"Perhaps Mr. White doesn't go out of town on Saturday and I could find him at his home," said Bob. "I think we ought to have the matter settled before Mr. Brady gets here on Monday morning with his tools. It might make some difference if he started work before the agreement is signed."

"All right, Bob, you take the contract and try to find him. I'll be too busy loading the furniture to bother with it."

So as soon as he arrived in town, Bob left the wagon in front of the furniture store where his uncle, who had driven in with Miss Atwood in the buggy, was waiting. He hurried over to the First National Bank. The bank seemed to be closed, but the entrance door was unlocked, and after some time he found the banker in the directors' room going over some papers.

"Back already for your money, Bob?" laughed the banker, as he opened the door to admit him.

"No, Mr. White, I haven't yet found a better investment for the money. I came to see you about our sand pit. A Mr. Brady, who says he has the contract to build some bridges for the new railroad, wants to buy our sand and we have made a bargain with him and he put it in writing. We didn't sign it, for while it seems to be all right, Uncle Joe would like to have you look it over first."

"Oh, indeed," replied the banker, "and whose idea was it that I should read the contract before signing?"

"Well," hesitated Bob, "we thought maybe it would be better to be sure it was all right since you're loaning Uncle Joe money for the farm."

"That's right, Bob; that's only fair. Follow out that principle and you'll always get along."

He took the paper and read it through carefully and laid it down. Then he reflected a moment, picked it up and read it again. Then he whistled softly.

"You're right, Bob, in bringing this to me," he said, tapping the top of the table thoughtfully with the end of his pencil. "That contract is very well written.

"You see, Bob," said the banker, laying the document on the table, "this contract would be all right if you were sure you had enough sand and gravel to supply Mr. Brady's wants, but you will notice that he does not specify how much material he expected to use, nor does he state when he will require it, and if he took a notion to measure all the sand you have in the pit and issue a receipt for it, he could take it and let it lie on your ground for re-sale; he could do that under this agreement. Also, if you didn't have as much material as he wanted, he could compel you to supply him from other sources at the rate of fifty cents a yard."

"Well, what had we better do about it, Mr. White?" inquired Bob. "Mr. Brady's going to go to work on the ditch on Monday morning. He's setting up his caterpillar steam shovel now and getting ready."

"Wait a moment," said the banker, as he pressed the button. "I'll see if my stenographer has gone. She usually leaves at noon, but to-day I had some extra work that she stayed to finish—no, here she comes— we'll have it re-written."

"Will you kindly make two copies of this agreement, Miss Brown?" asked the banker.

"You see, Bob, there should always be two copies of all agreements— one fer yourself and one for the other party to the contract. It is always best to have all agreements in duplicate."

"You see, Bob," said the banker, as he finished dictating, "I've added a time limit to the contract. A year from now, when I hope they will begin making concrete county roads, your sand and gravel, if the supply holds out, ought to be worth at least $1.00 per cubic yard."

"I had no idea sand and gravel were so valuable" said Bob.

"Well, I've been looking the matter up a bit lately," replied the banker, "and I wouldn't be surprised if you could get that price for it a year from now—maybe before that even. There isn't a great deal of good sand and gravel in the entire county—certainly none that is as good as yours. If you've something else you'd like to do, Bob, you may stop around in an hour or so and get these contracts. I'll read them over after Miss Brown has them finished, and put my O. K. on them. I may not be here when you return."

Bob hastened to the store to impart the information he had obtained to his uncle, but found him so busy loading the farm wagon with his new purchases that Bob had to explain the matter to him several times before he seemed to understand.

At four o'clock Bob returned to the bank and received the corrected copies from the president, who was still there.

"How much do we owe you, Mr. White, for doing this for us?" asked Bob.

"Oh, I don't think I'll charge you anything for this, Bob, although it is worth something to know how to do a thing right, but since I've decided to make our bank the headquarters for farmers, we expect to do little things like this for our friends, so you're welcome to whatever the service is worth."

"Well, I'm sure we didn't expect you to do it for nothing," replied Bob, "and I know Uncle Joe will be pleased that you fixed it up for him."

"By the way, Bob," said the banker, "you might tell your uncle that there's going to be a sale of some purebred and grade Holstein cattle next week on a farm in the southern part of the county, and that I'd like to have him bid them in. There are ten young cows and a fine bull—just the kind he should have to start a herd on his farm."

At the mention of the purebreds, Bob's eyes sparkled, but after reflecting a moment he replied:

"Uncle Joe'll not have money enough to buy any now, Mr. White, and besides, he doesn't think there's much advantage in purebred over ordinary cattle."

"You tell your Uncle Joe that the First National Bank is back of him and we'll loan him the necessary money to buy these cattle, and that I think he should replace his present herd of old common cattle with young purebred stock—that it will pay him to do so. He can get back a part of their cost by selling off his present herd. I've about come to the conclusion, Bob, that there's more money in that sand pit of your Uncle Joe's than either you or he have any idea. Tell him the sale will be next Tuesday, and if he'll come in early in the morning, I'll drive him down in my automobile. We can get back easy by noon, so he'll only lose half a day. I know all about these cattle—they're a first-class healthy herd. The man that owned them died, and his widow is selling off all their stock."

"All right, Mr. White, I'll tell him," said Bob. "Thank you for your advice about the contract."

"I want to see that farm of your uncle's, Bob, improved and well stocked this year—first on account of the benefit he'll get from it and second on account of the influence it will have on the neighboring farms. We've lots of good farms around here, Bob, and I want a model one for the others to pattern after. All our farms need to make them pay well is wide-awake farmers, with a constructive bank back of them to give them the necessary financial help to get started. I've decided that the First National is going to be that bank, and stand back of all farmers in this county who'll make real improvements.

"Your uncle's farm I've picked out to start with, on account of his having that gravel pit, which will make it possible to build his new buildings and pay off the mortgage quickly. Of course, the others must necessarily go slower in their improvements, but when we finish with your uncle this fall, Bob, we'll have the others all so jealous they'll just naturally get into line."



VIII

THE SALE

Bob's heart beat quickly on Monday morning, as he looked out from the barnyard in the direction of the old mill and saw the smoke coming from the steam shovel that Mr. Brady had placed at the lower end of the ditch, ready to start operations. Brady evidently intended to do the work in the shortest possible time, for while Bob was still looking, the operator started the machine, and Bob saw the shovel sink deep into the soft earth and a moment later swing over to the north side, and the first yard of dirt had been removed. He even forgave the contractor for his attempt to drive a sharp bargain in his written contract, though he remembered Brady's embarrassment when his uncle pointed out the defects in his written agreement and hastily signed the corrected one made by John White.

Bob could scarcely realize that it was little more than a week since the eventful Saturday afternoon he had spent fishing in the old pond. He was whistling merrily as he brought out the horses to start the spring plowing.

"I don't like to spoil that merry tune of yours so early Monday morning, Bob, but I've been in a quandary for several days to know how to tell you that it isn't going to be possible for you to go to the wedding," said his uncle. "You see, some one will have to stay on the place while we're away, and your grandmother and grandfather ought to go, and, of course, I'll have to be there myself," he laughed.

"That's all right," replied Bob. "Of course, I'd like to go to the wedding, but I'll have lots of time to get acquainted with Aunt Bettie afterwards, and, besides," he added, glancing at the sun coming over the hill, "we ought to get our spring plowing started as soon as possible. I was just wondering, Uncle Joe," he added, "who we could get to look after the sand pit and start making fence posts. I was reading in one of the 'Concrete on the Farm' bulletins how they're made. It isn't going to be much of a job to receive the tickets for sand and gravel that Mr. Brady'll take away, and the man in charge can spend practically all of his time making fence posts. He ought to make at least 20 posts each day—that would mean that in a month we would have 520 posts—enough for 520 rods of fence—or in a year 6240 rods."

"But you couldn't make fence posts in cold weather, Bob," corrected his uncle.

"Why, yes, you can, Uncle Joe, if you have an enclosed shed with some heat in it. The bulletin tells all about how to do concrete work in cold weather."

"Well, I'll look around to-day, Bob, and see who I can find. I have to go to town at noon to attend to some business. You have to get a license, you know, so I'll have to attend to that before I forget it. Shall I plow around for the first time or two for you, Bob?" asked his uncle, as they hitched the team to the plow.

"No," said Bob. "I'd like to try it myself," and he guided the horses along the fence for the first furrow.

The field they had selected was the one lying just back of the barn, and Bob had completed three sides and was coming along the fourth, which adjoined the fence between the woodshed and the house. His uncle, who was washing the buggy, looked up and noticed that he was leaving considerable space between this fence and his furrow.

"Why are you leaving such a large space in the corner, Bob?" he called, as the team came abreast of where he was working.

"I was leaving a space for a new hen house, Uncle Joe," he replied.

"What new hen house?" asked his uncle.

"Oh, didn't Aunt Bettie tell you when she was here that we talked about the location for a new hen house, and she thought it ought to be put out here in this field between the house and the barn, so that it would face to the south," answered Bob.

"Why, no, I guess she must have forgotten to mention it to me," said his uncle, "but I don't think we'll be able to afford any new buildings on the farm this year, Bob."

