By the end of the week all was completed, and there was running water in the house.

Saturday arrived and they had found no one to look after the pit. They were discussing the matter and wondering whom they could get, when Alex Wallace came over to see Bob about some sand they needed to build a new wall under their barn.

"You don't happen to know of any one we could get to look after our sand pit, do you, Alex?" asked Joe Williams, as Alex came up.

"Would it be heavy work, Joe?" asked Alex.

"No, it would be an easy job—just taking a ticket from the drivers of the trucks for every load they take away, and making concrete fence posts between times.

"Then I've the very man for you," replied Alex; "my father's brother, Duncan Wallace. He's a Scot, like my father, and was a stone-cutter, but the stone dust got into his lungs and he came to the country to see if he couldn't get better. He isn't very strong, but he could do any kind of light work."

"How much would he want to work for us, Alex?" asked Joe Williams.

"I'm sure I don't know," he replied. "I'll bring him over this evening and you can talk to him yourself. I want to get a couple of loads of sand, Bob," he said, addressing the latter. "How much will you charge me?"

"Fifty cents a yard, Alex—cash or work," replied Bob. "If you'd rather work it out than pay the money, we'd be glad to have the work. You can do the work in your spare time."

"What would the work be?" asked Alex.

"The first job," said Bob, looking inquiringly at his uncle, "is digging a row of fence post holes along the main road to fence in our property. We want to put in concrete fence posts and a wire fence along the main road. After that's up we'll have lots of other fencing to be done."

"How much will you want an hour for your time, Alex?" asked Joe Williams.

"Well, about thirty cents," replied Alex.

"All right, we'll put you down for thirty cents an hour, you to work as many hours as will be required to pay for whatever sand and gravel you get. Of course, you can do the work whenever you have the spare time. We'll stake out the post holes and show you the size we want them dug. You must always let us know when you're going to work, though, so we can keep account of your time and give your credit."

"All right," said Alex, "when can I get the sand?"

"Monday morning," said Bob, "and your uncle can keep account of how much you get."

On Monday morning Joe Williams took the new team and went to town for a wagon-load of Portland cement. The few bags they had in the shed were all used up in the repairs around the spring and cellar. As it had been decided at the conference with John White, the banker, on Saturday, to build a new concrete dairy house and ice house, equipped with running water, it was necessary to lay in a new supply of cement.

Bob looked up the cement bulletins on the handling of concrete, and found that cement should be put in a shed piled on planks raised above the floor, and that the shed should have a tight roof. The only building that would answer these conditions was the wagon shed, and after considering the matter, he decided that by moving the wagons around a bit he could get a space at one end near the door that could be used for this purpose.

He got some old timbers eight inches thick, and six feet long, and laid them on the ground four feet apart, and on top of these he put some two by ten plank, and by the time his uncle returned with the first load he had a platform ready to receive the cement.

"It's very important, Uncle Joe, to keep the cement dry and up from the ground so it won't set before we use it, for the first bag in, you know, will be the last bag out, and cement costs too much to lose any of it."

As soon as dinner was over, Joe Williams went back to town for another load, hauling it up the new road, same as the first load.

"I tell you, Bob, it's a lot easier to bring a load up the new road than it was up the old one. If the main road wasn't so rough, I could haul even more. I can see that John White's argument for concrete roads is a good one. I'm going to talk it up to the farmers around here and see if we can't get them together and build the new road this summer. I was talking to one of the County Commissioners to-day and he says they are in favor of it, but they want the owners of the adjoining farms to ask to have the road built. The Commissioners are politicians, you know, and don't want to do anything that will lose them votes. It's going to take three days to haul out the cement we require for the new dairy house with such rough roads. By the way, Bob," his uncle continued, "John White wants you to come to town with me to-morrow and show him the kind of a dairy house we're planning to build. He says he's anxious that it shall be a model that can be copied by other farmers. I told him you didn't have much of a drawing, but he said that he was sure if you took in the sketches you have, you would be able to explain the construction to him so he could understand it."

The next day as they drove along they talked of the improvement on the farm and the profit they ought to be able to earn with the new equipment. Bob was the optimist and his uncle the pessimist in these discussions, but optimistic Bob was not without his pencil and memorandum book and usually had the better of the argument because of his uncle's disinclination to take the time to figure out the advantages and disadvantages of the schemes.

As soon as they arrived in town, Bob went around to the First National Bank to see the president, while his uncle stopped at the supply yard for another load of cement.

"Hello, Bob," greeted the banker, as he entered. "I hear you've put on some help at the farm to build some of those modern buildings you've been telling me about. Thought I'd like to know what you're doing. Got your plans with you?"

"They aren't very much of plans, Mr. White," explained Bob. "I'm not much of an architect, but maybe you can understand them."

"Bring them into the directors' room, Bob, where we can look them over without interruption," he said, and Bob for the third time was privileged to occupy this room.

"The first thing I want to know," said the banker, "is how you found the size dairy house you needed. Did you figure it out, Bob, or just look up some catalogs and pick one out that pleased you?"

"No, Mr. White," replied Bob, "Aunt Bettie and I decided first on the size of the dairy herd. We thought that twenty cows would be as many as we would be able to take care of on a farm of the size of ours, if we do general farming. We have used a twenty-cow herd as the basis of our calculations. We found by reading the recommendations in the Government's bulletins, that in order to keep a dairy of good milk cows, it would be necessary to take care of five calves and five yearling heifers, and an old and a young bull in order to keep the herd up to maximum production. We figure that a herd of twenty Holstein cows ought to average two hundred quarts of milk daily. This would mean ten twenty-quart cans to take care of the milk, and, allowing for the ice, would require a trough nine feet by two feet six inches by two feet. If we separate the cream, of course, it wouldn't require such a large trough. But we used this as a basis of the dairy requirements. Then we found by looking up another Government bulletin that it would take about twenty tons of ice to take care of this milk, but we need ice around the farm for other things, too, so we decided to make the icehouse large enough for thirty tons. Aunt Bettie and I read all the bulletins we could get from the Government and then we looked up the different ones sent out by the Portland cement manufacturers, but we found they didn't exactly agree; besides, we felt that if we could build the icehouse inside of the dairy, the ice wouldn't melt so fast, so we've decided to make a combination building like this," he said, as he laid his plans before the banker. "We're going to put this building back of the woodshed where it will join the new cow barn."

"But isn't a twenty-cow herd pretty large for one man to handle, Bob?" asked the banker.

"No, Mr. White, you can get a two-unit milking machine now that will milk twenty to twenty-five cows in one hour and give a ninety-eight per cent. efficiency."

