Hidden Treasure: The Story of a Chore Boy Who Made the Old Farm Pay

by John Thomas Simpson

XXI

FILLING THE SILO

While Bob and Tony (helped out by the neighbors' boys who came to Brookside Farm to learn the handling of cement) carried on the building work, Mr. Brady, the contractor, made rapid strides with the construction of the house and barn.

Joe Williams looked after the crops with occasional help from Bob and Tony. Ruth, who found the greatest pleasure in the fields, deserted Bob and his concrete mixer entirely for her uncle's machinery. She soon learned to handle the big tractor and used it to cut the entire field of oats. After acquiring the knack of using a pitchfork, it was surprising the work she did and thrived on. She had one vanity, however—that of having her picture taken nearly every day in her farmerette clothes. Edith, who took these pictures, declared Ruth spent her nights thinking up some new poses for the next day's pictures. But they were a happy family, and many a summer evening, when they all seemed too tired to move, Tony's sudden appearance with his flute would start them all singing and cause them to forget their bodily fatigue.

"The corn in the back field looks as though it's about ready for the silo, Bob," said his uncle one morning, "and I think we had better arrange to start filling it to-morrow. It will give us a chance to try out our new machinery. It's surprising how large the corn in the new bottom has grown—I never would have believed it myself without having actually seen it."

"Don't you think, Uncle Joe, we should leave a small section of the best of it standing, say three or four acres, for seed corn? We could get $5 a bushel next spring for good seed corn, besides having our own. Then, too, we ought to have some to exhibit at the Fair. I don't think there'll be any corn like it in the county."

"That's so," said his uncle. "It would be well to do that. We could exhibit some on the stalks, too, and then people could see how fertile Brookside Farm is. I've arranged to put on four men and three teams to help us, Bob, because it will take seven to handle the outfit. It ought not to take us more than three days to do the work—that would mean fifty tons per day to haul and three horses on the binder."

So the next morning at seven o'clock the new corn binder was started in the bottom field and by the end of the third day the corn was all harvested, cut to three-quarter inch length and placed in the silo, without a break or delay.

"There's one advantage in having the right kind of machinery to do a job, Uncle Joe," said Bob admiringly; "you can cut the corn when it's just right. If we had let the corn stand a few days longer, it would not have been as good as it is now. We'll probably have the best ensilage that will be put up this year."

[Illustration: TRANSFERRING THE GREEN CORN CROP FROM FIELD TO SILO. NO
FARMER DOING WINTER FEEDING CAN AFFORD TO BE WITHOUT A PROFIT-MAKING
SILO]

"What rate do you think we should charge for the corn binder and ensilage cutter, Bob?" asked his uncle. "Some of the neighbors want to hire it."

"Why not use twenty acres as a basis and charge the same as we decided for the other tools,"

"That looks pretty high," said his uncle.

"No higher than it should be," replied Bob. "If we kept the machines ourselves, Uncle Joe, they would be in good shape for five years, but you know when you rent a machine out, they don't take care of it as we do, so I think we ought to charge one per cent. of the cost of the two machines per acre to each farmer who rents it."

"But if you rent it to five farmers in a season, Bob, we would pay for the machines in one year and still own the machines. Isn't that a pretty high price?" asked his uncle.

"But wouldn't the machines have done five years' rated work, Uncle
Joe? Do you know anybody who is renting them cheaper?"

"It might be cheaper for some fellows to club together and get the machines," said his uncle.

"Well, then let them do it and in the meantime our machines won't be worn out," said Bob.

"All right," said his uncle; "Billie Waterson put up a silo and wants to borrow our machines."

"I'd make him agree to return them in good condition and pay for all repairs necessary," said Bob; "don't forget that."

"All right," said his uncle; "I think I'll let him have it on that basis."

As soon as the silo had been filled, the apple-picking was started. They had been in a quandary to know just how to get this crop harvested, as the trees were exceptionally full of well-developed apples. Tony finally solved the problem by saying he could send to Pittsburgh and get three or four Italian boys who would be willing to work for a dollar or two a day, so they were engaged. All the apples were carefully picked by hand and assorted in sizes, using a device designed by Tony, where the apples were allowed to roll slowly down a trough. As the apples dropped through the hole in the bottom of the grading trough, they rolled down other chutes to the waiting crates.