"I'm not so sure about that," replied Bob. "You know, Mr. White said the First National Bank was going to be run as a constructive bank and that he would be willing to loan money on any permanent improvements, and that he wanted to make a model farm of yours this year. Besides, you remember what I told you he said about the value of our sand and gravel pit."

"Yes, Bob, but look at the work we have contracted for already; don't forget how many loads of sand and gravel it will take to pay for that."

"That's so," said Bob, "but Mr. White didn't seem to be so much concerned about the amount we spent for improvements as what we spent it for. He seems to be anxious to have us fix the old farm up and believes it will pay."

"That's all right for you and John White," added his uncle, "to talk of making this a model farm in a year, but it's my name that's going to be on the notes, and some fine morning when we get all these improvements made, he may drive out here and take the model farm away from me for the notes."

"I don't think John White would do such a thing," said Bob stoutly. "Besides, why should he call his bank a 'Constructive Bank,' if he used it to destroy other people's hopes? I should think he would call it a 'Destructive Bank,' instead."

"Well, maybe so," said his uncle. "Anyhow, it won't hurt any one to let that little corner go undeveloped for the present, till I talk it over with your Aunt Bettie. It may please her if we carry out her suggestion."

"Why're you so quiet, Bob?" asked his grandmother at dinner that day. "One would think it was you that was getting married instead of your Uncle Joe, sitting there as solemn as an owl and not saying anything. Has the cat run away with your tongue so soon?"

"Why, no," said Bob. "I was just thinking."

"You weren't feeling badly because you weren't going to the wedding, were you?" asked his uncle, looking up.

"No, Uncle Joe, I wasn't. I was just wondering if they might have some bees at the sale to-morrow."

"Bees!" exclaimed his grandmother. "What in the world do you want with bees? Isn't it bad enough around the farm already with yellow-jackets and bumble-bees, without bringing any more here? I should think you would get stung enough by the wild bees without wanting to bring a lot of honey bees to the farm."

"Yes, grandmother, but you forget that the wild bees don't make any honey, or earn anything for us, and honey bees would be earning money all the time. I've been reading in one of the farmers' bulletins that a good colony of bees would make 30 pounds of honey in a season, which at 20 cents per pound would be worth $6.00, and the only thing we would have to do would be to look them over carefully and smoke them once in a while when they swarmed," he replied.

"Say, Bob, did John White put these bees in your bonnet?" asked his uncle suddenly.



"No, it was an idea I got out of one of the farm bulletins," he replied.

"Well, I think you had better give up reading those bulletins for a while, and keep your mind on your plowing," said his uncle.

"Why, didn't I do lots of work this morning, Uncle Joe?" asked Bob surprised.

"Yes, of course; but I mean you can't work and think both," said his uncle.

"Why not, Uncle Joe? Don't you remember what Mr. Dow, the insurance man, said about the farmers that didn't think?"

"Well, anyhow, I draw the line at buying bees," replied his uncle firmly.

"Yes," added his grandmother. "I don't want any bees around here, spoiling the fruit."

"But, grandmother, you haven't waited to find out what I'm going to do with them," said Bob. "I don't want to put them around the house. I want to put them between the clover meadow and the young orchard, and, besides, they don't spoil the fruit. It's the other insects that do that. A honey bee couldn't do that if it wanted to."

"Bob," asked his uncle, showing an interest for the first time, "why do you want to put them away over there?"

"Because I've been reading in the farm bulletins that the reason orchards have such poor crops of fruit is because they don't have enough bees to pollinate the blossoms. The bulletin said that every orchard should have a number of colonies of bees. Of course, the nearer the bees are to the blossoms the more honey they'll make, because the distance is short; besides, if we put them at the edge of the orchard next to the meadow when the clover is in bloom, they could work on the clover, too, just as easy as the orchard blossoms, and they'd make a lot of honey," he declared.

"Well, Bob, you certainly have been reading those books," said his grandfather, glancing up from his paper. "Between your own work, Joe, your new wife and your chore boy," he said, "you're going to lead a pretty busy life this summer, if I don't miss my guess."

"Well, why not, grandfather?" demanded Bob.

"No reason in the world, my boy, and you've hit the nail square on the head by locating the hives between the orchard and the meadow. A bee can probably make four to five times as much honey in a season there than if we put the hives out back of the barn or in some other place near the house."

"I'd like to please you in this matter, Bob, if I could," said his uncle, "but you know how things are this year. We're doing so much already that I don't feel as though I could spare a dollar to invest in bees."

"But, Uncle Joe, I haven't asked you to invest anything in bees. I was only wondering if there'd be some bees for sale. You know I have $72.97 myself on deposit at the First National, and I was wondering whether you'd be willing to let me buy the bees and take enough time off to look after them for the benefit the orchard would get. I've a notion that the bees could earn more for me than the money will earn at interest."

"Now, that's what I call real 'git up and git'," said his grandmother, suddenly forgetting her prejudice against bees, in admiration of the scheme.

"Well, if they've any at the sale, how many do you want me to buy, Bob?" asked his uncle.

"I should think five or six good colonies would do to start with, and they ought not to cost more than ten dollars each, provided they're good and healthy."

"How the dickens am I to know whether they're good and healthy, Bob? You don't want me to knock at their door and say, 'Good morning bees; how do you find yourself this morning'?"

"Of course not," laughed Bob. "I forgot you don't understand bees."

"But, how would you get them here?" asked his uncle, suddenly realizing that hauling hives of bees around the country might not be a pleasant job, and also that the farm to which he was going was some eighteen miles away.

"Well, of course," said Bob, "it would cost something to haul them, but maybe they've an automobile truck and you could pay a little more and have them delivered."

"All right, Bob, I'll look into the matter and let you know when I return," said his uncle.

After supper, when the chores had been done, Bob went over to look at the ditch. He was astonished to find how much work had been accomplished. A clean-cut trench with uniform banks on either side and the new bank leveled on top 125 feet long had been dug. He didn't know how much a caterpillar steam shovel was worth, but at the rate the contractor figured for the ditch, he would have $610.00 left over, after paying the operator and engineer each $5.00 per day, for six days' work, which Bob thought ought to be enough to cover their wages, and adding $5.00 per day for fuel, making $90.00 in all. Machinery was certainly the thing to handle work quickly and cheaply, for after deducting the cost of bringing the shovel to the job and taking it away again, the contractor would make a handsome profit, and he was more impressed than ever with the conversation he had overheard between Mr. White and Mr. Dow regarding power on the farm.

Bob was at supper with his grandparents when his Uncle Joe returned from the sale the next evening, but instead of taking a half day, as he had thought, he had used up an entire day.

"I thought you were going to get back at noon, Uncle Joe," said Bob. "Did they have any bees to sell?"

"How many colonies did you ask me to buy, Bob?" asked his uncle laughing.

"Five or six," said Bob.

"Well, I got them for you all right, but there's not five or six. They had twenty-two and they wouldn't sell one without selling all. So I bought them all for $50.00, which you see is less than you said you were willing to pay for six and they're going to deliver them, too, in modern sectional hives. They are three-banded Italian, whatever that means, with one or two exceptions they say the colonies are in a good healthy condition."

"That's fine," said Bob, so excited he was scarcely able to eat his supper. "What else did you buy?"

"Well, Bob, if I go to the poorhouse, there'll be no one to blame for it but you and John White."

"Why, how's that?" asked Bob's grandfather, looking up quickly.

"Well, it was like this: when he got me down there he not only persuaded me to buy the ten young Holstein cows and a bull, but he induced me to buy five Berkshire brood sows and two four-year-old Belgian mares. He wanted me to take a flock of Southdown Ewes and a ram, but I didn't buy them—there's no money in keeping a few sheep."

"Were they nice-looking sheep, Joe?" asked his father, who was very fond of sheep.

"The finest I ever saw, father, but I didn't want to go so far in debt."

"Then who bid them in, Joe?" asked his father.

"Bob."

"Me!" asked Bob, looking up suddenly.

"Yes, John White bought them for you and said he would be willing to advance the money to pay for them, and you could pay him back later. He said they were too good a bargain to lose."

"But I've no farm for them to run on," said Bob, "and it wouldn't be fair for me to pasture them on your land, Uncle Joe."

"I was thinking of that," said his uncle.

"Well, the only fair way, Uncle Joe, would be for you to take the sheep yourself, for it wouldn't be fair for me to keep them on your farm. Besides, I'll be busy enough with the bees."

"And the chickens," added his uncle.

"Why, did you buy some chickens, Uncle Joe?"

"Yes, that confounded John White made me buy nearly everything on the place. I bought fifty single-comb white Leghorn pullets and three cockerels. Also ten white Plymouth Rock pullets and one cockerel, also an incubator and brooder. The chickens," added his uncle, "are for your Aunt Bettie. Since you're going to build a new hen house I thought we'd better get some good chickens."

Bob was so excited now that he left the table and rushed up to his room to get out the farm bulletins that showed the best types of hen houses. When he returned his uncle and his grandfather were busily talking.

"Joe," remarked his father, "I'm afraid you're getting in pretty deep with John White putting these notions into your head about modern farming. Don't forget you owe me $2000.00 on the farm, which, with all the other things you've bought, you must be terribly in debt."

"I was afraid you'd feel that way about it, father, and I told White so," he replied.

"He probably don't care, as long as he was getting you to borrow his money and sign his notes," said his father.

