HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Herald, 1912-01-05, Page 6OR, THE MEMORY OF A BOY W2T1111
DARK EYES, j
CHAPTER VI.
`s it?" Aunt Rosa asks suspi
Ifo `ioi-
sly.
" he gentleman upstairs," Mary Anne
sworn, with malicious enjoyment in
flier sgnixiting eye.
W .'
ho?" Aunt Rosa exclaims, letting
knitting fall into her lap in the ex -
entity of her amazement
"Ask Mr. Baster' to walk in," 1 say
uietly. '.Haat Rosa, this is my friend
,I1r, Baxter.+,'Mr. Baxter—Miss Herrick'
e.
Gerard Baxter bows, Aunt .Rosa inclines
er head stiff ly, her eyes• blazing through
er spectacle!, like the;r eyes of ]tor own $a,aic said he valued it at over a nun-
,
cat > Muff when Re -is vexed,
l
ww
,
sorry
r
o
B
that
at
you
ou
were
er
e
Id
red,
and
d
i
t
would
ld not
have
been
ee
n
a
1e away," Gerard sayB,aa he too mueh."
sinks into a chairbesidemo. A sharp'pain runs through h heartms
eves ,' answer, laughing."My leave like a knife. This was whatzhdadread-
'sense! But you know that. time. Ted
came down; to Brighton tor. Poppys w
ding, he writ Gerard Baa ter was working;
hitii elf into skin, and :bone, .and" had.
grown quite etead7, and meant to make
a name for himself'
Yes, so you told mo" I remark care-
lessly, though remembering all about it
at least as well as Olive does.
"But he has fallen ' off since then,"
Olive says, shaking her blonde head.
"Poor fellow,' I think he met with some
disappointment about his picture --he w
obliged to sell it or, soiaeth"ing, and they
only gave him eighty for it, whereas
'tvwfui speouhation' in their painted cues,
X think 'C would 'be "a great deal More
stiif and stuck-up and dignified than you
ere."
I never 'look at 'them," I eonfese can-'
didly, 'canine back' in my chair, and,
looking ,a'tthem now however. "Wo aro
a lain family, Olivia --themes not doubt
about it! Hideously 'ugly I call those mein
and women!"
?`I suppose you mean to say that you
are plain, AllieP" looking at me over
her shoulder,
`1m no beauty, my dear. Leek at the
extraordinary ,effeet of that blue eie-ht'
from ' the Window on my great great-,
grandmother's face!' Doesn't it. look ex
actly as if somebody had' given her a
black eyeP
My dear Alfie, if Diggee could hear'
Is stopped!"
Aunt "Boon is rather deaf. Unless we
speak in a kind of raised, sustained tone,
he can hear -very Title of what we say;
n tree SUk it necessary to do
the; time. r
"zhad. a great deal ' of assn aroe to
venture to call upon you, hadn't IP" Ger-
ard. says, smiling,
"xshould have been sorry not to have
wished :you good-bye."
"Alfie,. may I write to you sometimes?"
w, ":Oh no; I. thiuk`'not!" I answer hur-
rti dlxr uaa, not answer your let-
1 ea lice without either
ee1ng h, «y from you?"
"You muff w r p," I slay,, smiling a lit-
tle; but there . a''"d tears ,in my eyes. .t
•T intend to worst. x have been wild
,leaough,' Alfie—Yat,don't ' know how much
of the Bohemian Were es in me—but the
tho'tsght of you will steady me, dar'ing;
while.I love you I shall hate everything
I knew' you would not like."
Something in the admission, frank as
it Is, saddens me. Istis love for me
really great enough to work such a change
in him as this? If he forgets me, will
be not relapse, into his old idle' ways. and
,then be sorry, and so despair of ever
doingany good?
"Gerard, will you . promise to ` let me
know the day that you forget me?"..
"Forget you, Allie!"
If you do forget me, promsie to tell
me so at once."
"I do promise; but that day will never
come, darling. I have 'never loved any
woman but yon, and I never shall."