"How much will that cost, Bob?"

"We can get a complete two-unit outfit consisting of pump, air tanks, two milking units, installed in the barn, complete for $450."

"But you've only ten cows, now, Bob. Wouldn't that be too large for them?"



"No, Mr. White, the outfit is designed for from ten to twenty-five cows, and will do the milking twice as fast as by hand."

"That's right, Bob; put in machinery and cut down help. Let's see, that would save at least two hours a day for one man at, say thirty cents an hour, or $219 per year. You say the complete outfit costs $450, which amount at six per cent, interest would mean $27, or a saving of $192. Quite a saving, Bob."

"Have you laid out a general scheme for all your buildings?" asked the banker, much interested.

"Yes," replied Bob. "Aunt Bettie and I have figured out the size and location of all the new buildings we'll need for the farm. Here they are on this drawing," and he produced his general layout. "Of course, you know, Mr. White, we won't get them all at once, but we want to build each one as we go, so that it will be part of a definite scheme. Aunt Bettie says we mustn't make any mistakes in the placing of our buildings." "What does your Uncle Joe say about all these plans?" asked the banker.

"Well, Uncle Joe isn't very much interested just now, Mr. White. He thinks we're planning to spend too much money, but Aunt Bettie says it isn't so much the amount of money we spend, as the way in which it is spent that requires the planning."

"That's right," said the banker. "Do your thinking first and your building afterward, and then you won't have a lot of mistakes to work with all your life. I like the way you've laid these buildings out, Bob. You must have read a lot to get this idea. Where did you say the new hen house is to go?"

"Over here behind the cow barn. You see, Mr. White, our present buildings are all built facing the wrong way. We don't get the right exposure. Besides, Aunt Bettie and I think that the new house should set out where the old barn is at the present and the new barn should be out in the orchard back of the smokehouse. The trees in this orchard are old anyway, and it is about time they were cut down. That would make a good layout for all the buildings and have them conveniently connected. You see the new driveway comes up in the yard between the house and the barn, where it ought to be. That will make the general entrance to the house toward the barn and a garden entrance toward the main road."

"That's right, Bob; I'm glad to hear you talk about gardens. I think the finest thing on a farm, outside of making a profit," he added smiling, "are flowers."

"Well, the flowers are Aunt Bettie's idea," said Bob. "She says they've many nice gardens in New England, and that she wants to have one out here, and, of course, you know that'd be the southwest exposure, and just the place for a flower garden."

"What's this dotted line for, Bob?" asked the banker, pointing with his lead pencil.

"Oh, that's the water supply pipe from the spring on 'Old Round Top'," said Bob. "You see, we're planning to carry the water into all the buildings, so it won't be necessary to take the stock out to water in the winter. Of course, when we build the cow barn, we'll put in individual water bowls for each cow. Aunt Bettie and I are reading up on dairy barns now and when we come to build that we don't want any mistakes. We want it just as good and practical as it can be made, yet not too expensive."

"After you get the dairy house up, Bob, what's the next building you're going to build?"

"We want to build the hen house next, Mr. White," said Bob, "but it's a good deal of work for just Tony and I, working by ourselves, even though we do get up early in the morning. Besides, it'll soon be planting time and Uncle Joe will need me in the corn field."

"I was thinking of that, Bob," said the banker thoughtfully, tapping the table with the end of his pencil. "I wonder why it wouldn't pay your Uncle Joe to put on a man to help him and let you look after the buildings."

"Oh, but he couldn't afford that. Besides, I like to work at planting, too," replied Bob hastily. "Yes, that's so," said the banker, "but I think I told you, Bob, I want to see your Uncle Joe's farm a model one, and I don't want him to spend three or four years in fixing it up. Of course, the other farmers won't do theirs quite so quickly; they don't have sand pits on their farms, but there's so much to do to get these old farms on a paying basis that I want to see your uncle's farm finished up completely by the end of this year."

"But I'm sure Uncle Joe couldn't afford to go ahead with all the buildings, Mr. White," replied Bob in alarm, "and while Aunt Bettie and I would like to see them put up and have all the improvements made without waiting so long, it would cost a lot of money."

"Have you any idea, Bob, what these buildings will cost?" asked the banker a moment later.

"Not exactly, Mr. White, although we've made up some figures, using the prices given in the bulletins, and trying to figure out the cost of the concrete work ourselves. We think that the dairy house will cost $450; the hen house $1000; the cow barn $1500, and the main barn $2000. Then there's the new piggery and the concrete feeding floor that goes with it. The barn, of course, will have one or two silos—we haven't decided yet which will be best—and we want to put in a manure pit with a carrier system. And I want to make some concrete shelters for my bee hives. Then, of course, we'll need some equipment, such as a corn harvester and machine for filling the silos—these will cost about $500. We ought to have a new machinery shed to keep all the farming implements in, and I've been telling Uncle Joe we also need a shop with a forge for blacksmith work and some iron-working tools for making repairs to the farming implements, also a small carpenter shop. I want Tony to make some new bee hives for me during the winter. Say, you ought to hear Tony play, Mr. White," said Bob suddenly.

"Why, what does he play?" asked the banker.

"A flute," said Bob. "You just ought to hear him. He plays the nicest music I ever heard."

"Does he sing, too?" inquired the banker, interested.

"Yes, but it's in Italian and I don't understand what it's all about, except it's mostly about a bull fighter—he calls him a Toreador. You ought to hear him when we're out back of the barn some morning. He not only sings, but he acts it, too. He sticks the pitchfork into the straw stack, like as if it's a bull, and makes you believe he's killing it with a sword."

"That's from the opera Carmen," laughed the banker, at Bob's description of the Toreador Song. "Well, I guess he must be a man of some education if he can sing that. You better keep him around the place, Bob, if you can. But, coming back to the question of buildings, I think I'll speak to your Uncle Joe and see if we can't manage some way or other to let you work on the buildings so you can get them pushed along. As I told you, I want to see all your buildings up within a year."

"Oh, you don't mean it, Mr. White. You don't mean the new barns and all."

"Yes, everything, Bob," he replied.

"That would cost a lot of money," said Bob, frightened at the idea of spending so much.

"You seem to forget, Bob, that I told you the First National Bank was back of your Uncle Joe, and as long as we don't worry, he shouldn't. Besides, if your Uncle Joe doesn't make good, I'll charge it off to profit and loss against my 'Constructive Banking' scheme; but I'm not going to worry about that feature, Bob—I know your Uncle Joe is going to succeed. You go ahead with your dairy house and I'll drive out in a few days to see how you're coming along. Give my regards to your Aunt Bettie," he added, as he waved good-by to the departing boy.



