said Bob. "I couldn't do nearly as well as
that myself," he admitted grudgingly.
"Now, show me how to bait the hook," she said, picking up the
squirrel. Bob took it and showed her how to prepare and put it on the
hook.
They then went along the pond until they came to some small thorn
bushes that grew on the bank. Bob showed her how to cast the bait by
whirling it round and round and then let it fly out into the water.
She tried several times until she got the knack of doing it, then
threw in both lines and tied them fast to the thorn bushes.
"How long'll I have to wait before I catch a turtle, Bob?" she asked,
as they started for the house.
"Maybe an hour and maybe not till to-morrow morning, and maybe as long
as a day or two--it just depends," he replied.
About three o'clock in the afternoon, he noticed that Ruth, who had
gotten tired running the mixer, had gone to the house. A little later
he saw her with Edith passing through the barnyard in the direction of
the pond.
It was perhaps a half hour later when he heard shouts in the direction
of the pond and someone calling his name. He dropped his tools and
rushed across the plowed field, when he saw Edith hurrying toward him
as fast as she could walk over the newly-plowed ground. She was waving
her hand to him, motioning him to hurry.
"What's happened to Ruth now?" he asked breathlessly, catching up to
her.
"It isn't Ruth this time," she replied. "It's Duncan Wallace."
"Why, what's the matter with him?" he asked eagerly, surprised that
the staid old Scotchman should have gotten into trouble.
"Well, it was this way," said Edith, between breaths, as they started
in the direction of the sand pit, "when Ruth and I went down to the
pond the first line we pulled out had a turtle on it, and while I held
it by the tail, Ruth took a forked stick and pried the hook out of its
mouth; then she thought it'd be good sport to take it down and show it
to Duncan Wallace, and when she got near she held it up by the tail
and showed it to him.
"'What's that you have there Mister--Miss--?'
"'A turtle, Mr. Wallace,' said Ruth, laughing over the fact that he
did not know whether she was a boy or a girl.
"'Oh, a turtle, is it? Well, let me see it.' Then he took the turtle
from her, Bob, and laid it on the shovel he was using to screen sand.
He held the shovel so that the turtle's head was not very far from and
on a level with his face. Then, much to my disgust, he began spitting
tobacco juice in the turtle's eyes, forcing it to draw its head into
the shell. It didn't seem to like it very much, for all of a sudden it
reached out its head and grabbed Duncan Wallace by the nose, and, oh,
Bob, you should have seen him dance and heard him swear; he swore
something terrible," she said laughing heartily. "It was the funniest
thing, Bob, I ever saw in my life--neither Ruth's ride on the cow the
other day nor her experience with Jerry this morning could compare
with the way that old Scotchman hopped around, waving his shovel in
one hand, the turtle dangling from his nose, and swearing like a
pirate."
"Well, how did you get the turtle off?" asked Bob, laughing in spite
of his fears for the Scotchman's safety.
"We didn't get it off," said Edith; "that's why we got you here. Ruth
tried to shake it off, but his nose bled terribly. He was sitting on a
pile of sand holding on to the turtle when I left," she replied.
When they reached the pit they found that the desperate Scotchman, in
his struggling to free himself from the turtle, had pulled a large
piece out of the end of his nose. Ruth, after first putting her turtle
in a water barrel, was doing her best to stop the flow of blood and
comfort the still swearing Scotchman, whose feelings were becoming
more aggravated each minute by Ruth's uproarious laughter.
"If a girl comes around here again dressed up in boy's clothes,
carrying a turtle, I'll throw them both into the pond and drown them,"
he declared savagely, as he got up from the sand pile and started for
his home. When he had disappeared, Bob and the two girls sat down on
the sand pile and laughed until they cried.
XVII
FILLING THE INCUBATOR
Shortly after the new stock had been delivered at Brookside Farm, Bob
and his aunt put the new Leghorn chickens in the old sheep shed back
of the barn, and the white Plymouth Rocks in a small pen near the
cider mill, so as to keep the two flocks apart. They saved all the
eggs from each flock and as fast as the common hens on the farm showed
a disposition to set, the eggs were supplied to them, until the
incubator house was finished.
The incubator was a modern machine of five hundred egg capacity. After
a conference, they decided to send to two well-known poultry farms
specializing in white Leghorns and white Plymouth Rocks for additional
settings of eggs, in order to have new blood for the next year. They
got fifty eggs of each breed from the two breeders, making two hundred
eggs in all, and took three hundred eggs from their own stock. A
careful record of the different eggs was made, so they could keep the
chicks separate after they were hatched.
Before the eggs arrived, the incubator was cleaned and tested.