Aunt Rosa stews upon us, speetthless
'with wrath and indignation. What are
we-wie Bring nbent, this foreign -looking,
shabby, unabaslmti'.young roan and I-
We . make the conversation mora gener-
al'after this; and in about twenty min-
utes Gerard gets up to go.
'Good-bye," he says, holding out his
hand to me, having said good-bye to
Aunt Rosa. "It is hard that we can't
have any better good-bye than this, Al -
lie, isn't it?"
My eyes are : full of foolish tears, so
full that I ani afraid they will flow over
and attract Aunt Roea's attention. But
Aunt Rosa is not looking atme.
"Good-bye!" I echo mechanically.
And so he leaves me, and returns to,
his studio; and •:his unfinished pictures,
while I pack away a few tears into .my
orineenteau—the firxt z helve shed, -since
s was: se 'child.
Well, Allte. the more I look at you,
the mere I think you the most extraor-
dinary Birk In the world!"
" elinary, Olive?"
"T think You could kava been sans-
have enough and too much of that to -
Carleton Street when you, had such a morrow e
home as this!"
I was very happy in Carleton Street,"
I answer dreamily.
"Happy! Because that boy was there."
"And I was net a bit obliged to your
mother for bringing ,Aunt Rosa down up-
on me."
"But mamma did not like your being
there alone, Allie."
"What nonsense! I am my own mis-
tress, Olive, and ean do as I like."
"Not till to -morrow, my dear, Olive
laughs. "After to -morrow, you eau please
y
ed—this reaction after possible
ttointment. "
"I ant sure you are sorry for him,'Al-
be," Olive • says, looking at me. "We
used to call nisi your handsome sweet-
heart, you know—poor boy, be used
follow you about like your shadow!"
"You speak of him as if he were dead,
Olive, I say a little sharply.
"I am afraid he is going , to the bad,
and that is worse,'" Olive observes sober-
ly. "I' met Jack Rolleston the other
evening, and lie told mo he Hardly ever
saw Gerard Baxter now, that ho never
came to. Berkeley Street; and that he
was -afraid he had got into a very wild
set, and was going downhill as fast as
he could."
Olive is preceding me up the steep
path, and has enough to do to maintain
her footing, without • turning her head
to look at me. I am glad of it. If she
had looked. at me,she must have noticed
the exceeding whiteness of my face.
"It is a great pity, you know," she
went on—Olive likes to hear herself talk.
"Bae is so young, and so remarkably good
looking? Katie Rolleston told me—you
know she came down to Brighton the day
before I left—that he passed her in Re-
gent Street the other day, and it quite
made her heart ache to see how shabby
he was. She said she would have spoken
to him, even in such a seedy coat;' but
he passed by without looking at her. I
suppose lie knew he was rather a disre-
,putable'lookieg figure to be seen speak-
ing to any lady, in the street."
"Is he still lodging in Carleton Street?"
"I do not know. Jack knows very lit-
tle abort him. lie says he doesn't like
to seem as if he were prying into his
affairs, and he is such a proud fellow,
Jack says it would be as much as his life
is worth to offer him a good luncheon at
a restaurant, and that he weaid be. sure
to guess it was because he looked half
etarved."
"Does he look like that?" I ask, in-
finitely distressed.
"Well, he looks very thin; Olive says,
laughing a little. 'I say, Allie, they are
putting up triumphal arches here; did
you know that?
"1 ,heard they intended doing it. We
well come round by the garden, Olive. I
don't want them to surround us like a
swarm of bees."
Turning, from the glimpse of the lawn
and carriage . drive, .seen between the
o
stem: 04. the walnut trees, I often a little
gate lea$lug into a .long; st,ei'ht waack,
walled b." tall, green, fragrant hedges of
'I'tn not going to let : Digges heir me;besid'e's, hes as deaf as Aunt Rosa."
"It not that the lady whose oyes have
made their appearance again in you, Al -
lie, after- lying dormant in the 'family,
for a hundred years or so?"
"I believe so. And I have heard that
she was the most pig-headed woman of
the age in which she lived
Her eyes are exactly the color of your
Alfie the same sleade of bluer gray, like
au .autumn fog.' °"
"It does, not sound well," I laugh, shrug-
slugshoulders. "Fogg eyes don't
mys Y, y
give one the idea of anything very al.
luring. Olive, you don't mean to saq ypu
can't eat any more strawberries?" 4
"I am reduced to that deplorable pli'ght,
my dear."