"That's where you do him an injustice, father," replied his son. "He said the first thing I should do would be to pay you off, and as it don't make any difference whether I pay interest to you or the bank, he loaned me enough money to pay you off, so the next time we go to town we'll fix the matter up. I told John White if I went broke he'd be the one to suffer."

"What did he say?" asked his father.

"He only laughed and said, 'I'll take a chance on you, Joe, since I've met the woman you're going to marry and that boy you've got on the farm. If the pair of them don't make you "git up and git," then I'll miss my guess.'"

"H'm," sniffed his mother, "it's little that Betsy Atwood knows about farming, with her high-fangled New England notions and Farm Bulletin Education. H'm!"

"Now, mother," said her son, "people aren't living on farms any more the way they used to. Farms must be made attractive and work must be made easy, if people are to live on them. That's why you're leaving yourself."

"Nobody ever accused me before, Joe Williams, of not doing my share of work. Your father and I toiled all our lives and this is how much you appreciate it."

"But I tell you, mother, farmers aren't satisfied to get along in the same way they used to. The farmer is human and wants comforts and pleasures in life just as well as anybody else, and I'm beginning to believe that John White was right when he made me buy an automobile to-day."

"What!" almost shouted his mother. "Joe Williams, you've gone plumb crazy. John White has bewitched you!"

"No, he hasn't, mother. I knew you'd feel that way when I told you about it, and that's one reason I want to pay you off first, so you won't lose anything if I fail."

"Whatever induced you to buy an automobile, Joe?" asked his father, while Bob sat staring, unable to believe his ears.

"Well, it was like this: On the way back from the sale he said, 'Now, Joe, this ought to give you a pretty good equipment by the time you get your new buildings put up."

"What! Is he suggesting new buildings?" demanded his mother. "As if the buildings we used aren't good enough for our children." "It was like this," Joe continued, ignoring the interruption; "as we were driving back in the car, he said, 'Now, Joe, I want you to remember you're marrying a young woman who has been accustomed to going about a bit, and will have to get away from the farm occasionally in order to be happy, and you've one of the most enthusiastic boys on your farm I've ever met, but his enthusiasm will not keep up if he's to be tied down tight. What you need is an automobile, so you can go to church, and in the evening, when your work is done, you can go for a drive, or run in and see the movies. I don't mind telling you there are two reasons why I'm recommending this car to you. First, I want you to find out for yourself what miserable roads there are in this county and why they should be paved with concrete. Second, I want you to make it so pleasant on the farm for your wife, and later for your children, that they'll always want to stay there—for we must keep our boys and girls on the farm if this country is to prosper. The trouble has been farmers have not realized the old saying, "All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy." That's why the farms are deserted. There's one restriction, though, I'm going to place on you, and that is that the car is never to be run during working hours, except such as your wife might use it to drive to market, and the car must be sheltered in a building and kept clean. I don't want to ever see you drive in to town with a car all covered with mud. Now, if you're willing to do that, I'll advance you enough money so you'll have a complete outfit.'"

"Well, I suppose you signed up for it," said his mother hopelessly.

"Yes," laughed her son. "I thought I might as well take the automobile along with the other things, mother."

"H'm!" sniffed his mother. "Joe Williams, I'll give you six months until the sheriff sells you out. I never thought I'd raise a son who would turn out to be such a fool," and she burst into tears.

"Now, now, mother, you're all wrong in this matter," said her son, going over and taking her in his arms. "I'm not doing this simply because I love Betsy Atwood but because it's good business, and, besides, I want to make her life pleasant. It's the modern idea, mother; it's the right way to do, and I think John White is right. The reason farmers' boys and girls refuse to stay on the old farm is on account of the few amusements they get. Don't you worry about the sheriff selling me out, for if I live I can easily make a go of it, and if I should die suddenly, I've a $10,000.00 life insurance policy in the Farmers' Mutual that will pay off the mortgage and leave something for Bettie besides. Of course, it cost something to take out a policy of $10,000.00; everything of value costs, but an insurance policy that pays off the mortgage, if I happen to die, relieves me of all worry. It would have been a risk without insurance, but I feel safe now."



IX

POWER AND BANKING

Everything was hustle and bustle on the farm on Monday morning, March twenty-seventh, for this was to be Joe Williams' wedding day.

Bob was up at daylight, milked his cows and finished his chores before breakfast. At nine o'clock his Uncle Joe and grandparents left for town, where they would take the ten o'clock train to Greensburg, where the wedding was to be solemnized at noon.

As previously arranged, Bob stayed on the farm to look after things and finish plowing the ten-acre field adjoining the barn, which had been started two days before. It was scarcely nine-thirty when he turned and started back along the north side of the field. He glanced in the direction of the barn and beheld an unusual sight. A small automobile had been driven into the barnyard and close behind it came the most unusual looking piece of machinery he had ever seen. He stopped his team and stood leaning on the plow, wondering what it might be. The driver of the automobile, whom he recognized as John White, president of the First National Bank, jumped from the car and opened the gate of the field in which Bob was plowing and a moment later the machine entered. It crossed the ground he had already plowed on the west side of the field and entered the furrow; then swung around with its side toward him. He now recognized the apparatus—it was a tractor gang plow, and as it went along, he saw it was throwing up three furrows at a time. As he watched it go he could not help noticing how much faster it moved than his team of horses was capable of doing. He was so lost in admiration of the speed and ease with which the plow did its work that he did not notice the banker coming toward him until he stood beside him.

"Well, what do you think of that, Bob, for a plow?" asked the banker laughing.

"Some plow, Mr. White," said Bob, taking off his hat and running his fingers through his sandy hair, while he still kept his gaze riveted on the tractor which now turned the southeast corner and started up on the east side of the field.

"Better turn your team out of the furrow, Bob," advised the banker, "and let the tractor get ahead of you. I want you to follow it around the field, so you can see how much faster it travels than your team." Bob had scarcely turned his team out before the tractor came up opposite them, and with a wave of the hand and a cheery good morning, the operator of the machine went by the admiring boy and the smiling banker.

"Now get your team in behind him, Bob, and see if you can catch him," said the banker.

Bob had not gone more than a few rods before it became evident to him that his team would never overtake the fast-moving tractor. In, fact, before he had gone half the distance, the tractor was up behind him again on the second round, so he turned his team out again to let it go by. This time, however, the operator brought the machine to a stop and said:

"Come over and have a look at her, young man."

"This is Mr. Patterson, of the Farmers' Harvester Company, Bob, with their latest model tractor plow. Show him how to operate it, Patterson," said Mr. White, "and then let him take it around the field himself."

"Oh, but I couldn't run a piece of machinery like that," protested Bob.

"Sure you can. That's why we brought it out here," said the banker.

"Oh, no, I'm sure it would be too complicated for me," protested Bob.

"That's where you are mistaken," said the agent, jumping down from the operator's seat. "Come here and I'll explain the mechanism to you in a few minutes."

After he had finished, he turned to Bob and said:

"This thing is so simple, it'll run itself, except at the corners, where you'll have to operate it to turn."

"How do you mean, run itself?" asked the unbelieving boy.

"Well, I'll show you," said the agent, as he adjusted one or two of the levers, and, much to Bob's astonishment, the tractor set off down the field by itself.

"Why, how do you do that?" he asked, staring open-mouthed after the disappearing tractor.

"Come down to the corner and I'll show you," said the agent.

"But I can't leave the team," said Bob.

"Oh, I'll take care of the team," said the banker laughing. "You go down and operate the plow."

Handing the lines over to the banker, Bob hurried after the agent, who was racing down the field so as to catch up to the tractor before it reached the corner. Then he stopped the machine until Bob came up. "Now, this is how it's done, Bob. You see this self-steering device down here in the furrow. Well, I set this lever and clamp it over fast and this self-steering device rubs along the edge of the furrow and keeps the plow following the furrow. In big fields in the West, where there's plenty of room and the ground is comparatively level, we always plow around a circle. There's where we use our big fellers," he said smiling. "Fourteen plows in a gang and one man can operate all of them at once."

"You don't mean it," said Bob. "Three or four plows going at once, and each one plowing fourteen furrows. Why, you would plow a field like this in less than a day."

"Less than a day," said the agent. "How long will it take you to finish this field with your team, Bob?"



"Well, I expect to get through by noon on Saturday," he replied.

"Well, what do you say if we finish it up by six o'clock tonight?"

"But you couldn't do that, Mr. Patterson!"

"We can't! Well, you just wait till I show you. I want you to get into the seat and run it yourself, Bob; then you can see how it goes."

The boy climbed awkwardly into the machine and adjusted the levers according to instructions.

"I'm sure I won't be able to handle it, Mr. Patterson," he said, as he opened the throttle and the engine started.

"Won't be able to handle it? All you need to do is to sit on the seat and let it go. Now shove this lever and throw in the clutch," suggested the agent, and off the plow started.

"It does run easy," said Bob, as the tractor moved rapidly ahead, the agent walking alongside, talking to Bob as they went.

"Easy!" remarked the agent. "Why, you can run this machine all day, Bob, and it won't make you as tired in a whole day as doing your chores. Now, when you get to the corner put your throttle down and I'll show you how to make the turn."