"Won't you let me help you with the eggs, Bob?" asked Edith, as he was
getting ready to place the eggs in the incubator. "I've been reading a
lot in the bulletins about chickens, and I would like to help you look
after them."
"I don't think it would be such a hard job, Edith," he replied, "if
you understand how to regulate the heat and keep the eggs turned. Of
course, it will be necessary to look after them carefully."
"I already know how to regulate the temperature, and turn and cool the
eggs."
"Do you know how to test them?" asked Bob, "to tell which eggs are
fertile?"
"Yes," replied Edith, "that's easily done. You can use a candle and an
old shoe box by removing one end and cutting a hole a little larger
than the size of a quarter in the bottom of the box, located so that
when it sets over the kerosene lamp, the hole in the bottom will be
opposite the flame. Of course, you'll have to cut another hole in the
box, so that the heat will escape, and the eggs are tested with the
large ends up. This is done so the size of the air cell may be seen,
as well as the condition of the embryo."
"How do you tell when an egg is fertile?" asked Bob.
"That's easy," said Edith. "The infertile eggs, when held before the
small hole when the lamp is lighted inside the box, will look
perfectly clear, same as a fresh one, while the fertile ones will show
a small dark spot, which is known as the embryo. Of course, you have
to learn to tell whether the embryo is living or dead, but that's easy
to learn."
"I think I could take care of an incubator all right," she continued.
"The first thing you do is to see if it is running steadily at the
desired temperature before filling it with eggs; then you must fill
the whole tray at one time and not add fresh eggs to a tray after it's
once started. The eggs must be turned twice daily after the second and
until the nineteenth day. The eggs must also be cooled once daily from
the seventh to the nineteenth day, depending on the weather."
"Do you fix the lamps first, Edith, or turn the eggs?" asked Bob.
"Oh, you must turn the eggs before you fix the lamps," she replied,
"and, of course, the machine must be cared for at regular hours, just
the same as your dairy cows, and the lamp and the wick must be kept
clean at all times--otherwise you would not get a uniform heat."
"When do you test the eggs?" asked Bob.
"On the seventh and fourteenth days; after the eighteenth day you must
not open the machine until the chicks are hatched."
"If you'll look after the incubator for us, Edith, it'll save me a lot
of time--particularly now when we want to start work on the new cow
barn."
"Will you let me run it all myself, Bob?" she asked, her eyes
sparkling in anticipation.
"I don't see why you can't do it all yourself. You understand it just
as well as I do; besides, I've had no actual experience myself."
They carefully filled the incubator with the eggs, making a record in
a special book of the different breeds and the different breeders.
"How are you going to mark them, Bob, to tell them apart?" asked
Edith.
"Oh, that's easy," said Bob. "You punch small holes between their toes
and make a code of the marks, so you can tell which is which.
"You can make ever so many combinations."
"Doesn't that hurt them?" asked Edith.
"No, not if it's done when they are very young--though the hole is a
very small one, it never closes up, and you can always tell, by
referring to your code, the age and breed of each chick. Later, of
course, when they grow up, we'll put numbered aluminum bands on their
legs, but when they're small the holes are better.
"Just think, Bob, five hundred little chicks for me to look after.
Won't it be perfectly splendid?"
"You won't get five hundred, Edith. If we get sixty to seventy per
cent, hatched, it will be as much as we can expect. Unless, of course,
we have especially good luck and you might get as high as eighty or
ninety per cent."
"What will we do with the eggs that are not fertile?" she asked.
"Oh, we'll boil those and feed them to the young chicks after they're
hatched; they make good chicken feed."
"How many of the chicks do you suppose we can raise in the brooder?"
"If we hatch 300 to 400 out of the 500 eggs, we'll be doing fine, and
if we can raise sixty per cent of the full hatch, it's considered
very good. Of course, considerable will depend on the way they're fed
and cared for, but with good care, you ought to average that many.
We'll have to raise these in one of the new pens we've just built for
the laying hens, because our brooder house will be one of the last
buildings we'll put up, and we may not get it ready until late fall.
When the chicks are large enough, you can put them in colony houses
out in the orchard."
"I hope we can raise more than sixty per cent, Bob. Won't it be fine
to have so many chicks? When we get these hatched, are we going to
hatch more?"
"Yes," replied Bob, "Aunt Bettie thinks we should hatch at least 1000
to 1500 eggs in order to have a good pen of layers this fall. Of
course, you know half the chicks will be roosters, and these we will
dispose of. The white Plymouth Rocks we can caponize and easily sell,
and the white Leghorns we will either have to kill and sell as
broilers, or it may be we can sell them to the farmers around here to
improve their flocks. So you see, if we have 1000 chicks, we can't
count on over 500 hens."