XIII

VISITORS

The building of the dairy was the most interesting thing Bob had ever undertaken, and they had not proceeded very far until he began to realize what a valuable helper he had in Tony. Many times when he was at a loss to know how to proceed, Tony was ready with suggestions and seemed to know just what to do.

They made a careful list of all the material they needed, and a rough sketch of the doors and windows with all sizes marked on them; also the other equipment they would require. These Bob's uncle bought in town at a planning mill and hardware store. The most important of all was a seven cubic foot self-charging gasoline-driven concrete mixer of a type that Bob and Tony had decided would be the best for their use. The machine selected was not the cheapest one they could have bought, but it was the one that required the least amount of labor to operate and was a substantial, well-built machine, guaranteed for one year.

"Father says it always pays to buy a good tool, even if it costs a little more," Bob had advised his uncle when the latter questioned his selection, but his uncle had finally given in and the mixer had been purchased.

Bob was sure his uncle had had a plain talk with John White, the banker, for now, instead of objecting each time materials and tools were bought, he had readily consented.

"I want you to keep an account of all the material, time and money you spend, Bob, so when we're through we'll know exactly what each building costs," his uncle admonished. "I'm going to give all the bills for materials to you so you can check them up and see if we receive everything we order; then you can make a record of what it costs. John White said that when we're through he wants a detailed cost of the work, to know exactly what each building has cost us, and I think it's a good idea myself."

At the end of three weeks the dairy house was fully completed, including the painting, which Bob and Tony also did. Every day or two John White had driven out to the farm in the late afternoon to see how the work was progressing. A stranger might have thought that the building was being erected for him from the interest he took in everything that was done.

"I want to get posted on farm building construction, Bob," he remarked, one day when the building was nearly completed. "You see, I'm going to preach the gospel of modern buildings among our farmers and loan them money for their improvements, and I want to see how the thing is done. I want them to get rid of the continual cost of up- keep, to say nothing of the loss of time spent in repairing old buildings, time they could use to earn good American dollars. How soon are you going to start the hen house you were talking about?"



"We could start it this week," said Bob, "but Uncle Joe is talking about planting the corn."

"Don't you bother your head about that, Bob; your Uncle Joe and I've had a talk and have worked that out all right. If the sand pit holds out, your Uncle Joe pays the expenses, and if it doesn't hold out, I guess I'll be stuck," he laughed. "I want to see you devote all your time to getting these buildings up. Next year you can spend all the time you want raising crops."

"But won't that make a lot of work for Aunt Bettie?" said Bob, considering the matter. "She's pretty busy now, Mr. White."

"I was thinking of that, too. It isn't fair that your uncle should have all the help on his end. I only wish we knew where we could get a good woman to help her."

Tony, who was standing near, was listening closely to what was being said:

"Mr. Bob, I have-a no told you that I got-a da wife who live in-a da city, and I know she like-a da come and work for-a your Aunt Bettie. We got-a no-a da kids, and she like-a da country, like-a da me."

"That's a fine idea," said the banker, turning around quickly. "Where is she now, Tony?"

"She in Pittsburgh, wid her brud."

"Send for her right away, Tony," said the banker.

"All right, Mr. White, but I have no-a da mon."

"Oh, that's so, Tony. Well, we'll take care of that."

The banker left and returned a few minutes later and handed Tony $25.

"This is on account of your work, Tony."

"All right, I send-a da letter to-night," and Bob thought he saw a happy look in Tony's eyes as he thrust the money into his pocket and started to work again.

"Bob," said his aunt one morning, a few minutes after he had brought the mail up from the R. F. D. box on the main road, "I've some good news for you. We're going to have company; my two nieces who live in New England are coming to see us. One is Edith Atwood, my brother's daughter, who lives in Worcester, Massachusetts, and the other is Ruth Thomas, my sister's daughter, who lives near Wallingford, Connecticut. Ruth is eighteen and Edith will be eighteen in September. They finished high school last year and are both anxious to see our farm."

"When will they get here?" asked Bob, not pleased at the news and wondering what the coming of two girls might do to upset their plans for the improvement of the farm.

"They were not supposed to come before June," replied his aunt, seeing that Bob was not pleased, "but Ruth was so anxious to get into the country while we were planting that she persuaded Edith to come now. They'll be here on Saturday."

"That'll be day after to-morrow," exclaimed Bob, "the day I was planning to start work on the new hen house."

"Well, you needn't stop on their account, Bob," replied his aunt. "I'll drive in and get them. I know how anxious you are to get the hen house started, now that you have Tony to help you."

All day Bob kept turning over in his mind the invasion of his domain by two girls. Now, why couldn't the visitors have been boys instead of girls, then he could have enlisted their services in the construction of the new buildings. What could he not do with two willing boys to help him? Why must these visitors be girls instead of boys, he thought. They would probably sit around the house all day, reading magazines, or want him to leave his work to drive them about in the car. He felt sure the best part of the day, the evening hour they all spent together in the sitting room, discussing their plans, would now be spoiled.

The next day he took the tractor with two trailing wagons and began hauling sand and gravel from the pit to the site of the hen house. The operator of the steam shovel loaded the wagons for him and this saved much time for two shovelfuls made a load. By noon they had brought up twenty loads, enough to make a start on the foundations. He again appreciated the convenience of having the water piped to this building, the same as to the dairy house, for a short hose gave them all the water they needed, when and where they needed it, and with the cement stored in the wagon shed near by they had all the materials they required to begin work. Bob took his tape line and with Tony holding the ring against the fence that divided the south field from the barnyard, measured off fifty feet and drove a peg. Then going eighty rods along the fence, measured out fifty feet again and drove another peg. He was careful to keep the tape line as nearly square with the fence as possible. They now stretched a line between the two pegs and coming within a few feet from the first one, set up a batter board three feet long, and at right angles to the line—the same as they had done with the dairy house foundations. Then they measured off two hundred and fifty-two feet along the line and set up another batter board in the same manner. This done, they put in two other batter boards at right angles with the first, but eighteen inches back of the line. They drove two nails in these boards, exactly two hundred and fifty feet apart. They then placed another line parallel to and twenty feet away from the first one with similar batter boards, and located the other end of the cross lines on the boards. With a ten- foot pole and using the six, eight and ten method, they squared the lines, and located the ends of the buildings.