Bob was a bit awkward, but finally made the adjustment and got the plow to a standstill at the corner.

"You see, Bob," said Mr. Patterson, "when you use a gang plow you don't cut the corners square as you do with a team of horses. You round them off a bit, then you don't need to take the trouble to turn. Now, while you plow around, I'll take your team and plow off the corners."

"You aren't going to let me go around myself, Mr. Patterson?" asked Bob.

"Certainly, you can run it yourself just as well as anybody," replied the agent. "After I finish with the team, Mr. White and I have some business to do. By the way, can we use your telephone, Bob?"

"Sorry, Mr. Patterson, we haven't a telephone yet," stammered Bob. "I think Uncle Joe'll put one in though when he gets back from his wedding. You see, he's getting married to-day."

"I know he is," said the agent grinning. "That's why we brought the tractor out to-day. We wanted to have a good chance when your uncle wasn't home. When he gets back with his bride, we're going to show him what power can do to a farm."

"Well, I'll take the car," said Mr. White, "and drive over to the Wallace farm and use their 'phone. You see, Bob, we're going to have a little party on your farm. We're going to sort of take possession of the place and have invited some of your neighbors to see the tractor work."

"All right," said Bob. "I'll try it out myself, but if I smash this thing, it won't be my fault."

"Don't worry about smashing it, Bob. Just give her kerosene and keep her going," said the agent.

After the first round or two, Bob became confident of his ability to handle the tractor, and began to realize how quickly and easily plowing could be done by power.

He noticed Mr. White drive back to the barnyard, and as soon as Mr. Patterson had finished with the team, he unhitched them and took them over and put them into the barn, then they sat down in the auto and began to talk, leaving Bob to manage the tractor alone.

When dinner time came he brought the machine to a standstill on the west side of the field nearest to the barn, and, shutting down the motor, came quickly over the freshly plowed ground to the barnyard.

"That's certainly a fine way to plow, Mr. White," said Bob, his eyes sparkling as he contemplated the amount of work done in a quarter of a day.

"Sure is, Bob," said the banker. "The greatest thing I've ever seen. Power certainly does beat horse flesh, and you notice, Bob, we only feed the engine when it is working."

"I can't give you very much of a dinner," said Bob, apologetically, "for everybody's away at Uncle Joe's wedding, but if you'll be satisfied with cold victuals, I guess I can fit you out."

"Bread and butter and a glass of milk is good enough for me, Bob," laughed the banker, as they started for the house.

Bob's grandmother had left him well supplied with food—several apple pies, a boiled ham and a weekly baking of bread had been finished the day before. She had also left the fire in the kitchen stove and the tea-kettle on, so it didn't take Bob very long to make a pot of coffee. He brought some butter and milk from the milk cellar and they were soon enjoying the simple food.

"Bob," said the banker, as he helped himself to a large heel off the loaf and spread it thick with butter and apple butter, "we thought we'd give your Uncle Joe a wedding present by doing his spring plowing for him. We want to surprise him when he comes back, so I arranged with Mr. Patterson to give a demonstration of his tractor on your farm. We sent out some invitations last week to a number of farmers around here, asking them to come here this afternoon, but told them to keep it quiet so your uncle wouldn't find out anything about it. We're going to spend the rest of the afternoon giving each fellow a chance to run the tractor, but to-morrow, just to show you what the tractor can do, Mr. Patterson is going to take it and disk and harrow your ten-acre field back of the cider mill, and then the next day we want you to plow your west bottom field, where your Uncle Joe said he was going to plant his spring wheat this year."

"When you take charge of the tractor, Bob," said the agent, "we're going to let you start with the machine in the barnyard, take it to the field, do the plowing and bring it back again yourself, and unless you have some bad luck, I don't think I'll have to lay a hand on it. Of course, I'll be here in case you need me, but I've a notion the machine will do the trick, without my touching it."

"Why," said Bob a moment later, realizing for the first time what it would mean to have that much plowing done, "our three fields will all be finished before Uncle Joe gets back."

"Not three, Bob," corrected the banker, "four, for we're going to plow your north field, too."

"Isn't that field too hilly for the tractor?" asked Bob.

"No," replied the agent. "I've been looking at it and feel sure we can manage it, although it's a little steeper than we usually recommend for tractors, but we want to demonstrate that our machine will take care of all the fields you have on the farm, with the exception, of course, of 'Round Top,' which ought to be planted in fruit or something instead of trying to raise a grain crop."

"When does your Uncle Joe expect to get back, Bob?" asked the banker a moment later, helping himself to a second piece of pie.

"Thursday afternoon, I think," replied Bob. "They're planning to be back for Sunday."

"Come to think of it, that's right," said the banker. "I overheard him tell Henry Smith, who sold him his automobile, to have the car up at the station to meet the three o'clock train on Thursday. He's evidently going to bring his bride out in style."

"Can Uncle Joe drive the car already?" asked Bob.

"No, I don't think he's going to try to drive out, not on the first trip with his bride," replied the banker, "but I think you can look for them about three-thirty."

"I'd like to be hanging on behind," said Bob, "about the time they come around the bend in the road by the Wallace Farm, and he sees his spring plowing all done."

"That's a joke," laughed the banker, "in which we'd all like to share, Bob, but it won't do him any harm to ride the rest of the distance home wondering how you managed to get it all done."

When they came out from their dinner they found two farmers had already arrived and others kept dropping in by ones and twos, so that before the afternoon was over there were almost two dozen rigs and automobiles standing around in the barnyard.

Much to his delight, Bob was allowed to drive the tractor, while the agent stood among the men and explained its workings.

After a round or two, Bob gave up the seat to a neighboring farmer, who in turn gave way to another, so one by one they tried the tractor.

"Wish he had picked out our farm to demonstrate his plow on," remarked Alex Wallace, as he watched the space in the center of the field rapidly getting smaller. "By the time he's through demonstrating he'll have your field plowed."

"Maybe you could get him to do it for you, Alex," said Bob. "Why don't you ask him?"

"I've already done that," replied Alex, "but he wants to sell us one."

"Well, are you going to buy one?" asked Bob, as they watched the tractor work.

"I don't know what father'll do," replied Alex. "Suppose we'll have to think it over."

When the afternoon sun got low, the banker called the men together in the barnyard and said:

"There's something I want to say to you men. I know that some of you are pretty hard pressed for money just now, and don't feel much like investing in new equipment, but I've recently made a careful survey of the farming conditions in our county and have taken a trip west to look over what they're doing out in Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota and the Dakotas. In fact, I was gone for four weeks last summer, looking over the situation generally, and I've come to the conclusion that we've just as good farms right here in Pennsylvania as they have in any of the western states—only they've gotten ahead of us out there by adopting many modern methods. There isn't a thing they do out there, though, that we can't do right here. Another thing I discovered, and that was that the banks in the West are very much more liberal to the farmers than the banks have been in the East. I don't mind telling you," he said smiling, "that I picked up a number of pointers myself on how to run a bank and when I got back I talked the matter over with our board of directors.

"From now on the First National is going to be run on different principles than we have ever run it before. We're going to do 'Constructive Banking,' which means in plain English that we're going to help you farmers with liberal loans wherever we find a man who's progressive and working intelligently. We're fitting up a special room in the bank that we're going to call our 'Bureau of Farm Information'; we're going to put a capable man in charge of it to answer questions; we're sending down to the Bureau of Agriculture at Washington for a lot of farm bulletins on every subject of interest to you men, also to manufacturers of farm machinery and other appliances that can be used on the farm. The manufacturers of Portland Cement are fitting us up with a complete line of literature on farm buildings and how to build them. In fact, there won't be any information connected with a farm, its equipment or the construction of farm buildings that we won't be able to give you. There's some of you men here who don't do your banking with us—you're just as welcome to the information as the others. We want you to make this your room when you come to town—it will be open every day from eight o'clock in the morning until six o'clock in the evening. There'll be tables there where you can do any writing you want, and a billboard to stick up notices of anything you've got for sale. I hope you'll make good use of the Bureau. Tell your wives we're going to have a special lot of literature for them on canning and evaporation of fruits and vegetables, raising poultry and dairy work and bees. Tell them to come in and use the room as much as they like. We've provided for their comforts."

"Well, it sounds pretty fine, Mr. White," said Billy Waterson, "especially the loans. I'll be in to see you myself on Saturday."

"Yes, come in, Billy, and tell me about your needs," invited the banker. "We'll no doubt be able to help you."

The last of the farmers had scarcely gone when Bob's grandparents came driving up the lane.

"Has any one died, Bob?" asked his grandfather, as soon as he got near enough to be heard.

"Why?" asked Bob smiling.

"Well, I saw many rigs going down the road as we came by the Wallace farm. One or two of them, I thought, came out of our lane."

"No," said Bob, "no one's dead, but," with a wave of his hand toward the newly plowed field, "the old method of plowing with horse flesh passed away this afternoon."

"I noticed, Bob, as soon as I came around the bend in the road that the field was plowed, and I was going to ask you about it. How did you get it done so quickly? Were some of the neighbors over here with their teams helping you?"

"No," said Bob, "come here a minute and I'll show you something," and he took his grandfather, who had alighted from the buggy, over to the wagon shed in which the tractor stood.