Looking at the table, with its delicate
appointments ofglass and silver, Fixe
dainty flowers, the take and ,'r.'am and
piled up dishes of strawberries, my heart
aches, thinking of my boy. He may 1,e
hungry, while there is food and tri t=ram
in my house, while my very xervante feed
on the fatof the land. The thought
sends that old dull aching rah; threugn
say heart again.
I shall go down' and see .what they
have done to the room they are to dance
in,' Olive says,' .getting up from the
table. "I hear the decorations tneze are
to be something. splendid—all scarlet ge-
raniums, festooned about the mottoes and
flags."
"So I hear." exceedingly -to
"'Alfie, 1 should like ex Y
shake you!"
ger
We ' leave
yielding 6
ineetietion
CANADA
o to
til•
179
3QS Mckinnon Building, TORON
LTtZ.D
EiSGerifiD
into his haggard cheeks. 'I :-shall ifev
4Kitne to-:;tell';ryou-,that.: sit f.'••
I am• ocMeetift'us of a; feeling. of r Yet .hi
had scarcely : doubted him, adY of an
manner had seemed like the grasp
iron hand about my heart. But, if 'he',.'
hat not forgotten me, it matters' very
in ' elm
little
about anything
e
"You parcrmised:to let Sue know," I say,
.
standing :belore":him in the dancing gun,
light. • and Shadow, looking with, 'wistful.
eyes into, ltis altered face. he 're eats:
'I have not forgotten' you,"p
almost savagely, a fierce light in , his
eyes. "'I wish I hall"'
"Yat
"Before all my respectable ancestors,.
Olive?"
Before them all. Oh, Allie, = I forgot
to remind you of that note to. the con-
fectioner!
on
fectioner! We left it lying on the seedy
mantel piece." unless' Z
It will be late for post then,.
run back nolo and ask Uncle Tod to take
charge of it" -
o?" Olive asks readily.
"Shall • I g
"Certainly not.. If any one must go.
I will go myself."
"But can't you send somebody over for
it?"
"They would not find it probably x'
h nothing articupir to do' jurat et.
might' .not have eared
as. 'mne'
en, aro_an angel!" he ',,returns brok-
e! het his head is turned away* from
. iii utakee no movement to erose the
syard. or two of mossy path,the glint of
sa,�us :ine• and, poker of dancing eshadow,
h other. ec
'tis from•. a
divides..
Witten
vV ou °.have eatifered ; :since 1 saw'you
last,, eeepay With a pitiful glance ;et his
gang' . ho'law t heeke . apd faded !Wee.
" linfferedr he echoes, with an'.' inde-
scribable intoiietirin, "Alba. if you cared
for iva—aH you say You did - caber didn't
r wish you' had, Gerard!"., "Andetieli~.a new burden to -what was
.o;' liofore Heaven. heavy'�;sno'neh. already. Gerard."
re for nothirt.g, so long. as you r� lveu afraid, of .poverty? „•W 'at
"But I tare ,,`'life t,,,.
have not forgotten Mee* After, all, what:l matter' 'if we` had starved together- ut
i
does anything: matter,, if wr; love each wo uhouid n_,t;,:hive-: starved—you,,would
oilier?"Iiave given to tiourage to -succeed, And
"'If we love • each other!"' ho repeats if we had; etarved one day, we ,should
vaguely, his hungry hollow eyes devour•-. leave feasted' the iiext'-we anon'$ hese
lug my face. been like . tpwo children—tiv 1 shauid ba
" f you love me,' Gerard, I can forgive f and lad'IYed' together. We;Should..
I ,
'rred
evargt tried oleo," have been hs,pnY, Alfie; because we•;should
"T hare', he :says brokenly, turih have loved each. other; but we heve'inissed
ing his `face away—"I .tried. hard to be it—lost jt forever!
vrorthy of you,
Allis."Z 'ansvyer:tenderly. Hee speaks, rapidly, -1=ercely, but -tluite.
