The Watertown weekly leader. [volume] (Watertown, Jefferson County, Wis.) 1912-1917, 1916-05-16
CHAPTER II.
My Farmer Comes.

sor Grey Of the college botanical de-
partment assigned his chief assistant
81 the gardens to my case. He took
me TO Boston, and in one day spent ex-
actly $641 of my precious savings
while ! gasped. helpless in my igno-
rance. He bought, it appeared to me,
barrels Of seeds, tons of fertilizers,
thousands Of wheel hoes for horse and
man, millions Of pruning saws and
fpraying machines. hotbed frames and
~ashes. tomato trellises, and | knew
not what other nameless implements
and impedimenta.
This was rather discOncerting But
the die was cast. and | came to a sud
den realization that seven years of
teaching the young idea how to punctu-
ate isn't the best possible training for
running a farm. and if | were to get
out of my experiment with a whole
skin | had got TO turn to and be my
own chief laborer. and hereafter my
own purchaser as we'll
All that night packed and planned,
and the next morning | left college
forever | slipped away quietly, before
the chapel bell had begun to ring
avoiding all tender goOd-bys. | had a
stack of eXperilnCnt-Stati bulletins in
my grip and during the four hours
spent on the train my eyes never left
their pages -Four hours is not enough
To make Il man qualified agricul-
turist. but it is sufficient TO make him
humble landed ut BentfOrd station,
hired a hack. and drove at once to my
farm. and my first thought on alight-
Ing was this: Good, Lord, | never
realized the frightful condition of that
orchard. 1t will take me a solid week
to save any of it, and | suppose III
have TO set out lot of new trees be-
sides. More expense"
Its dollar up here" said the
driver of the hack, in a mildly insidi-
Gus voice.
| paid him brusquely and he drove
away. | stood in the middle of the
road. my suitcase beside me, the long
afternoon shadows coming down
through my dilapidated orchard, and
surveyed the scene. Milt Noble had
gone. SO had my enthusiasm. The
house was bare and deSOlate. 1t hadn't
been paiRted for twenty years. at least,
] decided. My trunks. which | had
sent ahead by express, were standing
discOnsolately on the kitchen porch.
Behind me | heard my horse stamping
III the stable, and saw my two cows
feeding in the pasture. A postcard
from one Bert Temple, my nearest
neighbor up the Slab City road, had in
formed me that he was milking them
for me-and. | gathered, for the milk
Well, if he didn't. goodness knew who
would! l never felt so lonely, so help
less, so hopeless. in my life.
Then an odd fancy struck me. George
Meredith made his living, too. by read
ing manuscripts for a publisher The
picture of George Meredith trying to
reclaim a New England farm as an
ayocation restored my spirits, though
just why perhaps it would be difficult
to make anyone but a fellow English
instructor understand. | suddenly
tossed my suitcase into the barn, and
began a tour of inspection over my
thirty acres.
There was tonic in that turn. That
brook ran south close to the road
which formed my eastern boundary,
along the entire extent of the farm
some three hundred yards AS | fol
lowed the brook into the naples and
then into the sudden hushed quiet of
my little stand Of pines. l thought how
all this was mine-my own, to play
with, to develop as a sculptor molds
his clay, to walk in, to read in. to
dream ill., Think of owning even a
half-acre of pine woods. stillest and
coolest of spots. A single great pine.
with wide-spreading, storm-tossed
branches. like cedar of Lebanon.
stood at the stone wall, just inside my
land.
Somebody ought to get amusement
out of thisr' | said aloud. as / set of
for the barn. gathered up my suitcase.
and climbed the road toward Bert
Temples.
If live to be a hundred, | can never
repay Bert Temple, artist in caulifiow
ers and best of friends in my hour of
need. Bert and his wife took me in.
treated me as a human. if helpless,
fellow being, not as a city man" to be
feeced, and gave me the best advice
and the best supper a man ever had.
meantime assuring me that my cows
had been tested, and both were sound.
The supper came first. hadn't
eaten such supper since grandmother
died. There were brown bread Joes-
only rival of Rhode Island Johnnycake
Tor the title of the lost ambrosia of
Olympus. They were so hot that the
butter melted over them instantly and
crisp outside. with delicious, runny in
sides.
Mrs Temple" said l. 81 haven't
eaten brown bread Joes since | was
boy. | didn't know the secret existed
any more"
Mrs. Temple beamed over her ample
and calico covered BOSOM lyon
must hey come from Essex or Middle