"Where'd that come from?" asked his grandfather, looking at it curiously. "Has Joe gone and bought a tractor, too?"

"No, not yet," laughed Bob, "but I guess he will when he gets back and sees how much work it can do."

"They must cost a lot of money, Bob," said his grandfather.

"Not as much as you might think," replied Bob, using the phrase he heard Mr. Patterson use in talking to the farmers that afternoon. "Not when you take into account how much they can do."

"I should like to have seen it work," said his grandfather interested.

"Well, you'll see it, all right," said Bob, "because Mr. Patterson's going to plow the other three fields before he leaves."

"How long does he calculate it'll take him to finish, Bob?" inquired his grandfather.

"He expects to get done by noon on Thursday."

"It can't be done," said his grandfather incredulously.

"Well, he says it can," laughed Bob, "and to-morrow morning you'll see."



X

RUNNING WATER

Bob was up bright and early the next morning and had his chores all done by the time Mr. Patterson came back from town, where he had gone the night before for a supply of kerosene.

As soon as breakfast was over the tractor was driven out to the field back of the cider mill, and, with the agent in the seat, started off on its rounds. In this field corn had been raised the year before, and it would be planted in oats this year, so the plow was omitted and the double disk and spike-toothed harrow used. Bob and his grandfather stood for a half hour watching it work, then Bob went to the barn and got out the team and began plowing the garden, which adjoined the field in which the tractor was working.

When they knocked off at noon, the relative amount of work done by each was very apparent, for the ten-acre field was more than half finished in the same time it had taken Bob to finish less than an acre of garden patch, and by six o'clock the entire field was completed.

The next day Bob took charge of the tractor and succeeded in doing almost as well in plowing their west bottom field as Mr. Patterson had done the day before, although it took him until seven o'clock in the evening to finish the entire ten acres.

Thursday morning everything on the farm was excitement. Bob started to clean up the corners of the west field with the plow and team, while Mr. Patterson started plowing the hilly north field, so that everything would be finished by the time Bob's uncle arrived. It seemed to Bob, as he watched the tractor work, that the hilly field was requiring more time to complete than they had figured, for by noon the field was not much more than half done, so he asked Mr. Patterson at dinner if the plow worked slower on hilly ground.

"Of course, Bob, we can't make the time there that we can on the level, but I've been taking it kind of easy, loafing a little this morning so the tractor would be working when your uncle comes home this afternoon."

In this, however, he was disappointed, for the automobile did not arrive until after five o'clock, an hour after the tractor had been run into the barnyard, where the agent left it and drove to town in his auto.

Bob was in the barnyard waiting to greet his aunt and uncle when Henry Smith drove up. His uncle, however, did not wait until they had alighted to ask Bob the question which was uppermost in his mind, but shouted to him as soon as the car swung up the hill into the yard.

"How in the world did you ever get the plowing all done so soon, Bob?" he called.

Without replying, Bob waved his hand toward the tractor.

"Where'd that come from?" asked his uncle, as he helped his bride from the auto.

"Oh," laughed Bob, as he stepped forward to shake hands with them, "that's another of John White's jokes. He's had nearly everybody in the county out here on the farm while you were away, showing them how easy it is to plow with power."

"Well, Bob, I don't want your Uncle Joe to get married again soon," laughed his new aunt, "but it does seem to have been lucky for him this time, for you've certainly got more plowing done while he was away getting married than he'd have gotten if he stayed at home," as, much to Bob's embarrassment, she suddenly bent over and kissed him. "Things seem to be moving faster on the farm, Bob, since you and your Uncle Joe started working together," she laughed, as they all started for the house.

Bob could not remember any time in his life when he had been quite so happy as he was that night at supper, sitting in silence opposite his new aunt, listening to the story of the wedding and honeymoon. There was something about the frank open smile that she bestowed upon him from time to time which established her in his confidence, and made him feel that the coming summer was going to be a very pleasant one.

He wondered what shape the first suggestion for improvement by his aunt might take, but he didn't have long to wait, for the very next morning at breakfast she turned to her husband and said:

"Have you figured out yet, Joe, how much pipe it will take to bring the water from the spring into the house? I think we should arrange for running water in the kitchen and put in a bathroom, and I have also been thinking that, instead of using the small room beyond the kitchen as a pantry, we could do away with that and fit up a washroom, with a toilet and shower for the men. A farmer is just as much entitled to a shower after his day's work as a golf player and is even more benefited by its use. We could easily make a cellar under it for the hot-water heater and supply hot water to the kitchen, washroom and the bathroom on the second floor, as well as the laundry. I've been looking up the cost of plumbing and don't think the whole thing would cost more than five or six hundred dollars, exclusive of digging the trench."

When his aunt began to speak, Bob scanned the face of his uncle, and he noticed that while his uncle smiled and said he would have to look into the matter, Bob noticed his brow contract in a way that spoke ill of the project being carried out—at least at the present time.

Now that the plowing had been done, it was decided that they would spend a few days in cleaning out the fence rows and repairing fences, and as they were leaving for this work shortly after breakfast, Bob made a discovery. His aunt came into the woodshed where they were getting out their mattocks and brush hooks and said:

"There are a few things I wanted to get in town to-day, Joe, so I'll take the car and drive in."

"Why, you can't drive yet, Bettie," declared her astonished husband.

"Oh, yes, I can," she laughed. "I have my license, too. I learned last summer. While I'm in town, I'll speak to a plumber about the work, and I think, too, we should also have a telephone put in. It will be quite awkward getting along without one."

"All right, Bettie," said her husband. "It will do no harm to get a price on them, even though we won't get them until fall," and he kissed her good-by and started for the field.

She certainly doesn't let her ideas get cold, thought Bob, as he walked along with his uncle, and, after all, it would not cost any more to put the water in now than it would in the fall, and besides they'd have the use of it all summer.

That night after the chores were finished and the supper dishes were put away, his uncle and aunt adjourned to the sitting room, where Bob noticed a fine reading lamp, surrounded by magazines and farm bulletins, had been placed in the center of a large oak table.

"Come into the sitting room, Bob," called his aunt, when he returned to the kitchen after doing his chores. "I want to show you the pictures of our new bathroom fixtures I got from the plumber to-day."

It was only natural that Bob should have wondered just how far his aunt and uncle would take him into their confidence in the planning of the work on the farm, and he was not only relieved but very much pleased at her early invitation to their conferences, having to do with improvements and the expenditure of money. He took it as a compliment to his interest in the farm work, and felt nothing would be too hard for him to undertake while his Aunt Bettie followed the results.

"Here's the plumber's estimate, Joe," she said, opening a letter. "He wants $250 for the bathroom and washroom equipment, including a four- foot white enamel wash sink with soap dishes and tempering faucets. You see, by putting in a sink of this sort, the hot and cold water is mixed as it comes through the faucet, and all the dirty water runs away so that you can always wash in clean water, which is better than filling a bowl. This four-foot sink will allow two people to wash at once. This is the hot-water heater that we will put in the cellar. It will mean the putting in of a new door and steps on the north side of the building for taking out the ashes. That will be some concrete work for you, Bob," she smiled across to him. "The heater will keep the floor of the washroom warm in winter and prevent the pipes from freezing. We ought to take out the wood floor of the washroom and put in a concrete floor, but I think the wood floor will have to answer until we build our new house. The plumber said he could manage this by putting in a galvanized iron tray on the floor under the shower and connecting it to the waste pipes. If you are careful when you use the shower and not splash the water too much over the wood floor, I guess we can get along with this arrangement. This, however, doesn't include the cost of bringing the water down from the spring. I thought, inasmuch as our plowing and harrowing had been done so soon, you could take the time off, Joe, to dig the ditch and put in the pipe yourself. A one-inch galvanized genuine wrought-iron pipe will cost ten cents per running foot and a two-inch pipe twenty-two cents per foot."

"A one-inch pipe ought to be big enough," said Joe, "to supply all the water we want."

"Yes, perhaps it would be for the house alone," she replied, "but then there's the barn and the hen house and the new dairy house to take into account, besides a watering trough in the barnyard and water bowls in the new cow barn for each cow, and I think for all these we really ought to have at least a two-inch pipe, so that the pipe will be in for all time, and, of course, it would not pay to use steel pipe—that would rust too quickly. The hard job will be the digging of the ditch, for the pipe ought to be at least three and a half feet to four feet underground, so as to be sure it will not freeze up during the winter."

"Don't you think we ought to build new concrete walls and put a cover on the spring, Aunt Bettie?" inquired Bob, "so that nothing can get into the spring to foul the water?"

"That would be a good idea, Bob. Do you suppose you could make a rough sketch and figure out how much concrete it would take to do that?"

"Why, there's a sketch in one of the concrete bulletins that shows how that can be done," replied Bob. "I'll get the book right away," he said.

"Bring your bulletins down to the sitting room and leave them on the table, Bob," called his aunt, "that is, if you don't mind. Perhaps it would be well if they were all here so we could all see them."

"All right," said Bob.

He returned a few minutes later and after looking up the suggestion set to work, and by nine o'clock a rough sketch for enclosing the spring had been made. It would require thirteen hundred and fifty feet of two-inch pipe to bring the water to the house, which would cost $297 and the probable cost of the ditch would be $625. When the figures were all put together it was found the improvement would mean an outlay of $1172, if they paid to have the ditch dug, but, of course, they could save $625, by doing the digging themselves.