"I know youcoherently, • If' it had'itpt , Biu
"I know all:about it, Qererd-I have aoherenre 1 shonid'ha"vn h ht.,....
You marry ine?'
WINTERn t erarrti
' CARE OF HORSES
Why do so many. farmers negle
-their -teams during the. wznt
months? By neglect I mean, wl
are so many farm horses kept sh
up; in close stables when not amble
ly at work, . fed 'a 'heavy allowal)
of heating grain, all the forage th
can stuff and only given e'.terei
when actually at work in the f'
or on the road? writes Mr. J.
Bell. '
heard:, tvas ntaa, or bad been' dry
"But it was not n me. It, was a'bad wine,- But T do.not
is d i_;b
da-- for you when you cared for;me — if wine,-
li •ht in his ekes
did eare. • „ light a c etdefn" out my
you ever I 'Vee cruel, 1 Say, S
"1 dye care," � I respondggravely, hold -hand to Ilim. "There are plenty• of,Poo
fid my head r yo high as his is low. 'I le who would say that I had acted tsisca•.
Poo -
did cure for you, and I care for you Ly but I know in my heart that I al hi
st'1 ! not. I ought to 'have -Married. yoti,.: i ''
I hnae not!"' lte exclaims quickly -sail forbidden you`to think of tee at ail.'
passionately- s wordug, out bis ,den s k t th" those haggerfl
!f to keep nT Words away. ' I am not
worthy of. you -you must not waste de-
other thought. on such a miserable
Ile -
graded wretch as I am!"
n 'But if I love you, ;Gerard?"`
have n i r; y run d wu rind "But you do not know how lout , 'iraete
present; so, if you like to o
see what they are doing 1n the servants y fallen, child," 1 ;, `•
: z ch' to
hall, I'll go back to the vicarage and gee 'Not so low but that r
my note to Uncle Tod.' .lift you up, with Heaven'h hale I say,'
Olive agrees to this arrangement;dad, in the same grave tender ouiet way.
five minutes later I am zn my wood "Do not thrust me away, Gerard: 1 should
again, passing under its mazy network not be a woman if I turned from Yon'
of sun and shadow, drinking in the de- because you were unfortunate—if you had
licious woodland air.
I walk very slowly, the ,little melee '"—
brown river below ine on. my right
hand, on my left the overhanging rocks
with their June vesture of mess • and
ferns and trailing festoons of bindweed
and honeysuckle; and, while I walk, I am
thinking of Gerard Baxter and of the
dream that I have been dreaming for
the last three months. Has he forgotten
me? This is the question which troubles
me most. If he had °forgotten me, would
be not have found melons to tell me, so?,
Had he not promised to tell me, in the
gloomy old drawing -roam in Carletoi
Street --were' they . not the' very last;
words.: he had said to me before he said
Tth kbye? lI. has- -not .'forgotten , me for.
had, h would: hltee; toirrestfeT- r
repeat
d, the.
. and while li
t
to
m selr
forlornly; ,
Te
a
p
e
yy
thought' is in my .heart, I raipe .lily eye*
and see him standing before nee,' thin and
gaunt and shabby, in the soft sunlight
and shadow of my woodland path,
"Gerard!" I cry; and yet the reality
of his presence scarcely startles me, so
present bad he been to my thoughts.
He answers nothing, not a single word,
only stands there, looking at me ae if I
were a ghost. But it is he who looks
like the ghost'of his former, self,
"Gerard, where have you come frome
What are you doing here?"
I have come from London," lie, an-
swers, without any gladness in his face
--.'from London, to see you." •
Something in his manner chills Me, and
sends the warm blood surging beak to
my heart.
lou have come to tell me that you
have forgotten me?"
"No,'' he replies, a dusky 'red coiningnevrenieunorennsintromnnzavresmiumegneemenaninniviannenannEnevevivominormeseenvannernemmemmovugemnsevemnom, ��
In'a natural' state in: any cliz
the horse, like 1010 all api'rna] s, ani'
necessarily take eV:grCiSe in see
y f ,u,,i taliCO" t to
ing a means o. ~;-, , �.
fore a horse w
.ler i
have
e c
musta
.