Bob then marked under the line with heavy black pencil the letters "B. L."—meaning building line. This done they drove other nails in each batter board six inches outside of the building line to locate the outside of the footing, and removed the lines to these nails. From these new lines they measured back twenty inches and drove other nails, locating the inner edge of the footings.

Bob placed a large black letter "F" under each nail to designate the edge of footings. They now took their picks and dug a small score in the ground directly under all the lines, thus marking out correctly on the ground the outer and inner edge of the footings. As the elevation of the ground at the northwest corner was the highest, they set a grade stake with the top six inches above the ground at that point and from this stake set other stakes at ten-foot intervals in the center of the footings all around the building, using the twelve-foot level board and mason's level to establish the correct elevation.

They took down their lines, wound them up carefully and laid them aside for further use. Bob decided, in order to keep the frost from getting under the walls, they'd have to place the footings three feet below the finished grade. In order to throw the water away from the buildings, it would also be necessary to make a fall of six inches on the high corner. This would make the trench for the footings two feet, six inches deep at that point, and as there was a drop of eight inches to the southeast corner, the trench there would be one foot, ten inches deep. Between the grade stakes they now dug out a section the full width of the footings and about three feet long, and located the exact bottom of the trench by measuring down three feet from the under side of the level board as it rested on two of the grade stakes.

They threw the excavated earth inside of the building to bring the floor up to grade, and when the depth holes were completed they dug out the sections between them, leveling the intervening space by their eyes.

Bob was so interested in the new building that he and Tony went back and worked until dark, so as to have the excavation ready for footings in the morning.

"I'm going to scold you for breaking the Union rules, Bob," laughed his aunt, when he came into the sitting room a few minutes after eight o'clock. "You know we decided not to work after six o'clock."

"Yes, I know we did, Aunt Bettie," said Bob, "but I was so anxious to get the excavation done, ready for concreting to-morrow."

"Well, I suppose if I could command the sun to stand still, like Joshua of old, you wouldn't be willing to stop until the whole job was done," she laughed. "How long do you think we could remain happy here if we all began working from daylight until dark? Life would soon become a burden, and you'd be the first one to leave for the city, Bob. Besides, if we keep long working hours, we'll miss our pleasant evenings together, and I'm not willing to give them up," she smiled at him across the table. "I guess you're right, Aunt Bettie," he replied, as he sat down in a chair, too tired to read. "I won't do it again."

The next morning Bob had his chores and milking done by six o'clock and by six-thirty he was out at the new hen house, where he was joined by Tony.

"Good-a morn, Mr. Bob," smiled Tony. "This-a the day we make-a da concrete fast."

"That's what we will," replied Bob. "Get some cement, Tony, and we'll start the mixer going right away."

While Tony was getting the cement, Bob filled his six cubic foot measure with sand and gravel, and on top of these he placed one bag of cement, then he started the engine and the elevator emptied the load into the drum, which, as soon as he added the water, he set revolving. When the concrete was thoroughly mixed, he threw the dumping lever over and filled the wheelbarrow that Tony placed under the discharging end of the drum.

By the time Tony had dumped the three barrows of concrete into the trench, Bob had another batch ready for the machine, and while this was being mixed Tony leveled off the concrete in the trench even with the grade stakes, set in the trench six inches above the bottom.

By night the footings were completed. They now located and dug the footings for the piers of the cross partitions and concreted them, so as to give the cement of the main footings a chance to set up before they began putting the forms on top of them. They could have saved the forms below grade by making the excavation the exact width of the foundation wall, but they felt this was poor economy, for the work was uncertain and rough, and the extra labor caused by trying to fit the forms to the sloping ground would more than offset the little saving; besides, it took more cement to fill in irregular trenches than it did ones of exact size. They had taken the forms they used for the dairy house foundation, together with some new sections, and set them up on the new footing, using wooden spreaders for holding them the right distance apart and placing heavy wires through the hole in the forms, the ends of which encircled a pin and were twisted up tight securing the forms firmly together.

The three-foot form sections brought the top of the forms just under the line, which was now stretched between the nails marked "B.L." and the outside of the wall was correctly located. They drove pegs into the ground on both sides and braced the top of the forms to hold them to the exact line. They had only twenty sections, each ten feet long, enough for one end and four sections down each side, so Bob decided to put in the forms at the north end and concrete them, and then remove them to the south end. When the concrete there was sufficiently hard they could set up the forms between the two ends thus finished. This would provide three expansion joints on each side, which would be just right. They had just completed the erection of the forms for the north end and filled the hopper with a new batch, ready to be hoisted into the drum, when Bob happened to look toward the barn and saw the car come to a stop in the barnyard. By the time he had cranked the engine, the occupants of the car had alighted and his uncle was starting for the house, his arms full of suitcases. Bob noticed that one of the girls who had alighted was of medium height and slender, while the other was short and rather stout.

"Is that your new hen house?" he heard the stout one inquire of his aunt, as he stopped the engine on the mixer, and she looked over in Bob's direction.

Bob had again filled the drum and was watching the mixing of the concrete a few moments later, when he heard someone behind him and turned around.

"We thought we'd come out and see how you're getting along, Bob," said his aunt, smiling at him, while the two girls came forward as she spoke. "I want you to meet my nieces, Bob. This is Ruth Thomas, and this is Edith Atwood—and this young man, girls, is Robert Williams, about whom I spoke."

"What a fib, Aunt Bettie," laughed Ruth. "You know you've been talking about him ever since we got off the train, and besides, you called him 'Bob,' not Robert."

"May I call you 'Bob,' too?" she asked, looking up at him. "I like it better than Robert. It doesn't take so long to say."

"Of course," replied Bob, blushing. "I guess I wouldn't know who you meant if you called me 'Robert,' for I've been called 'Bob' ever since I can remember."

"Is that concrete, Bob?" asked Ruth suddenly, as he stopped the engine and brought the drum to a standstill. "What makes it so gray?"

"The cement," said Bob, pleased to see her interested in his work.

"Is it sticky?" she asked, as she put her fingers into it and stirred around in the mixture.

"Why, it's gritty, just like sand, Aunt Bettie," she said looking up.

"Of course," said Bob. "That's because it's made of sand and gravel and cement."

"May I see you make some?" she asked.

"Yes, in a few minutes," he replied; "just as soon as we empty the drum. You'd better stand back a little so that you won't get splashed when the concrete goes into the wheel-barrow," as Tony came forward.

"And this is Tony, Bob's assistant, girls," said their aunt.

"This is Ruth, Tony, and this is Edith."

"I-a please to meet da young-a ladies," said Tony, more embarrassed even than Bob had been, as he awkwardly placed the wheel-barrow under the drum.