"I'd like you to have the water in the house, Bettie," said her husband, as he rose to retire, much worried at the large amount of money, "but on top of all the expenditures we have made already, I don't think it would be possible to put it in at this time."

"Well, we won't decide to-night, Joe," his wife said, smiling. "I think it is always best to think such matters over carefully before we undertake them."

All during the next day it was quite evident to Bob that his uncle was puzzled and worried. On the impulse of the moment he had been persuaded by John White, president of the First National Bank, to invest in what he considered a very much larger equipment of live stock than he would otherwise have done, and he had also allowed White to persuade him to spend $1500 for the tractor, plow, disk and harrow. The chances of making the farm earn enough to take care of the interest on his obligations at the bank and perhaps pay off something on the principal, looked all right while John White was explaining it, but now that he had had sufficient time to reflect on the matter, he felt that perhaps he had overstrained his resources in taking on this additional financial burden.

It was not the six per cent interest that worried him so much as the fact that Bettie wanted to spend almost $1200 to repair the house from which there could be no returns—the cost of which would have to be earned just the same. He was particularly silent and abrupt with Bob as they worked upon the fence rows and scolded him severely when he did not anticipate his wishes in the matter of placing the rails for the repairs of the fence. He scolded him unmercifully when, through his eagerness to please him, he happened to drop the sharp corner of a rail on his uncle's hand. It was in this state of mind that Joe Williams came in to supper that evening to greet his smiling wife.

Nothing was said during supper about putting in running water and fitting up a new bathroom, but Bob noticed the roller towel and horn comb had disappeared and that each had their own towel, brush and comb. When the supper dishes had been put away, and they had all adjourned to the sitting room, Bob's aunt opened the drawer in the sitting-room table and took out several sheets of carefully compiled figures, which she handed over to her husband.

"What's this, Bettie?" he asked, taking up the papers.

"That, Joe, is an inventory of our assets and liabilities," she answered smiling.

"Well, does it look as bad as it sounds?" laughed her husband, as he took up the statement and glanced at it hurriedly. "What's it all about, Bettie, and why have you been worrying your head with figures to-day?" he said, placing the papers on the table, without seeming to comprehend their meaning.

"I've been thinking for several days, Joe, that we should know where we stand in the matter of the cost of our farm and equipment, so that we can figure out our possible income and profit. I don't think it would be wise to go ahead and buy and sell without knowing in advance the value of everything we own; the amount of money we're obligated for in the way of loans and have estimated the probable cost of carrying on the work through harvest, and what our crops and produce ought to sell for."

ITEM INVENTORY APRIL 15,1916

Farm, 160 acres .................................... $6,000.00 Cows: 10 head @ $175 ................................... 1,750.00 8 head @ $60 ...................................... 480.00 Bull, 1 head @ $350 ................................... 350.00 Calves, 4 head @ $10 .................................... 40.00 Horses: 2 head @ $350 ..................................... 700.00 2 head @ $200 ..................................... 400.00 Hogs: 5 head @ $40 ...................................... 200.00 6 head @ $30 ...................................... 180.00 Sheep, 12 head @ $20 .................................. 240.00 Chickens ................................................ 50.00 Machinery and Tools .................................... 125.00 Automobile ............................................. 440.00 Feed and Supplies ..................................... 300.00 Growing Crops (Labor and Seed) ......................... 180.00 Cash .................................................. 110.00 Bills Receivable ....................................... 75.00 ————— Total Resources ................................... $11,620.00 Mortgage and Bills Payable ........................... 6,000.00 ————— Net Worth........................................... $5,620.00

"I have started with to-day, April 1, 1916, but next year it will be better to take our inventory so that we can start on March 1st, which will be just before the spring work starts. Then we can see what our gain is for the year. We'll have to run separate accounts for all our crops and stock as well as feed and labor in order to see what the gain or loss is on any item. After we get them started, it will take only a few minutes each day to keep them up to date."

"Here, you see," she continued, as she walked around the table and sat on the arm of his chair, "I've listed the farm at its probable value— $6000."

"But you have listed it at $2000 more than I paid for it," protested her husband.

"That's because it's worth $2000 more than when you bought it," she laughed, "for with the new ditch you have added fifteen tillable acres and we still have a pond and a better driveway up to the barn. Then, of course, I've included in the improvements the running water and bathroom equipment."

"We've not decided to put that in yet," said her husband quickly, to which she made no reply.

"Then you see, I've listed our stock and equipment at $5520. These added together make our assets total $11,520. You have already obligated yourself at the First National Bank for $5400, and when we get the loan for the running water, it will make a total of about $6000."

At the mention of a further loan, Bob noticed his uncle's brow contracting in a way that did not speak well for the installation of the running water.

"But you're missing the best item of all, Joe," said his wife, "the sand pit. I was talking to Mr. White about this when I was in town yesterday, and he feels sure that by the time Mr. Brady gets all the sand he requires for the railroad work, they will be making concrete roads throughout the county and that there'll be a big demand for this pit. While I don't know exactly how big the pit is, I've estimated that it contains thirty thousand yards. If we figure this at 50 cents per yard, the price Mr. Brady is paying, it will bring us $15,000."

"But I'm afraid those are only day dreams, Bettie," laughed her husband good-naturedly; "it couldn't be possible that so much money could be gotten out of a sand pit."

"Why not?" asked his wife. "In New England there are many large supply companies who make a business of digging, washing and selling sand and gravel and carry on a very large business in this material. You have no idea what a hold concrete is getting on the country these days. It's such an excellent material in the first place, and besides it's so cheap and easily handled that any one can build all manner of structures with it. So you see, Joe," she added, smiling up at him, "if the farm doesn't pay a penny for an entire year, and we don't sell any sand besides what Mr. Brady has agreed to take after paying for the improvements that he is making, we'll still have more than enough money coming from the sand pit alone to pay the interest on all our obligations and leave us $2500 to $5000. I know we're going to have something good from the farm itself, besides. So I'm in favor of not only putting in running water in the bathroom, but building the new dairy house at the same time. The cellar under the kitchen here is a bad place to keep the milk and the work is very much increased on account of having to carry the ice down there. Besides, the floor is damp and the place has a musty odor."

"How much will a dairy house cost as you are planning to build it, Bettie?" asked her husband, looking up hopelessly.

"I don't know exactly, Joe," she replied, glancing across the table at Bob, "but we've been looking over the bulletins and as near as we can estimate, it ought not to cost more than $500 for a dairy house alone, but when we build the new dairy house, I think we should abandon this old wooden ice house that keeps the yard all mussed up with sawdust— besides, you have to cut from thirty to fifty per cent, more ice than we really use in order to provide for the great waste in such a poorly built house. Now, if we build our ice house in connection with the dairy house, it will be better protected and the waste will be practically eliminated. Besides, we can have a refrigerator built in under the ice to keep butter, meat and poultry, which is something we don't have now, the way the ice house is built. Get the sketches, Bob, that you and I were talking over and show them to your uncle," said his aunt smiling, seeing that she had won her point. As Bob's grandmother passed through the sitting room on her way to bed that evening, she saw three heads close together bending eagerly over the sketches, while Bob and his aunt in turn explained to Joe Williams the design and advantages of a modern dairy and ice house combined.

"H'm!" she sniffed to herself. "Joe's new wife is certainly starting in early to spend his money for him. He'll find out it's easier to spend money than it is to make it, and I'll be glad when I get away from here so that they can't say I helped to put him in the poorhouse."



XI

TONY

"Good morning, son—is your uncle around?" inquired Mr. Brady, the following Monday morning as Bob was getting ready to start work digging the trench for the new water supply.

"He's in the woodshed now," replied Bob, "but he'll be out here in a few minutes."

"How do you like the ditch, son?"

"It's a fine job, Mr. Brady," replied Bob. "When are you going to put in the cement drain tile?"

"They ought to be here to-day and it won't take long to put them in, once they're here. The digging's all done already. I've a lot of men coming to-morrow, and I'll make a short job of that and the building of the dam. What I wanted to see your uncle about was, when's he going to put a man on at the gravel pit so we can start taking gravel away. We'll have to screen some sand for face work, but in most cases I expect to use the sand and gravel together, just as it comes from the pit."

"Won't you have to measure it out," asked Bob, "to get the right aggregate?"

"In most cases we would, son," answered the contractor, "but your pit is running just about right—twice as much gravel as sand, which makes a very good concrete, so as soon as we get through with the steam shovel at the dam I want to put it up in the pit and start my trucks hauling sand to the railroad bridges. The engineer tells me he'll be ready for me with his lines by the end of the week.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Williams!" said the contractor, as Bob's uncle approached. "How about the man to take care of the tickets at the sand pit?"

"By George, I forgot all about that!" exclaimed Joe Williams. "You'll have to excuse me, Mr. Brady. I was pretty busy last week with getting married and everything and forgot all about the man. That reminds me, John White was speaking to me about a man the other day for some light work on the farm, but if I can't locate one within, a day or two, I'll let you put one of your men on."

"All right. I want to begin taking sand away by Monday at the latest," said the contractor. "Some activities, Mr. Williams, you're having around here, what with the steam shovel working in the ditch and a tractor plow working in the fields. We've had about everybody in the county stopping here within the last week inquiring what's going on. I've had a lot of fun out of it, too," he laughed.