"What would you do, Bob, if you had 1000 hens?" asked Edith.
[Illustration: A WELL MANAGED FLOCK OF POULTRY WILL RETURN GOOD
PROFITS AND CAN EASILY BE CARED FOR BY THE WOMEN AND CHILDREN]
"Don't you remember the hen house is made so it may be extended? Of
course, by the end of the summer, when the chicks have grown up, Mr.
Brady will have taken so much sand from the pit that Uncle Joe will be
willing that we should go ahead and complete our buildings, and one
person can care for 1000 hens almost as easy as 500. A 1000 hen flock
is about the right size. Aunt Bettie and I didn't exactly deceive
Uncle Joe, but we thought we'd educate him a little at a time."
"I heard him tell Aunt Bettie the other day he was going to let her
have all the money that they made from the dairy and poultry," said
Edith.
"Well, if he does," said Bob, "Aunt Bettie will make a lot of money--
almost as much as Uncle Joe, outside of the sand pit."
"How would that be, Bob?"
"Because it is possible to make very big profits in these if they're
properly looked after," said Bob; "but of course, the chickens will
have to pay rent for the houses, based on their cost and use of the
land they occupy--the same as cows do for their stable and pasture,
and all the labor and feed Uncle Joe supplies will be charged up
against them. I've been reading the story of a successful poultry and
dairy farm in one of the bulletins. They kept twenty cows, the same as
Aunt Bettie is planning to do, and it stated that in addition to the
milk, cream and butter used by the family, they sold almost $2400
worth of butter, and they got almost as much more from their poultry.
The bulletin didn't say, of course, how much it cost to produce it,
but with our system of cost-keeping where we charge up labor, feed and
rent and credit them for whatever they produce, we'll be able to tell
almost to a cent just what they earn."
"Won't you let me keep the cost-accounting system for the chickens,
Bob?" asked Edith. "I'm sure I'd like very much to look after them all
myself. I think that farming, if done intelligently, is the most
interesting business that one can engage in."
They were standing on opposite sides of the incubator, and Edith was
handing Bob an egg as she made this remark. Bob's hand closed over the
egg and fingers that encircled it. He held it for a moment, while he
looked into her eyes; then, as she blushingly withdrew her hand, he
stammered:
"I'm glad, Edith, you like farming the same as I do."
"Well, it is interesting, Bob, and I do like it," she said, looking at
him shyly.
"What are you two doing in here with all those eggs?" asked Ruth,
bursting suddenly in upon them. "One would think you were in church,
you're so quiet."
"Why, we're going to raise chickens by machinery," explained Bob.
"Do you have a motor to run it?" she asked. "How do you make it go,
Bob? It must be terribly hot in here," she added, looking at them
questioningly.
"Why?" asked her cousin, without looking up from the tray of eggs she
was filling. "Why, Bob's so red in the face. I never saw his face so
red before, except the time he ran down to the pond to take the turtle
off Duncan Wallace's nose."
"You must have the room warm where you keep the incubator," said Edith
evasively.
"Let me put the eggs in, Edith," said Ruth, "I know how to do things
like this," as she began mixing the Leghorns and Plymouth Rocks
together.
"Oh, don't do that, Ruth; we must keep them all separate. We write the
names and dates on them and make all kinds of records, so we'll know
the chicks when they're hatched."
"How can you tell from an old egg what kind of a chick you'll get. How
do you know you won't get black chickens out of white eggs."
"Maybe we will," laughed Bob. "Anything is liable to happen on a farm
where you get girls off apple trees and turtles off Scotchmen's
noses."
"Pretty near ready for dinner?" called her aunt, looking in for a
moment as they completed the work of filling the incubator.
"We've just finished," said Edith. "Bob said I might take care of the
incubator and keep the record of the chicks, if you were willing, Aunt
Bettie."
"Yes, Edith, I'd be only too glad to have you do it," replied her
aunt.
"Thank you, Aunt Bettie. I like farming better every day," and she
gave Bob a shy glance, as he closed the door of the new incubator
house.
XVIII
THE NEW IMPLEMENTS
When Joe Williams purchased Brookside Farm from his father, the
equipment of farm implements which his father turned over to him was
meager; indeed, the few that answered the name of implements were so
old and had been so badly neglected, by being exposed to all kinds of
weather, they were practically useless.
After a conference with John White, the banker, Joe Williams sent for
Mr. Patterson, the representative of the Farmers' Harvester Company.
The three spent a half day together going carefully over their full
line of farm implements, selecting from the list such new machines as
they felt were best suited to their requirements.