As soon as the drum was empty, Bob measured out a charge of four parts gravel, two parts sand and one part cement, and then started the engine and dumped them into the drum, where he added sufficient water for the mixing.

"How do you tell how much water to put in?" asked Ruth.

"Oh, we learned that by experience," said Bob. You see the mixer has a tank on top that holds the right amount, but this may be varied if you like. The concrete must be wet enough so that it quakes, but not thin enough to run like water."

"Let me put in the water next time, Bob, won't you?" she asked. "Say, Aunt Bettie, may I help Bob mix his concrete?"

"You better come to the house and help me," replied her aunt laughing. "Bob and Tony, I'm afraid, would only find you in the way."

"All right," said Ruth, "but on Monday I'll help you, Bob," and she started for the house with her aunt and cousin, the latter Bob now recalled had not spoken a single word, beyond the introduction.

"I'm going to help Bob mix concrete on Monday, Uncle Joe," said Ruth at supper that night. "I know how it's done. You take four parts of cement, two of sand and one part of gravel, and put them in the, 'What do you call it, Bob?'"

"Drum," said Bob.

"Yes, drum," repeated Ruth. "You see, Uncle Joe, I know how to mix it."

"You use only one part of cement, Ruth," corrected her cousin, "and two of sand and four of gravel."

Bob glanced up quickly at this clear statement of the facts, and for the first time looked directly into the brown eyes of Edith Atwood.



XIV

RUTH AND THE STRAW STACK

The Monday morning's mail brought them notice that the cement drain tile had arrived in town. They found it cheaper to buy this from a firm that made a specialty of tile rather than try to make them, and, more important still, a letter had been received by Tony saying his wife would arrive on the ten o'clock train; so it was decided that work should be suspended on the hen house for the morning and that Tony and Bob should take the car and drive in to meet the train, while Joe Williams would take the team and bring out the tile and some new seed corn that he was getting for the spring planting—a new variety that John White had persuaded him to try.

At eight-thirty work on the hen house was suspended, the car gotten out and cleaned, Bob changed his clothes, and Tony, with as much of the dirt removed as possible—smiling and happy—got into the car and drove to the station. They arrived just a few minutes before the train, Bob remaining in the car while Tony went around the station to meet his wife, as she alighted from the train.



A few minutes later Bob's ears were greeted by the sound of animated conversation in a foreign tongue, not a word of which was intelligible to him, but every word of which seemed to please the speakers. A little later Tony came around the corner of the station, a huge suitcase under each arm, followed by a rather good-looking woman of medium height, and, like Tony, a true type of sunny Italy. She was dressed much better than Bob had expected to find her, and when Tony said, "This-a my wife, Mr. Bob," he was surprised to hear her say in very good English: "I'm pleased to meet you, Mr. Williams," letting her gaze fall as she greeted him.

As soon as Bob had recovered from his surprise, he jumped down from the seat, opened the door of the tonneau and helped her into the car, an act of courtesy which the smiling eyes of Tony quickly acknowledged. One of the suitcases was put on the empty front seat of the car and the other was placed on end between Tony and his wife in the tonneau, and then they started for the farm.

While Tony and his wife carried on an animated conversation in Italian, Bob was not without his own thoughts. He was trying to figure out how Tony, who had difficulty in expressing his ideas in English, should happen to have such a good-looking English-speaking Italian wife. He was not aware that many of the American-born Italian boys and girls receive high school educations, and, of course, he didn't know that Tony, who had been born in Italy, should have met in the house of a distant relative, a young woman who had had these advantages, and who should have found in the good-natured Tony, with his foreign manners, the object of her love. He was wondering, too, how she might like farm work and how his Aunt Bettie might like her.

He didn't have long to wait, for now that the roads were getting dry and better, he made the trip in less than twenty minutes and they were soon speeding up the new driveway to the house. He jumped out of the car, and taking one of the suitcases conducted Tony and his wife to his aunt, who had come out on the porch to greet them, and he noticed that she was as much surprised as he had been when Tony blushingly said:

"This-a my wife, Mrs. Williams," and she had replied:

"I'm pleased to know you, Mrs. Williams," extending her hand. "My name is Maria Martinelli," she added. "Tony has been telling me what a fine place you have here, and how kind you've been to him. I'm sure I'll be very happy working for you."

"Well, we do like Tony and I believe he likes us, and I hope you'll like us also," Aunt Bettie replied.

Tony now started for his room, the suitcases under his arms.

"We haven't Tony's room very well fixed up yet," Mrs. Williams continued, as Tony's wife followed him up the stairs, "but you and I can take care of that in the next few days."

Bob felt sure that his Aunt Bettie had already established pleasant relations with her new assistant, and whistled merrily as he changed into his working clothes.

When he returned to the hen house he was surprised to see some one in a brand new suit of funny-looking overalls sitting on the gravel pile waiting for him. As he came near, the stranger arose and looked toward him, but it was not until he got within a few feet that he recognized in the figure before him Ruth Thomas.

"Aunt Bettie said she'd let me help you with the concrete, Bob, so I put on these. How do you like my farmerette clothes?" she, asked smiling.

"Well, you surprised me, all right," laughed Bob, as, for the first time in his life, he saw a girl dressed in man's clothes.

"What do you do first, Bob?" she asked, going over to the mixer and pulling on the levers; "put in the water or the cement?"

"Neither," said Bob, still trying to decide whether he approved of her manner of dress or not. "We've all the concrete mixed that we need until we finish setting up the forms at the south end."

"Give me a hammer then, and I'll help drive the nails," she said, coming round to where Bob was leveling up some of the forms. "All right, drive a nail in there," he said, indicating the end of a brace that leaned against the forms.

Ruth took the hammer and tapped the nail gently, succeeding in starting it, then she raised the hammer and struck hard. The hammer descended squarely on the nail, but not the nail in the brace, but the nail on her left thumb. With a cry of pain she dropped the hammer and tried hard to keep back the tears.

"You'll have—to—excuse—me, Bob, until—I go—to the house and tie this up," she said, hesitatingly, "but as soon as Aunt Bettie puts something on it, I'll be back," and as she disappeared Bob heard her choking back her sobs.

His sympathy struggled for a few moments with his humor, but the latter got the better of him, and as soon as Ruth got well out of hearing, he couldn't refrain any longer from laughing at the funny figure she cut in her new clothes and the abrupt ending to her ambition to help build the hen house.

He found that he couldn't get along very well with the forms by himself, so he decided to knock off until after dinner. He was crossing over to the barn, where he met Ruth still dressed in her overalls, her thumb tied up, coming into the barnyard with her cousin Edith.