"How's that?" inquired Joe Williams.

"Well," said the contractor, winking at Bob, "I told everybody who asked that we were digging for 'Hidden Treasure,' and do you know, some of them believed me."

"That's right," said Bob, "we are digging for 'Hidden Treasure,' and what's more, Mr. Brady, we're finding it."

"I think if I were to stay around with you very long, sonny, you'd be after making me believe the moon was made of green cheese, as they say in Ireland, but with you charging me fifty cents a yard for sand, I know you're making money all right. But you're wasting your time here on the farm, me boy—it's a contractor you should be."

"I don't agree with you, Mr. Brady. I think farming is the best of all. Building is interesting, of course, but planting crops and raising cattle and seeing things grow is the most interesting thing in the world to me, and I'm going to be a farmer. I like to hear the birds sing while I'm working."

"Oh, but we've birds singing in the contracting business, too, for what's sweeter music to the ear than the puffing of a hoisting engine, or the rattling of the chains of a steam shovel? Music is music the world over—it's only a matter of education the kind we enjoy most. Now, to me, the escaping steam is the sweetest music I know, for it means dollars to me; but I must be looking after me work instead of standing here blarneying with you all the morning."

"I wish we had your men to dig our trench for the new water supply, Brady," said Joe Williams.

"How deep do you want it?" asked the contractor.

"About four feet. I guess that's the depth you wanted to make it, Bob?" he asked turning to his nephew.

"Yes, Uncle Joe," he replied.

"Say, Williams, you're wasting time and good muscle digging that trench. Let me dig it for you in two days."

"What—in two days!" exclaimed Joe Williams. "You surely couldn't use your steam shovel for that job, it would be too big and heavy."

"I'll be using no steam shovel, Williams," said the contractor. "I'll use dynamite."

"Why, how could you do that?" asked Bob, interested at once.

"Sure, my boy, there's many easier ways than digging a trench with a pick and shovel. I have some dynamite in town now that would be just the thing to blast out your trench. Of course, it will scatter the dirt around some, for dynamite is usually used to make an open ditch rather than one that is to be re-filled, but it will be less work to gather up the dirt than to dig through the hard shale, and that reminds me," he continued, "when you come to put in your concrete fence posts, don't break your back digging holes if you strike hard shale; just put in a stick of dynamite and loosen her up—you'll find it will save you lots of backaches."

"How much would it cost, Brady?" asked Joe Williams much interested. "Let me see," said the contractor. "You, say it's about 1400 feet long and four feet deep. That will mean putting down 470 holes, three feet six inches deep, and require 360 pounds of dynamite."

He figured for a moment on a memorandum pad and added:

"I'll do the whole job for $100.00, which is about one-fourth of what it will cost you to open up the ditch, and I'll complete it in two days. You may have to level off the bottom of the trench here and there for the pipe, but at that it will be easier than digging the entire trench."

"All right, Brady," said Joe Williams; "when will you start?"

"To-morrow morning," said the contractor. "I'll get the dynamite to- day."

"But isn't dynamite dangerous, Mr. Brady?" asked Bob.

"No, son, not when it's taken care of properly. You know, you don't set your kerosene oil can on a hot stove, neither do we leave dynamite around where it is likely to be put off, but it's just as safe as gunpowder, if you handle it right. You ought to have the ground in your young orchard loosened up a bit with a few sticks. You'll be surprised to know how it will improve the production of your trees."

"Does it really improve the land, Mr. Brady?" asked Bob.

"Haven't you read about that, Bob? I thought you were reading everything about farming."



"I've read considerable, Mr. Brady, but never anything about dynamite, but the next time I go to town I'll stop around at the First National and ask them if they have any literature on dynamite. You know they're running a 'Constructive Bank' now and distribute literature to the farmers, and I'm sure John White will have the information."

"That's right, my boy, find out all about it first, and then you'll know the reason for using it, and how to apply it. Well, I must be going. I'll take care of the job to-morrow. Good day, Mr. Williams; good-by, son," he said, as he turned and strode down the hill toward the new drive where the steam shovel was making fast inroads into the remaining bank.

"There's one thing I like about Brady, Uncle Joe," said Bob, as they watched him disappear. "He does things quickly and he does them well. Did you notice how straight and even the slope of the two sides of the ditch were made, and how he leveled off the north bank on top?"

"Well, Bob, you know I always like a straight furrow myself," replied his uncle, "and have always claimed that there isn't a man in the county can plow a straighter one."

"And there won't be a man in the county next year, Uncle Joe, who can plow a faster one than you," laughed Bob, "when you get your new tractor going."

"That certainly was a great piece of work," said his uncle, looking admiringly at the ploughed fields, "but where can we get a man to look after the sand pit, Bob? Why not let Brady put on one of his men and settle it?"

"Don't you think we ought to have a man of our own, Uncle Joe, rather than take one of his? No doubt, Brady's honest, but he's human. Suppose he'd forget once in a while to give us some tickets."

"Oh, well, we wouldn't miss a load or two of sand."

"No," said Bob, "but it might get to be a habit with him, and you know, according to Aunt Bettie's figures, the sand is going to help a lot in getting our loan paid off quickly at the bank."

"Well, the next time I go to town, I'll see who I can find," he replied.

"You know, Uncle Joe, if we had a telephone we could call up this morning and probably have a man out here by noon. Don't you think Aunt Bettie was right in wanting to have a 'phone?"

"Oh, that's been taken care of," said his uncle. "I told Bettie to go ahead and have it put in. I thought it would be nice to be able to call up our friends in town and talk to them on rainy days and Sundays when we didn't want to drive in. Besides, as you say, it will be useful at times to save trips."

They spent the morning repairing the fences, which, under their persistent work, were beginning to look like real fences again.

There was one thing about Joe Williams—whatever he did, he did thoroughly, and the undergrowth was cut from both sides, heaped into piles and burned.

"Do you know, Uncle Joe, if we had wire fences, on concrete posts, we'd never have any work like this to do each spring. The plows would keep the sides clean. Think of what it would mean, Uncle Joe, to get rid of fence rows and repairing old rail fences. Then there's the wasted land that the fence takes up; that's a dead loss."

"Yes, I can easily see that," replied his uncle. "Bettie was talking about that last night."

They had worked all morning and were on their way to the house to dinner when they saw a man coming across the fields toward them. He came from the direction of the farm above, and as he approached they saw he was a youthful foreign-looking chap—probably an Italian and not more than twenty or twenty-one years old. He carried a bundle at the end of a stout stick thrown across his shoulder, and when he had gotten within speaking distance, he called:

"Good-a morn! Do you need-a da mase or-a da carpendero to do-a da work?"

"Oh, you're one of the plumber's men?" asked Bob, thinking perhaps his aunt might have asked to have some men sent out to work on the new cellar under the washroom where the hot-water heater was to go.

"No, I no-a da plumb. I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."

"Oh, you want a job?" asked Bob, catching his meaning.

"Yes-a, da job, but no-a work-a da field. I no-a da farmer—I-a da mase and-a da carpendero."

Bob exchanged glances with his uncle, who shook his head.

"What's your name?" he asked, suddenly turning to the applicant.

"Tony."

"What do you say, Uncle Joe, if we have Tony go down to the house with us and talk the matter over with Aunt Bettie? He might be the man we could use at the sand pit. Besides," he added suddenly, "he might be the very fellow to help build the dairy house—if he understands both carpentry and mason work, he would be a big help."

"How much will you work for?" asked Joe Williams, who hesitated at paying any money in wages.

"How much-a da work to do?" asked Tony.

"Oh, we've enough for a week or a month—maybe more—that's if you can do our work."

"I understand-a da work," replied Tony, "and I like-a da live in-a da country, if you no-a make-a me sleep in-a da barn."

"Where do you come from?" asked Bob.

"From Italia. My fader, he-a da contracdisto and I learn-a da mase and-a da carpendero."

"Well, why didn't you stay in Italy?" asked Bob.

"Oh," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "there no-a da mon in-a da Italia and too-a much da hard work."

So asking questions and listening to Tony's answers the three reached the house, where Bob quickly explained the matter to his aunt. She came out and asked Tony to stay and have dinner with them. He was given a basin and towel and after he had made his toilet his appearance was decidedly improved.

"He says he doesn't want a job," remarked Joe Williams to his wife, when they were alone after dinner, "if he has to sleep in the barn."

"Well, I don't blame him," said Bettie. "What's the matter with our south room? Your father and mother are moving to town to-morrow, and you know we won't have use for all the rooms in the house. The south room has a separate stairway leading from the small sitting room on the first floor. We could give him those rooms and make him comfortable. I rather like his appearance," she added. "Of course, Italians are foreigners and they're about as awkward in our country trying to speak our language as we would be if we were in their country trying to speak Italian. How much does he want to work for us?"

"He didn't say, but I'll ask him," and they adjourned to the porch.

"How much money would you want, Tony?" asked Joe Williams, "to work for us, say by the month?"

"Where I-a da sleep?" asked Tony quickly.

"In that room up there on the second floor, at the end of the porch."

"And where I-a da eat?" he asked again.

"Why, with us, of course," said Joe Williams.