4 ~
1
(whenever pr�tnti'c.
that he may be able, to 1z
owner the full equivalent
or' the feed t;ttuy
honest work f .
a used to work;
Z~arm teams •are t
hard all spring,'summer. and .:f4,
or. the•farmer
The dull .season f .,
when-inolenient weather preva
Outdoor work Ear the -faithful fa
team will`" ' ltnee taiu;
Don't let tli , xi shine' up'i. i,
•d he
a time
stable fore days at ,
1 • . ting food, breathing e
air: of the stable.
rn le
ilo � evk� b .
g
de'i!'�i I'ibl;.-.tiariii pu1�- , • „ nit
If qr cattle that are kept
y�.,..r.y 1.".,. andy.. getting the
9ti�v}}n � y). Y
• fe :;oOCt; :daily's exercise at itr�eg
box. and yew,
Don't you mean to let them see you,
o Not to -day,, if I can help it, I shall
fled with 'those wretched old rooms in
""My dear, you talk as 3f coming of age
were a grievance' 1 "It is a -nuisance to me, Olive."
"You will tell me that Woodhay is a
nuisance to you next!"
"Oh, no; I should not care to give up
Woodhay!"
I should think pot!" Olive laughs, ae
we puss from the cool secluded green
walk, through a tali archway out in the
hedge, and ..iindourselves in a blaze of
sunehine and scarlet geranium, and brown
velvet calceolaria, and blue lobelia, and
yourself.' hundred other radiant blossoms. •
And I mean to do it, I assure you."Adie, when are you coming to lira at
We are walking from the vicarage to Woo ay?
Woodhay—it is only . a fete minutes' walk ..To live here?" I repeat absently, my
through the wood. - It is June weather eyes on the gilded weathervane which
exquisite weather, all my woods are a twinkles like a star on . the point of my'
mystic tangle of green leaf and shadow quaint red brick gable.
and golden -dropping sunshine, all• my "you have 'done nothing but echo ma
meadows are bloomy purple, "sighing for,since we left the vicarage. When are you
the scythe." . Between Woodhay and the going to take up your abode here in your
vicarage there runs a little rushing brook, own manor of Woodhaye"
and beyond the brook, on my side of it, "I don't know. Not till 'tfnele Tod is
a hundred feet of woodland runs up too old to do duty, probably„He will
steeply, with a wealth of overhanging never leave tee: vicarage till then."
ferns and tangled foliage throwing their. 'Hut can't,",tan Iwo hore without your
shadow • far across the 'shadowy' eombe, 'Undo Tod?"
It le up this southern elope that we aro . ,
yvinding by a stoop path overhung w'"By myself,Olive?„
-with "You eau get lots of.iiice elderly ladies
woodland tangle' ol woodbine and blacic, to come and live with yon,"
"berry bramble, wtth a
' ferns and velvet mosset' laughing at lie
from the crevice' of every lichen -spotted
rods
'Doe:you ever thine o1 that boy of
-yours eallig'' Olive asks, as we climb.
d steep together, bathed in el-
s. .-streaks of suit and shadow.
" ''role of him?" I repeat inanely.
"Yon used to he great friends, you know,
though I think you have forgotten. ,him.
Jack Rolleston used to chaff him about
you—Jack though he really cared aw-
fully for you, Allie, :. olttng apart."
"Tacls Rolleston zs a great fool, Olivet"
"Oh, well, I know 5'aek hasn't much
1"ONLY A OOEO"
Td80'OO� IPS -
�
STOP IT BEFORE IT STOPS IOU
have yen ever heard of a case of
catarrh, bronchitis, inflammation of the
lungs, or pleurisy that did not start
with a common cold?
';very cold you catch has in it the
makings of one or other of these dis-
eases, if
iseases,-if it can break clown yourdefenees.
And even if it does riot develop into
Something more dangerous, it will keep
you thoroughly miserable for a weer: or
two at least.
The wise course, as soon as you feet
e cold coining oit, is to start taking
-brei-Co Syrup of Linseed, Licorice
nd Chlorodyne, and keep it tip till the
la is knocked out completely. This
splendid cough syrup will do the trick
traickly and thoroughly.