"I think we'll sell our apples this year, Bob, by the piece instead of by the bushel," said his aunt, after inspecting the first that were picked. "They look so fine I think we can easily get four to five cents each for them if they are put in nice cartons and each apple wrapped in paper. We can put our label on them and after we have marketed them for a year or two, people will write in for their supply. I know some firms in the mountains of Virginia who are doing that now and selling all they can raise. We can keep the first and second grade apples for sale and the third for our own use and for cider making. I think perhaps the three best sellers would be the Winesaps, Black Twigs and Albemarle Pippins. They look exceptionally fine. I don't think I ever saw nicer apples than ours."

When they had the apples all gathered, they found they had 500 bushels of first and second grade apples of the three varieties and 63 bushels of the third grade. Of these latter they kept 13 bushels for their own use, and after making ten barrels of cider, they offered the rest for sale in town, where they obtained 50 cents per bushel for them.

"It will be better, Joe, to sell them off at a cheap price rather than keep them and sort them all winter. Besides, we don't want to market any but the best under the name of the farm."

"We must hurry the work, Bob, on the root cellar to take care of our apples," said his aunt.

"All right, Aunt Bettie," he replied; "it's nearly finished."

A few days after the cider-making had been completed, the new milking machine arrived. The agent for the manufacturers sent a man to show Bob how to erect it. When the machine had been completed and tried out, they tested it out that night. Bob found he could milk his ten best cows in just a half hour, or half the time it had taken before to milk by hand.

Milking by power certainly was a great idea and the cows didn't seem to object at all to the change. Bob and his aunt were sure now that they had not made any miscalculations on designing the dairy barn for a twenty-cow herd; they felt they would be able to take care of that number easily.

"Let's go hunting, Bob," said Ruth one morning at breakfast a few days later. "I'd like to shoot some real game."

"All right," said Bob, "but we've only one gun between us. You see, I don't own a gun and Uncle Joe has only one."

"Oh, that reminds me," said his uncle, "John White gave me a package yesterday to bring out for you and I was so busy I forgot and left it in the automobile last night. I guess it's still there," and he winked at Edith and Ruth across the table.

Bob got up and went to the barn and came back a few minutes later with a long package. When opened, he found, much to his delight, it contained a double-barreled hammerless shotgun. Tied to the gun was a card on which was written: "For my friend, Bob Williams, with best wishes, from John White."

"That was splendid of him to buy me a gun. I wonder why he did it," exclaimed Bob.

"Well, I guess he likes you, Bob," said his uncle, "and he feels you're helping to do a good work in the county, so he just bought it for you. It's the same gauge as mine, so you can use some of my shells, although he gave me two boxes of shells already loaded," and he handed over the shells to Bob. "And this is your belt," he said laughing, and he handed Bob a very fine belt of buff leather.

"We certainly can go hunting to-day, Ruth," said Bob, delighted with his new present, and as soon as the milking and chores were done, they set off back of the pond and through the woods, back of the "Old Round Top."

Bob had every confidence in Ruth's ability to shoot and did not fear an accident from her gun. While Ruth couldn't do many things, shooting was not one of them, for she had proven herself to be an expert shot on a number of occasions. When they reached the woods they separated and Bob went up the ravine while Ruth kept along the hillsides. They had not gone very far when a chicken hawk flew over the ravine just ahead of Bob and alighted on a tree. Here was an unexpected opportunity of making a good shot and bringing home a trophy worth while. So he took careful aim and fired, but the distance was either too great or the aim was bad, for the hawk flew away. He continued up the ravine until he came to a line fence which he followed up the hill and joined Ruth, neither one having had an opportunity of shooting at any other game.

"Too bad you missed him, Bob; he was such a fine-looking specimen."

"Did you see it, Ruth?"

"Yes, it ran alongside of me."

"What do you mean, it ran alongside of you?" asked Bob; "the last I saw of it, it was flying."

"Flying!" exclaimed Ruth. "Why it ran along the ground just like a dog and had a big red bushy tail. I was sitting on a stump taking a rest when you fired. It came sneaking up the hill toward me, all the while watching you. It came up so close I could have put my hand out and touched it. It stopped right in, front of me for a minute or two and then ran off up over the ridge."

"What are you talking about Ruth?" asked Bob. "The thing I shot at was a hawk and it flew through the air. It didn't run along the ground at all."

