JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT

Janet lifted the dish while Natalie and the other girls led Susy by the tether-rope to a shady spot.

JANET: A Stock-Farm Scout

By LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY

Author of

“Natalie: A Garden Scout,” “Norma: A Flower Scout,”

“The Blue Birds Series,” “The Five Little Starrs Series.”

Endorsed by and Published with the Approval of

NATIONAL GIRL SCOUTS

A. L. BURT COMPANY

Publishers—New York

Printed in U. S. A.

The Girl Scouts

Country Life Series

A SERIES OF STORIES FOR GIRLS

By LILLIAN ELIZABETH ROY

NATALIE: A GARDEN SCOUT

JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT

NORMA: A FLOWER SCOUT

Copyright, 1925

By A. L. BURT COMPANY

JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT

Made in “U. S. A.”

CONTENTS

JANET: A STOCK-FARM SCOUT

CHAPTER I
JANET’S ARRIVAL AT GREEN HILL

The local train from Grand Central station, bound for Four Corners, a flag station on the Harlem Division of the New York Central, carried a very busy young passenger one Saturday morning in June. The passenger was Janet Wardell and her work consisted of studying the first few written pages of a brand new diary. Although her eyes would often gaze with interest at the lovely country scenery to be seen from the car windows, Janet found an irresistible attraction in the writing before her.

Finally, however, Janet sighed and opened her suitcase to slip the diary into it, but read once more what she had inscribed.

“Last Night. Helene gave me this lovely diary last night and told me to be sure and jot down everything that might happen at Green Hill Farm this summer. It’s too bad Helene could not join us in our new Scout work, but Mother said we five girls would be quite enough trouble for poor Jimmy to chaperone; besides, Mother thinks Helene is too young to join a Scout Troop, but she will see about starting her with the Scout Brownies at once.

“Helene said, last night, that next to being one of our party on the farm, the story of all we do this summer, faithfully recorded by me in this book, will be best. So I solemnly agreed to keep tabs on the least thing we did—this is why I am writing now.

“Not only will Helene enjoy reading the diary after I go home, this fall, but we girls will have many a merry evening as we sit together reviewing our weeks on the farm. I just know there will be lots of excitement for us, and bushels of fun, every day.

“I suppose I really ought to begin the regular entries in the diary by dating them as I go along—but the dates ready-made are too limited to say all I will have to tell, so I’d better make my own. So now I’ll begin with to-day.

“Saturday. I had a dreadful time this morning trying to get away from the house in time to catch this train, because Frances Lowden, Belle Barlow and Norma Evaston talked and talked over the telephone until I had to tell them right out, that I would hang up if they didn’t say good bye. Belle laughed and said something I did not hear because I was handing the receiver to Mother to end the good byes for me.

“When we got to Grand Central station, what do you think? There were those girls waiting for me, laughing and rushing for me, and keeping me from getting my ticket. Thank goodness, the guard at the gate refused to pass them through to see me off, so they had to stand at one side and watch me go down the platform. I wasn’t any too soon for the train, either, for I had no sooner found a seat than the guard gave the signal and we started.

“I am looking at the country we are passing through and I think it is very pretty, indeed, but not as lovely as the country around Green Hill Farm.”

Janet dropped the diary inside the suitcase and was about to close the case when she remembered an item she wished to inscribe. The diary was removed again and the fountain-pen cap was unscrewed.

“I wish to say that I haven’t the slightest idea of doing a thing all summer but just sleep, and read, and lounge about in the hammock Mother is sending out to the farm. Natalie wrote me all about her vegetable venture, but she needn’t think I’m going to help. Not much! I’m too tired after the exams at school, and I’m going in for the rest cure!”

This time, Janet closed the suitcase upon the tempting diary and gave her entire attention to the views of the country. She had not much time to spend in this way before the guard on the train called out “Four Corners!”

Janet hurriedly gathered her baggage and left the car to find Natalie and Mrs. James eagerly awaiting her. While the two girls are engrossed with telling each other all that had happened since last they had seen each other, let us introduce Natalie to any reader who has not read about her in the first book of the Girl Scout Country Life Series.

Natalie Averill, a delicate city girl of about thirteen, had been orphaned a short time before the story opened. Mrs. James, lovingly nicknamed “Jimmy” by Natalie and her chums, acted as a friend and chaperone to the forlorn girl; and Rachel, who had been the cook in Mrs. Averill’s service for many years, remained to see Natalie through her experience of trouble. As Rachel declared to Mr. Marvin, the family lawyer: “Does you-all t’ink dis chile goin’ to go back on her Honey-babe now dat she ain’t got no money like-as-we-all figgered Mr. Averill done goin’ to leab her? No, sah, not Rachel!”