"We thought we'd like to look over the barn until my thumb quits hurting," called Ruth.

"All right," said Bob, and he conducted them into the thrashing floor where he explained how a barn was built and where the hay was kept and how they fed the different horses and cattle from the thrashing floor. Most of the mows were now almost empty and the barn had the appearance of great size.

"I'm going to climb up into the hay mow," said Ruth, as she started for the ladder.

"Why do you want to go up there, Ruth?" asked Edith.

"Oh, I want to see what the place looks like," replied Ruth, as she nimbly climbed the ladder and stepped off into the mow.

"Come on up, it's fine up here," she called.

Bob quickly followed her and a moment later Edith joined them.

Pausing there for a few minutes, they climbed over into another mow and looked out through a window on the side of the barn.

"Why, we can get on the roof from here," said Ruth.

"Yes," said Bob, "we can."

"Let's go out then," she said.

"But you might slide off," warned Bob.

"No danger of that," replied Ruth; "we've got our sneakers on."

So he crawled through the window and standing on the roof first helped Ruth and then Edith through.

"It isn't as steep as it looks from the ground, and I'm going on up to the top," said Ruth.

Bob helped Edith up and they sat on the ridge for several minutes looking out over the farm, Bob pointing out to them the places of interest, and telling them the story of how the new dam and ditch came to be built. As they sat there, they noticed their uncle coming up the lane and that he had already reached the foot of the hill.

"Why, there comes Uncle Joe," shouted Ruth, as she started running down the side of the barn toward him, on which side a lean-to was built, and beyond which stood last year's straw stack, the top about even with the roof of the lean-to.

"Come on, Edith, I'm going to jump off the roof on to the straw stack," she shouted, and before Bob could stop her she had jumped and landed on the stack.

"It didn't seem so difficult, Bob," said Edith, and she also started running down the side. "I guess I can make it, too," she called, and leaped on to the stack, where Bob joined them a moment later.

The three stood waving their hands and shouting to their uncle. Suddenly Ruth exclaimed: "I'm going to slide down the side of the stack," and moved over to the side nearest to her uncle, who, seeing her intention, stood up in the wagon and shook the whip at her, warning her not to do so. Ruth only took his warning as a dare, and throwing her arms high over her head with a loud shout started to slide down the side of the stack. Now the stack had furnished feed for the cattle all winter and they had eaten under the edges, so that it was like a huge toadstool. From his position in the lane, her uncle saw what Ruth could not see from the top—that there were cattle under the edge. As Ruth came noisily down the side her shouting caused a cow standing under the edge of the stack to come running out. The two met just at the edge of the stack, Ruth landing squarely on the cow's back, her back to her head.

With a snort and a plunge, the cow started to race across the barnyard, and it was hard to tell which was the more surprised—Ruth or the cow. In her eagerness to get rid of her unexpected burden, the cow threw her hindquarters from side to side, as she ran—a motion that seemed to be exactly timed with Ruth's endeavor to fall off on that particular side, as each sudden change threw her into a vertical position again.

So with her hands on the cow's back and rolling from side to side she managed to maintain her seat, until the cow, seeing she was unable to get rid of her burden, ran for a black walnut tree, which stood near the old pump. She ran close against this tree and Ruth came shooting from the cow's back, much like a big frog jumping into a pond, landing unhurt on all fours on the soft litter of the barnyard.

Edith and Bob were still standing on top of the straw stack rocking with laughter at the ridiculous figure cut by Ruth, while their uncle stopped the team and hurried up the bank as fast as he could go. He was the first to get to Ruth as she picked herself up and began brushing off the dust.

Then Bob slid over the side of the stack to make sure there were no more cattle in the way, and a few minutes later was joined by Edith. They hurried forward together to where Ruth was standing and found, with the exception of a bruise on her chin and a rent in one sleeve, where it had rubbed along the ground, she was unhurt and laughing as merrily as the rest.

"Say, Ruth," said her uncle, seeing she was uninjured, "next time you want to ride one of the cows, let me know and I'll get you a saddle, or maybe you'd rather try one of the horses."

"Oh, I didn't get hurt a bit, Uncle Joe," she laughed, "and it really was lots of fun."



XV

NEW METHODS

The next week was a busy one on Brookside Farm. All were deeply engaged with their several occupations. Saturday brought the first interruption to the work when John White, the banker, paid them a visit. He appeared in his large touring car, instead of his usual runabout. Mrs. White, their daughter, a girl of fourteen, whom Bob had seen in the bank talking to her father; and two young boys, about Bob's own age, and whom Bob did not know, were with him.

They arrived shortly after three o'clock in the afternoon. Bob and Tony were setting up the pre-cast concrete sections, forming the walls and partitions of the hen house. The party alighted, and, led by Mr. White, came over to the hen house to inspect the work. This was the banker's custom on his visits to Brookside Farm.

"Hello, Bob!" he called. "Come over and meet Mrs. White," and Bob stepped forward and was introduced.

"This is my daughter Alice, and this is my sister's son, Edward Brown, and his friend, Herbert Potter—and this is Bob Williams, the boy I've been telling you about."

Again Bob extended his hand in greeting, but it was accepted rather indifferently, he thought, by the other two boys, which did not aid in establishing friendly relations. In fact, Bob felt that they rather held themselves above him.

Mrs. White was a large motherly woman. She had light hair and blue eyes and had not talked long before Bob discovered that she had a deep interest in her husband's business, for the questions she asked were such that he knew the banker must have been explaining to her about the work being done on Brookside Farm.

The banker now left them to go around the other side of the building to speak to Tony, while Bob explained to Mrs. White and the boys how they made the pre-cast slabs and set them in place on the wall and braced them, to hold them in line, until the concrete studs were cast to form the permanent supports for the roof.

"You know, Bob," said Mrs. White, "this is the most interesting thing I've ever seen in my life. Just think of being able to dig your buildings out of the side of the hill. I think it's all perfectly wonderful the way you're making use of your 'Hidden Treasure,' as Mr. White tells me you call the undeveloped resources of your farm."

Bob now got his drawing and explained to her the manner in which the hen house was planned to get the southern exposure; also the arrangements for feeding the chickens, gathering the eggs, the system of ventilation adopted which would prevent draughts and keep the hen house well ventilated in both winter and summer. Also the feed and incubator house and how each could be extended from time to time by simply building on to the ends.

Mrs. White asked a great many questions and Bob felt sure she was not talking just to be polite, but was really interested in the work they were doing. It gave him much pleasure to know that the time he had spent in reading up on farm work was producing results.