"Then I stay-a da mont and do-a da work, and when I get-a da through, we make-a da barg. If you like-a my work and I like-a da place, then I stay, but if you no-a like me and I no-a like you, then I go."

"All right," laughed Joe Williams, "that's a bargain, Tony. Do you want to begin work right away?"

"Yes, I no like-a da loaf," said the man, shrugging his shoulders.

"All right, come around here and I'll show you what we want done," he said and took him around behind the house, showed him where to dig out and build a new entrance to the cellar under the washroom and put in a flue for the heater.

Bob was much interested in the making of the trench for the new water system, and while his uncle went to town for the pipe and some pipe tools for laying it, Bob, at Brady's direction, plowed two deep furrows, six feet apart, outlining the two edges of the trench. He plowed each furrow a foot or more deep, so as to outline the edges of the trench and keep the top as narrow as possible. The contractor's foreman and his gang quickly drove their iron bars into the earth three feet six inches deep and about three feet apart and loaded the holes as they went. When they had fifty charges in place, the foreman connected up the battery, and when the men were out of the way he raised the rack bar of the battery to its full height and shoved it down hard. Up came the earth and a neat open trench four feet deep and one hundred and fifty feet long lay open before them.

By the time his uncle had returned, over half the length of the trench had been made and was ready for the pipe.

Dynamite certainly is a quick means for doing a hard job, thought Bob, and he immediately decided to learn more about its uses.

Bob was surprised and pleased to see how quickly and easily Tony could lay out and execute a piece of work. It was no time at all until the excavation was done, the wall was cut through for a door opening and the forms made for concrete steps to lead down into the new cellar. Fortunately, they found that the foundation went down low enough to give them the five-foot head room they needed for the hot-water heater. The hardest work was to connect the flue opening to a flue in the old chimney, which they found had been built up solid with masonry. This made it necessary to take the plaster off back of the chimney and cut a groove. Either by instinct or accident, Tony located a flue, and before the end of the week they not only had the doorway and flue completed, but had laid a cement floor on the cellar as well. Tony showed Bob how to mix the concrete and put it in place so as to get a smooth surface, and explained why it was necessary, in building steps and other concrete work, that it should all be put in at one time and smoothed off as soon as it became sufficiently hard so it would not crack.

The morning after Tony's arrival, Bob's grandparents said good-by to the old homestead and were taken in the auto to town. Bob's uncle drove the car, and, as it got under way, Bob overheard his grandmother remark:

"Too many new-fangled notions, Joe. You'll surely go to the poorhouse before you're through."

"All right, mother," he laughingly replied. "If we do, we'll go on rubber tires and perhaps over concrete, and the road won't seem so rough."

Thomas Williams and his wife had spent their entire lives in the country and moving to town did not mean for them a regular town house and lot, they'd be too cramped to end their days that way. They had purchased a comfortable house, surrounded by a four-acre garden and orchard, all in good repair, and here, as compared with the farm, the work would be light indeed.

After making his parents comfortable in their new home, Joe Williams drove out to meet his new purchases, which were being delivered that day. He met the cavalcade two miles out and accompanied them home.



"Looks like a circus parade, Aunt Bettie," declared Bob, as they stood on the hill back of the barn and saw them winding up the lane. First came the team of black Belgian mares, then the ten Holstein cows, with the bull leading his herd, then a wagon with the five Berkshire sows in a pen, on top of which were the incubator and brooder, and on top of these again the coops with the white leghorn and white rock chickens. Then came another wagon with the bee hives, and following this the small flock of Southdown sheep, looked after by a fine collie dog, and last of all came Joe Williams in his new auto, smiling like the king he felt himself to be.

It was an impressive sight to see this procession of fine-blooded stock arrive at the farm, and the eyes of both Bob and his aunt were glistening when they looked at each other as the procession came up the new road into the barnyard.

"Well, what do you think of them, Bettie?" called her husband, jumping from his auto and kissing her. "Almost like a circus procession. Hey, Bob, show them where you want your bees. Better take them right over to the orchard and set them up where you intend to keep them this summer."

"I've got a place already fixed for them," he replied. Then as Tony came near he called, "Do you understand how to talk to Italian bees, Tony?"

"Yes, I know-a da bees and-a da bees know-a me—no-a sting," said Tony.

"All right," said Bob, "come with us," and they climbed up on the wagon and drove across the meadow to the new apiary.

They placed the hives on the cinder foundation Bob had made for them under the trees and when they were all placed they looked very attractive in their white paint.

"I'm sorry I didn't buy them myself," said the driver of the wagon, who had been a farm hand for the former owner. "They're the greatest honey-makers I ever saw. But I didn't have any place to take them, so I had to let them go. You're a lucky boy—you got them for a song, but do you know how to handle them?" he inquired. "You'll have to look out for them now very carefully, or you may lose them. The spring is the time they require watching so they don't starve."

"I've been reading up a lot about them," said Bob. "But what's in that box?" he asked, as the driver unloaded his last piece—a large box like a tool chest.

"These are your things for handling them, Bob—a smoker, a veil, some tools and a lot of extra parts and things. If you want me to, I'll come out the first nice warm day and help you look them over. I'm not afraid of them. Call up my sister on the 'phone, 770, and tell her when you want me. My name's John Adams."

"Yes, I will," said Bob, "and I'll pay you for your time, too, for while I've read some, I've had no actual experience with bees."

"Well, to-night, after sundown, take the blocks from the entrance and let them fly around in the morning. You may lose a colony or two until you learn how to handle them, but you needn't worry; they're good breeders and will soon make up for that—but be sure and keep the hives cool in hot weather, then they won't swarm so quickly."

When they got back to the house all the new cattle and other stock had been put away, and the men were ready to return home. That night before setting the new chickens at liberty, Bob caught and killed the two remaining Dunghill roosters.

It was a tired but happy family that went to bed at ten o'clock that night, instead of the regular hour of nine.

It seemed to Bob that he had just closed his eyes when bedlam broke loose. His first thought was of the new stock, then of the dynamite, but as he sat up in bed he realized it could not be either of them— so, throwing up his window, he looked out.

In the moonlight he could distinguish many of their neighbors, who were armed with everything from sleigh bells to horse fiddles, and the racket they made in the stillness of the night seemed greater than any noise he had ever heard. As he raised his window, a shout went up, the neighbors thinking it was Bob's uncle, but seeing their mistake they redoubled their efforts and kept the racket going for a half hour or more. Then his aunt and uncle appeared, and invited the party into the house, where the lamps were already lighted.

Congratulations were extended, a hasty lunch was set out, the cider barrel tapped and a general good time enjoyed for an hour or more.

Many of the boys had been former pupils of the bride and they were happy that she had chosen to come and live among them.

Joe Williams disappeared for a moment and when he returned he carried a large bottle of wine with a long blue ribbon tied to it.

"Boys," he said, when the cheering had stopped, "you all know that with the exception of cider, I never drink anything."

"Oh, don't let that worry you, Joe, we're not so modest," they shouted, but he only held up his hand for silence.

"This bottle of wine was given to us by a very good friend for a certain purpose. We had intended to wait until later to use it, but I don't know any better time than just now, when our friends are all here to carry out our plans, so come out into the yard a moment," and they all adjourned to the front yard.

Here Joe Williams and his bride stepped over to a young apple tree and handing her the bottle, he tied the ribbon to a limb.

"Now, boys, Bettie and I've decided to give our farm a name and sell our produce under that name—a sort of a trade-mark or standard of merit, so now while you're all here, we'll perform the ceremony."

Taking the bottle firmly in both hands, the bride stepped back, stretching the ribbon tight, then with a light shining in her eyes that was not a reflection of the moon, she called in a clear voice, "I christen you 'Brookside Farm,'" and sent the bottle crashing against the tree amid the cheers of the crowd.

When silence had been partly restored, a man was seen mounting the steps of the porch, and holding a stout stick in his hand, he placed one end of the stick against his lips and there floated out upon the stillness of the night the old familiar air, "Home, Sweet Home." When he had finished there were many shining eyes in the crowd, but only Bob recognized in the disappearing figure his new friend Tony, whose natural artistic nature had been responsible for such a fitting tribute.

When the boys had all gone home, Bob's aunt called him to the kitchen.

"Take this up to Tony and thank him for me for the very fine touch he added to our ceremony," and she handed him a plate heaped high with cake, alongside of which his uncle set a large goblet of their rare old elder-berry wine—a mark of distinction conferred by his uncle only upon honored guests.



XII

THE DAIRY HOUSE

While his uncle planted the oats Bob and Tony laid the water pipe in the new trench, the plumbers put in the new fixtures and laid a sewer to the new cess pool. A couple of sticks of dynamite prepared the hole for the latter, which was later walled up by Tony with large loose stone and covered over with a concrete slab—later on when they built the new house they would put in a concrete septic tank, but for the present this cess pool would answer. After laying the water pipe, they borrowed a scoop from Brady and gathered up enough dirt to fill the trench.

Tony and Bob now built the concrete enclosure around the spring. An inch pipe connection for a future water trough was put in each field crossed by the trench, and a valve placed on the line well under ground to prevent freezing.

By using a section of two-inch pipe set vertically over the valve, they could open and close the valve with a long-stemmed wrench.