"Oh," said Ruth, "what I saw must have been a fox, and, Bob, it stood just in front of me for a minute or two before it turned and went away."

"If that's so why didn't you shoot it?" demanded Bob.

"I was too excited. I never thought about shooting it."

"Well, you lost an opportunity of a lifetime. You'll probably never get a chance to get a fox as easy as that again."

"Please don't tell the folks at the house, Bob, that I had the buck fever—they'd never get through teasing me if they knew I'd let such a chance go by."

They hunted all the rest of the morning, but got only three grey squirrels, of which Ruth shot two.

A few days later, as Ruth was crossing the oat stubbles, she saw a small black and white animal skipping along through the stubbles just ahead of her. Thinking it was a kitten that had strayed from the house, she rushed after it and was almost ready to pick it up when she suddenly changed her mind and started for the house as fast as she could go.

The dinner bell had rung and as Ruth came around the side of the house, her aunt and Edith, who were sitting on the porch, shouted in unison: "Go 'way! Go 'way! Go out to the barn. Where've you been?"

"I tried to pick up a kitten out in the oat stubbles," confessed Ruth.

"Well, I guess you did, all right," said her aunt. "Wait until Edith gets you some clothes and then go out to the old icehouse and change them. Leave the clothes you have on out there, because you'll never be able to wear them again."

Ruth, who had been trying hard to control her feelings, now broke into sobs, for she had only one farmerette suit and this meant the loss of it.

"It was such an innocent-looking kitten, too," she said.

"Innocent nothing," said her uncle, who came in from the barn just then. "Don't you know a skunk when you see one?"

"No, I didn't, but I will next time," confessed Ruth. Edith then appeared with the necessary garments and took them to the icehouse where she left them and where Ruth later went and made the change. That afternoon she was particularly depressed, for she had to wear a dress instead of her favorite breeches, which seemed to depress her more and more as the afternoon wore on. She gladly welcomed the appearance of Eddie Brown and Herbert Potter, who drove out to see the girls and to tell them they were about to leave to go to school.

Bob was now working on a new piggery, which he and Tony had well under way. The pens were to accommodate thirty pigs, and were built so they could be extended from time to time, as they might decide. In addition to the pen, they were constructing a large feeding floor, and now that work on the main barn had been completed, Mr. Brady was pushing the work on the new house, which was progressing rapidly. Bob was sorry it was necessary to build this house so quickly, as he would have liked to work out all the details for it, but he had to be satisfied with the development of the plan, which he and his Aunt Bettie worked out after a great many conferences.

The house was to face the south and have a long porch running the full width of the front with a return on the west end. The south front was to face the flower garden and the west front would connect with the drive, while the back of the house would open into the general barnyard.

They planned to build the woodshed and laundry between the new house and the dairy, with a heating system and the fuel in the cellar. This would prevent the cellar of the main house becoming too warm for storage purposes. They had also decided to build the new machinery house to take care of the implements with a good-size tool shed adjoining—also a garage large enough to accommodate an automobile and two motor trucks and an oil house at one end. They were also at work on fifty concrete apiaries for the protection of the bees. The septic tank was being built by Mr. Brady in connection with the house, but the root cellar, corn crib, manure pit and the sheep barn were yet to be completed by Bob and Tony; but the plans for them had already been worked out.

It had also been decided that they should build a sixty-foot greenhouse for the growing of cucumbers and other vegetables under glass, which they would try out that winter—also a half dozen cold frames and a small mushroom cellar.

The work on the piggery was to include a hog-dipping vat, a platform and scalding vat. A garbage burner had been installed at the rear of the dairy not far from the woodshed.

The plans for the house included a cistern for the collection of rain water in the cellar under the laundry. After these had been planned, they decided that the old brick smokehouse was in a bad location and too far away from the house. So this was abandoned and a new smokehouse added in the rear of the dairy buildings.

In order to get all the work completed, they had found it necessary to let Mr. Brady build Tony's bungalow also, although they would much have preferred to do this work themselves.

They found that even with this help, they would have to let a number of things go over until the next year—among them a bridge to carry the lane over the new ditch, and some ornamental concrete work in connection with the garden.

They could work much faster now than formerly, as many of the neighbors' boys were available for a few days at a time, and even though the fall weather was upon them, they hoped to get all their concrete work done before the December snows.