You can feet perfectly ,safe in taking
Ilea -Co Syrap of Linseed, Licorice
and Ctilorodyne, or in giving it to your
children. • Vixe'll Madly give your
�lhyricatt a list of its ingredients if yon
like, YOiir Druggist can supply either
es bottles. The National Drug &
,•z 1 't•tM
, 1010
on,
.•.."� . �, 10,10 ' attd:• iradoubiet •tali s <�'n' ", entice
"I think one would be enough!." 1 say,
shrugging my shoulders.
"01 course I mean one—at a time. Why
wool tn't' -your Aunt Rosa come .and live
With' you Imre?'
"Aunt' Rowe. would not :leave ,'Uncle
Tod.'
"Your uncle could get • the Reverend
Hyacinth Lockhart to come and, take up
his abode at the vicarage.'
"I. don't think he could. The Reverend
Hyacinth has, set up for himself in the
village—you' 'snow the pretty cottage near
the church, lust outside the vicarage
gate?" •
"Going to marry somebody?" Olive in-
quires, with great intermit.
“Very probably,- though 1ave not
heard anything about it—as Yet.
"I hope, is is not going to•;merry any
body," Olivet says pathetically. I should
not have half' as much Inn when I come
down here it there was a ties. Hyacinth'
Lockhart."
"Then why did you refuse him last
summer, my dear?"
"Oh, I wasn't quite prepared to marry
hien;' youe know! But I don't want him
to marry anybody, else."
"Ton little dog in the manger! Come
in andhave some strawberries, Wee. I
told old Digges we should want any
amount of strawberries and cream."
The old white-haired butler, who has
lived at Woodhay as long as 1 can re-
member—aitd a great deal longer•—meets
us in the hall.
`Good afternoon, Diggos. „Where aro
the strawberries and ereamk.
"In here, madam," Digges says, throve,
int~, open the; doer of the dining -Poeta.
It is a long •itt.room, with carved raf-
ters and a high black oak wainscot, which
gives it rather a sombre look. Bet the
glorious June sunshine streains in tbroudh
he etained, glass .of the old -cashiered
bay,windows, and falls in, blue and pur-
ple and ruby rays on thea 'polished par-
queterie of tlad floor, an the''oily eualnt.
ile lop a sa • 'me wz itl' orvals and in consequon e
hungry eye»—looks at my face.•my dress, erring .from many ailments ?net
g Y
}Tut: -lie makes n0 movement to take my to I1OSe . t orifinement £L1onFyy.
autsteetebed hand. "You look like a-pic-
time,: Allie. S wish I' could paint you in heavy feedingo
gown,with all those tangled as well ac tis?
loaves' for backgound. your head thrown The Ivxlt r w
d I' tcly against that patch of with 'one of the most sucG-
downt here a life of struggle and pov a, man who owns
Al a0. a sea
pale blue sky- You look so Ito and
you breeders of horses in this cob
and, goad: what right had d at one time
100 head of thoroughbreds,
(To be continued.)
from the Atlantic to • the .I'aclf
o s -
erty with me!"
of ahem horses that are•'4
Y. -s-.1 ..10"1, a
—,.1071
i
QUALITY IN SUGARS`
All Sugars do keit look alike, if placed alongside each other. Beery
Grocer knows thio. We want the Consumer to know it. Insist
on having
EXTRA GRANULATED SUGAR
You will not only have a good Sugar, but the best ou the market.
The clear white color proves the superiority of "Redpath" Sugar.
When buying Loaf sugar ask for REDPATH PARIS
LUMPS in RED SEAL dust proof cartons, and by the
pound.
The Cangda Sugar "Re in$Ing Co.,
Limited
MONTREAL, CANADA.
Eetabliseeden 0354 by John Rod,eth
eurrt,:..x•.
Jr.
furniture infer 6n •the grim "faces of my
ancestors and ancestresses Imaging 'found
the upper part of 'the wall in their tar
niched frames.