Bob's Aunt Bettie and the two girls now came out to greet their guests. Introductions followed, and a few minutes later the party adjourned to the house, all except Bob, Tony and the banker. No amount of urging on the part of Bob's aunt could persuade the banker to leave the hen house, the construction of which interested him so much.

"I like your idea, Bob," he said, "in making your buildings of pre- cast standardized sections. I can see where this type of construction would have great advantages in the winter, and, at odd times, when a farmer isn't busy he can make up some sections and let them harden, and, whenever he gets enough for a building, he can put them together quickly. Where did you get the idea for this kind of work?"

"Well, partly from the bulletins and partly from Tony, and the rest I just thought out myself. You see, Mr. White, the bulletins say a wall of a building is always dryer, warmer in winter and cooler in summer, if it's hollow, and besides it only takes about half the material. Then, you see, there's an advantage when you want to put in ventilation to use the hollow wall for that purpose. While Tony and I have been working on the hen house, I've been turning over in my mind the design for the cow barn. These hollow walls are going to be of great service for ventilating that building?"

"Can you construct your cow barn with the same size units that you made for the hen house?"

"Yes, Mr. White, we figured that all out before we started our dairy building, and we expect to use the same construction on all our buildings, even on the silo. Of course, in that case, we'll have to make the sections curved, but Tony says that won't be a difficult thing to do. You know, Mr. White, Tony understands drawings, and has been able to give me some good suggestions—particularly on how to handle and make forms. He says he started to learn the carpenter trade when he was only ten years old, and he can file a saw or sharpen a plane so they'll cut fine."

"Well, I'm very much interested, Bob, in the way you're getting along with this work. As soon as you get this building up to the roof, I'm going to ask your Uncle Joe to let me give a party at Brookside Farm some Saturday, and have all the farmers around this section come and see what you're doing. We'll probably have to wait until they get their plowing done and their corn in. You know," he added, "they didn't have a tractor to do their work for them like you did, but I've a notion that I've made some of them jealous, and there'll be a number of tractors running in the county next spring, if I don't miss my guess. How'd you like to have a little help, Bob, when you go to put up the cow barn?"

"What do you mean, Mr. White?"

"Well, I've been thinking for some time that the way to get the other farmers around here interested in concrete work and get them buying sand from your pit, Bob, would be to have them send some of their boys over here to learn how cement work is done, for while anyone can easily learn how to use cement, still it must be understood to use it correctly. Of course, they'll have a good deal of work to do, but after planting their oats and corn, they might be able to take a few days off and come to help you."

"We won't be ready to start the cow barn that soon," said Bob.

"But couldn't they be making up these pre-cast sections, as you call them, or dig out for the foundations and put in the concrete footings."

"Oh, yes, we could do that, but Aunt Bettie and I haven't decided definitely on our plans yet."

"Couldn't you hurry them up a little so we could get the cow barn under way? It seems to me if we could get the farmers' sons here to Brookside, and get them interested in concrete buildings, they could then show their fathers how the work is done, for," he added laughing, "it's easier to teach a young dog a new trick than an old one. Besides, Bob, don't lose sight of the fact that it will be profitable for you."

"How's that?" asked Bob.

"You agree to pay them for their labor in sand and gravel, and once you get them using concrete, they'll come back for more. Since you were in to see me last, I've been thinking the matter over and I believe you can manage it so you can get what help you need in this way, except, perhaps, one or two carpenters when you come to the heavy work of the cow barn. It will be to their advantage to learn how to do the work. I was talking to the two boys we brought out with us to-day to see if I couldn't get them to help you, but they said they didn't want to be mussing around with farm work. I told Edward, my nephew, that he didn't understand enough about farms to know what was good for him, or he'd be glad to help you. Well, I must go and see your Uncle Joe. Think over what I've been telling you about having the farmers' boys help you and I'll think it over too and see how it can be managed. Of course, you wouldn't want them all here at one time. I think if they came two or three at a time, it would be better. We could work out a schedule of dates, and know when each boy would come so there would be no break in the working force. You'd better see if you'll have tools and forms enough to keep them all working, Bob, and if you don't, your Uncle Joe ought to get you a few more."

Left to himself, Bob began to turn over in his mind the possibilities and advantages of having more assistance, and getting the cow barn started earlier than he had anticipated. Now that it would only require a little more than another week to complete the hen house, he decided that with double the number of forms they were now using, and keeping Duncan Wallace casting sections, instead of fence posts, as they had originally planned, they could probably get enough made for a good start on the cow barn by the time the excavations and footings were in place.

At four-thirty Bob quit work as usual and went to the house and cleaned up to do his milking. Just as he was finishing his last cow, his Aunt Bettie and the girls, accompanied by their visitors, came into the yard to see him milk. Bob explained that as soon as the new cow barn was finished, the milking would no longer be done in the barnyard, but in the barn, and instead of milking by hand, they would install automatic milking machines. He could then take care of twenty cows easier than he could now take care of ten milked by hand.

"How do you like the new Holsteins?" asked the banker, as he watched Bob finish off the last cow.

"They're fine, Mr. White. This one's name is Spot. She's my favorite; she's a three-year-old and gives twenty quarts of milk each day. That's better than any of the others, although two of them come pretty close to her. When we get the new barn and can, regulate their feeding, they'll all do much better."

"Why, do you know how much milk each cow gives?" inquired Mrs. White, surprised.

"Certainly," said Bob, "we not only know, but we set down every day how much we get, so we can keep a record. If you'll come down to the dairy house, I'll show you how it's done. Of course, we don't measure each cow's milk separately every day, or weigh their cream every day, but every time I milk, I keep the milk of one cow in a separate pail, so it may be weighed. For instance, I'm taking note of Spot's yield to-day."

"This is very interesting, Bob," said Mrs. White. "I didn't think you went into farming so scientifically."

"They don't on some farms," replied Bob, "but Aunt Bettie and I keep books here on Brookside Farm. We want to find out what pays the best."

"That's right," said the banker, "working and figuring go hand in hand, and if you keep that up Brookside Farm will soon be paying a good profit."

"Will you let me see your books after supper, Bob?" he asked. "Your Aunt Bettie has invited us all to stay and have supper with you."

"Yes," said Bob. "I'll be glad to."

"Did that one cow give that much milk?" asked the banker's wife in astonishment, as she saw the huge pail Bob had gotten from Spot.

"Yes," said Bob proudly.

"Why, I had no idea one cow could give so much milk," she replied.



