The Mount Holly news. [volume] (Mount Holly, Burlington Co., N.J.) 1891-1942, 1900-03-13
A Turnat Flowing
The Boy Didn't Like the Work, but
Enjoyed the Attendant Sport.
BY Ernest McGaHy.

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''Do you really want to try your hand
at the pillow /" was Uncle Toms remark
after breakfast was over.
I'D like to see if could" said the
boy, "even If get sick of it before
night"
"All right" was his uncle's reply.
But you can't carry the gun with you.
The mules would stampede"
'Why, what would there be to
shoot?" said Aunt Fanny.
"Oh, there's blackbirds and kildees
by the barrel" said Uncle Tom.
'I'n take my bean shooter" said the
boy, land get enough birds for potpie
by night
So, with pocketful Of buckshot and
his rubber weapon, he was ready for
the fray. The farm was one Of 24O
acres. It was rolling country and
fenced in by the old fashioned barbless
wire fences. The soil was dark loan
and easily worked There was sand
enough SO that pillow would scour
fairly well, and there were no rocks.
The boy had watched his uncle plow
the day before, and it did not seem
very hard work. So, with light plow
and the old team, he started in with
considerable confidence. The reins
were crossed over his shoulder and un-
der his arm, and the novelty of the job
appealed to his curiosity. He grasped
the handles and started the team with
an assuring "Git upr' Ills instructions
were not to hold the plowshare too
deep In the soil or he would be hoisted
into the air by the combination of the
lines around him and the leverage Of
the earth's surface, and for the first
200 yards he gingerly scraped along al
most on top of the ground.
Then he remembered that this was
not blowing, and he "h'isted" up the
handles and dug into the bowels of the
earth. 1t was long pull and a strong
pull and pull all together as he re-
membered it afterward, and 1t ended
by his being slung over the tops of the
pillow handles and deposited in the dirt.
The pillow had been turned upside down
in the furrow, and his hat had been
scraped Off by the lines. The near
mule beamed on him pityingly, and his
back felt as if part of it had been pull
ed out and thrown away. Then he rec
objected about not digging in too deep
So he braced himself and took hold Of
the pillow handles again. A long stretch
of comparatively level ground assisted
his efforts, and all went well for some
time. 1t was a vast and awful dis
lance across the field for the first fur
row, and his uncle was mere speck
at the other end When he got to the
end of the furrow, he found the wire
fence, and beyond was a limitless ex-
panse of rolling prairie stretching
down to the timber line of the Tarkio
river. Outside of the fence were sew
eral burrows, which, his uncle had ex-
planned, were to keep the prairie fires
from coming in and burning the fence
posts.
He turned the mules and started
back on the blowing. The loose lean
broke under his bare feet, and the fur
row crumbled down and arched ahead
of the pillow like the back of an angry
hog. There was a steam, light, misty,
almost impalpable, that rose up from
the cloven hide of the old brown earth.
Far in the west bank of white clouds
lay furled in the blue skies. He held
the plow more steadily now, and when
the share began to sink too deep he
eased 1t up without jerking the point
free from the furrow.
The turning point was reached again,
and again he halted. From the line Of
cottonwoods that fianked one side Of
the field came down troop Of black
birds, clacking and gossiping, in their
quest for grubs, bugs and angleworms.
First in size and Importance were the
gorgeous purple grackles, or crow
blackbirds. They were the autocrats OF
the blackbird tribe and most important
and busy when engaged on foragiug
expeditions such as these. They were
followed by the more sober hued COW
blackbirds In great numbers, and as
the team drew away and the burrows
line heightened out the scouts of the
expedition came in close to the pillow.
The boy had already got his bean
shooter within easy reach, and as the
birds lined along the furrow he stopped
the mules.
The nearest blackbird was big pur-
pie grackle The boy drew the rubbers
back, bullet flew as the rubber bands
snapped, and the blackbird doubled up
in the furrow with q bullet in his
breast. Putting in another bullet. the
boy took another shot at the next bird,
which had not noticed the almost
noiseless effect Of the shot. Fair and
true the second bullet went to its
mark, and second blackbird dropped
to the shot Going back. the boy pick
ed I'D the two birds, and the rest scat
tered back along the furrow. Putting
the lines across and under, he started
along the furrow again. Again the
birds drew up. and again he got two
shots at them, getting one bird and
Just grazing another. When he got to
the opposite end of the field, he found
a couple of inquisitive kildees rummag-
ing about and winged one of them
with his first shot. A long chase over
the drying burrows of the previous
days blowing secured the bird.
Going back he had several more
shots at the blackbirds, which seemed
to grow holder and hungrier as the
day advanced. He seldom missed
them and in one instance killed two at
one shot, the bullet striking one bird
glancing blow on the neck and winging
a second bird in the bunch.
The blowing grew more and more
tedious as the day heightened out, and
the boy was never hungrier In his life.
He had brought his dinner along, with
a bottle of milk to wash 1t down, and
he could tell pretty well from the sun
when noontime came. From his line
of burrows he could see his uncle toll
ing across and back, never stopping for
anything, brown figure in the brown
stretches Of upturned earth.
He made up his mind that blowing
was desperately monotonous work and
that to blow o straight furroW was