I wnnsr" all there- stete'd foref et.;hers
of .yours did not a>vo' yogi into more tins•''
aretioti Alfie " Olive observes, 'nodding
c.or 5or.. lU her seney Monde head at the faanily ,l ox-
.
01 ! 611•:,1 a ) tralts Xf ilii an theee"p''lm ,beritfferlt
r.
"Thinking o2 nal a Situ ?
Better
uilde'
E C *:nr ate
C• 5•...-1010 Ott
;'r
Pt—
ime': I .,reiresSfIgn
r114/1'lai f4e. Farmer Ccyi' .Do,'.
1>Vd!?t `Conereie."
'fells you how o, use, Concrete in cdnstenctine
i38rns Hitching Posts
Horse (Sleeks
HOus$b
Fouitey Houses
Root Cellar&.
liE construction of • a Silo affords
an excellent exantiile of what the
farmer Can do with Gonerete••
and of the superiority of Concrete over
an 'other material for various structural
'work about the farm.
Tilt usual wooden silo, besides being expensive, IS far
from satisfactory. In the firstplace, it does not endure;
and, More important stili ;being far from weather-proof
contents beconue water-logged—Producing an unsan-
itary condition. - .
A 'Silo built of Coterete, on the other hand, Is
practically everlaatietg —It is proof against heat, cold
-suet 'moisture and 'W hat the merit of compar•
ative
economy.
Clsterne
Dairies
Dipping Trines
'Foueclotlone
Fence tsoete
Feeding l=lbors Shelter 'Wage
Gutterlr Stables •
Henn Meets- Stairs:
This econortzy feature to further ex-
plained In our .free book --"What the 'Patine?,
Cans Da With Concrete. "• --which tells how to
zn•ixand:nee Concrete for the making er,
aiios and ether buil1inge, on the
farm.
Stalls
Steps'
Tanks
Wal
Troughslis
Well Curbs;
e��eitc , etc., ete,•
C • fluteted
4°
Cerriell
5 Natioltei Dank Building, McMinn!.
Hill one the
lii'id •send for
be
ole
t
'o
da
y
You may
send me a
copy of book.
entitled "10:attte
Farmed• Can Do WW1
Concrete."
lame 1010 1010. 10,10,•..
Address ................4r
theirsuciiessful performances o
turf.
It was his invariable custo
let all of his studs have ex
in the open air whenever the
ther conditions permitted. 3
mares, stallions and colts we
turned out to run about an
the benefit of fresh air and e.x
sometimes even when the w
seemed unpropitious. '
Oftentimes the , stallions
taken out and ridden froml
fifteen 'miles a' day. .
get muddy and diny, but "fru
their vigor in'the stud until
vented lige.
The brood mares and colts
ages were kept in good` co
by- being allowed to run aro
paddock or field, gaining st
and vigor all the time.
The farmer's team . nee
same recreation as ;does the
horse and ,will not be ready.
heavy : springwork unless; 1
the proper care and attentio
ing the winter months.
In the Far West or Nortl
are, no doubt, days when the
els' teams must stay in th
Let them be as few as pi
Remember that an hour's e
turned loose in stable lot, 'p
or field will start the b]
coursing, take the swelling'
stocky legs, fill the lungs wit
fresh air and in the end:s'a
erinary' ;bills.
BURNING THE 1BOADS
A great malty people h
mistaken idea • that the, time
the ;.roadside in order to
many: insects that winter
places, is in the early spl in•'
year. .
If you will watch closely
a place where the roadsi
been burned in the .springy
see the insects ,conning out'.
ground very thickly on th
days. .
This proves that the inset
not killed, Most • Of there ar
ground and ;the heat of.
passi ,g'` over ^them does nt.
them and the tref, burn
above them makes it.. all
for the insects to' dome fort
no doubt a few of them a�'7
the majority of them "3
jibed.
The right time to burn the
sides to do effective work.'
fate fall of the year, after..
weather has already set in
the tender vegetation is dr,
Then, if the roadsides are
the insectsin such places
lulled by heavy •freezing,
usually do not go very de
the ground, but seen' to d
the covering of trash tip
them froze., the U+olti..
This is a great bit more
n 'the+ ki'llins of hte i:nse