"That's why," said Bob, "it doesn't pay to keep common cows. They eat as much as a purebred and don't give nearly as much milk. Besides, their milk isn't as rich as Holsteins. If you come along to the dairy house, I'll show you how we separate the milk and get the cream."

"May I carry one of the pails, Bob?" asked Ruth.

"You'll have to be careful, Ruth, if you carry it," admonished her aunt. "If you and Edith don't go racing, you may carry it between you," she continued, as the two girls picked up one of the largest pails and started off for the dairy house.

When they arrived, Bob weighed the milk given by Spot and made a note of it in his record book, setting down the date and name of the cow; then he weighed the balance of the milk, and under the heading of "Herd of Ten Cows," he set down the total amount given by all. "You see," said Bob, "in this way we have an individual record of milk taken every ten days from each cow, and a daily record of the ten taken together. It doesn't make so much bookkeeping and is close enough for all practical purposes. When we get our electric lights in, Mrs. White," he continued, as he started the separator, "we're going to put an electric motor on the separator. Then I can be doing something else while the milk's going through."

"Listen to that, Ida," said the banker, addressing his wife. "Everything on Brookside is going to be run by power and every person on the farm will be multiplied by two or five before Bob and his Aunt Bettie get through, and besides it won't be such hard work."

"No," laughed Bob, "when the power does the work, you don't notice it so much."

"That's so," said the banker's wife; "you must be tired, Bob, at the end of a day, with all the activities you have around here."

"Oh, one gets used to it, Mrs. White. I've gained ten pounds since I came here."

He put the cream he had gotten in a cream can and placed it in the trough. He opened the icehouse door and put some more ice around the cans.

"How'd you happen to get the old ice in the new dairy, Bob?" asked the banker.

"Well, we figured if we left it in the old icehouse, over half of it would melt during the summer and we wouldn't lose anything like that much by transferring it, so we put it on the wagon and hauled it over. Of course, when this ice was cut, the cakes were made all kinds of sizes, which gave us some trouble in piling it up. Next year we're going to cut the ice in twenty-two by twenty-two-inch sizes. I don't know whether I told you or not, Mr. White, but the floor of the icehouse slopes toward the center, so each cake helps to support the other as we take them out."

"Just listen to that, Ida. See how Bob has figured out all these things. Who would have thought of that?"

"I didn't," confessed Bob. "That was in one of the farm bulletins on icehouse construction."

"Somebody else worked it out, but you used the idea," said the banker. "Often a man who can utilize another's idea can develop it to greater profit than the one who first created it. It's my opinion, Bob, that it's the little things in life that are carefully managed that make a success of the big things."

"What do you do with your skim milk, Bob?" asked Mrs. White. "We feed that to the calves, and what's left over to the pigs, and some of it occasionally to the chickens."

"Do you make butter, Bob?" asked Mr. White.

"We used to," said Bob, "but now we sell all our cream to the creamery and buy our butter." "What, buy your own butter?"

"Yes, Aunt Bettie says it pays better to buy butter from those who make it in a big way than try to make it ourselves. We get the butter when we deliver the cream and in that way we don't have the extra work to do. Of course, we could make our own butter, and would do so if there was no creamery, but the money that goes for a pound of butter is less than we get for a pound of butter fat, and we save the time Aunt Betty would have to devote to it."

Bob now opened the refrigerator and showed them how they kept their eggs, butter and fresh meat.

"My, what a nice-looking lot of things to eat," said Mrs. White admiringly, as she looked into the white-enameled refrigerator. "See the crates of nice white eggs and freshly-killed poultry."

"Of course, we aren't killing much poultry now," said Bob. "We won't get started on that until the hen house is finished, but we're killing off a lot of the common chickens to get rid of them. They're bringing thirty cents per pound now."

"We'll wait supper till you get your shower and change your clothes, Bob," whispered his aunt, as the party came to the house and Bob disappeared. The favorable comments made by the banker and his wife on his work raised his thoughts above the level of mere clothes. He cared not that his ready-made suit compared rather poorly with the tailor- made clothes of their boy visitors. He decided that as he was going to be a farmer, he would wear the kind of clothes that belonged to farmers, and wouldn't try to ape others in the matter of dress.

After supper was over, Bob and his uncle, with the banker, adjourned to the sitting room, where they spent a half hour in going over their system of cost-keeping.

"This is a fine system, Joe," said the banker. "I'm glad to know you're taking such an intelligent interest in your farm."

"Well, it was pretty hard, John, for me at first to understand keeping accounts and all that, but Bettie and Bob were so insistent that I finally made up my mind that I was going to learn what it was all about. I think now I've a pretty fair idea how to tell whether a thing's paying or not; besides, since we got it started it don't take over five minutes a day. Before the summer is over, we'll have our work pretty well systematized. I'm beginning already to find out that a lot of things we've been doing on this farm all our lives have been unprofitable and also that many things we've neglected entirely can be made to pay a good profit."

"Nothing like figures, Joe, to tell you where you're at," laughed the banker. "Next thing for us to do, Joe, is to see that we get our farmers all awake and in line for a new concrete road to town. We must build that road this summer. I want you to be able to haul your produce easily."

When Bob returned to the porch, he found that the boys and girls had gone for a walk, from which they did not return until the banker and his wife were ready to leave. It did not add to his pleasure to see the easy manner in which they walked along, arm in arm, on their return to the house, or the rather overlong hand-shaking when they finally parted. He decided he didn't like those boys—especially "Eddie" Brown.



XVI

RUTH AND JERRY

"I'm goin' to start planting the corn this morning, Bob," said his 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."



"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.



"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.

A tractor, disk and harrow had already been delivered to the farm, and left there after the spring plowing, but no arrangements for the purchase of them had yet been made. After having seen the advantage of these implements, and heard them favorably commented upon by his neighbors, Joe Williams decided they must remain at Brookside.

He now selected a new riding corn planter, one not only capable of planting corn in rows, but also in hills, and as a companion to this machine, he selected a horse-drawn cultivator. After considerable discussion, he decided to purchase a side delivery hay rake and a windrow loader, chiefly on account of the speed with which hay could be gotten in with this combination. He could then leave his hay out until it was just right and get it in quickly ahead of storms. With these two machines, he also bought the latest improved mowing machine. Then he picked out a substantial reaper and binder. The erection of the new silo made it necessary to select machinery for filling it, and a corn binder, with a bundle elevator, was finally selected on account of the saving in labor. A blower type ensilage cutter with the necessary pipe for filling the silo and leather belt for driving it by the tractor, were selected. Then a new grain drill with fertilizer and grass-seed attachments was added.