Thus it happened that not only Natalie and Mrs. James, but Rachel, as well, went to Green Hill Farm to live and get ready for the coming of the four girl-boarders who were expected immediately after the closing of High School in the city. So that Saturday, when Amity Ketchum drove his old surrey up to the side porch of the farm house, Rachel bustled from the dining room door and held out her fat hands to Janet in hearty welcome. “Jus’ in time, Honey, fer some of my famous tarts fer lunch! Come right on in!”

Saturday noon. Just finished luncheon with Nat and Jimmy. I never saw such a wonderful change in anyone as has taken place in Natalie since she came to Green Hill. Maybe it is due to her work in a garden, or it may be the country life and fine air, or it may be a number of good things combined, but whatever may be the cause, the effect is most astonishing. Natalie not only looks as happy and healthy as any one could wish, but also, she is changed from the morbid, pessimistic girl I knew in New York City to a joyous, optimistic worker. She says it is her garden that gave her an interest in living again.

Saturday, after luncheon. Natalie took me to see her vegetable garden. I didn’t see much, but I dared not say so. There were a lot of wilty looking little green slips which Nat said were lettuce, radishes and other truck that Farmer Ames discarded and she had gathered in. Sort of an asylum for undesired plants, thought I. But Jimmy assured me that these same tired-looking sprigs of green would soon be delicious things to eat. I have to believe it because Mrs. James said it. I am writing this, now, since Nat remained in the garden to root out several imaginary weeds, and I came back to the house with Jimmy.

Saturday, two P. M. Natalie came in a short time ago and immediately began dilating on a plan she had thought out for me, while she weeded the garden. She declared that I ought to start a stock farm and raise a few pigs and chickens. She explained that there would be plenty of table leavings as soon as the other girls arrive and the Scouts of Solomon Seal Camp might save their garbage for me, too. When I said that I never cared for garbage, Jimmy laughed and explained that Nat meant it for the pigs.

Then I replied that I never thought pigs lived on garbage; Natalie seemed amazed at my ignorance. But it soon developed that she had just learned it from Farmer Ames, who raises hogs for sale, every year. Jimmy (that’s Mrs. James, you know) now said that Natalie’s plan might be a good one, as there was not enough garden work to do to keep two of us busy, and Rachel needed lots of eggs. She suggested that I sell the eggs my chickens laid; thus making them pay for themselves. Sounds rather ungenerous of one, I think—coop the hens up, feed them with scraps, and then coax them to lay eggs that one might sell to pay for the cost of them. Jimmy also added that the Scouts might buy eggs from me.

Then Natalie proposed a walk to the barnyard to see if the chicken yards were fit to use. The fence is down and the coops need repairing, but that looks easy to do. We then looked for a likely place for a pig pen in case I decided to try the plan. Jimmy showed us the spot she would choose if she was going to keep pigs. The more I think of the scheme, the more it appeals to me.

On our way back to the house, Natalie became enthusiastic on the subject and said that later on I might add a cow to my other pets and sell the milk to the Scouts at camp, and to Rachel for the house use.

That made me laugh! I jeered: “Can you see me trying to milk an obstreperous cow and being kicked over the fence into that ten-acre lot?”

While Nat and I laughed at this, Jimmy mentioned something about butter or butt her, but her words were rather ambiguous.

Saturday evening. At supper, this evening, Jimmy, Nat and I talked seriously of the idea of my starting a farm yard with enough stock to give me an interest in farm life and at the same time give both the Scout Camp and our house all the fresh eggs, milk and butter needed during the summer at prevailing prices. As Jimmy said: “There’s a ready-made farm yard and barns for you with no rent to pay, and a field of free grass adjoining the barn yard, where your stock can roam and graze.” Natalie then told me about the cute little pigs Farmer Ames’s brother had for sale, and the many chickens Farmer Ames had for sale. It sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?

Sunday. We visited Solomon’s Seal Camp today, and had a very interesting time. Miss Mason’s scouts certainly are clever in their woodcraft knowledge and work. I never knew before that you could make a fire with but two sticks. Nor did I dream that you could cook in vessels made of wildwood material alone. One of the scouts told about the various mushrooms, good for food; and of wild potatoes; of a plant that produces greens exactly like spinach, and another plant that tastes like Brussels sprouts when boiled. It was extremely interesting, and I feel that this scout work is going to be more fun than labor.

After we got back to the house, Natalie and I planned to enlist several of the girls of Four Corners in a drive to start a second Patrol of Solomon’s Seal Scouts. Miss Mason said, this afternoon, that she was eager to charter as a Troop with the organization headquarters, and that our founding another Patrol would help her out immediately. When Belle, Norma and Frances get her from the City, there will be five of us girls; with three or four more we can surely count on from Four Corners we shall have enough to start Patrol Number Two of Miss Mason’s Troop.

Miss Mason is Captain of her Scouts, but she suggested this afternoon, that Jimmy ought to be the Lieutenant of the Troop. They have a splendid Leader of their Scouts, but they proposed me as Corporal of the Troop, when it is chartered by headquarters. I felt flattered by the selection, but replied that I thought Natalie was the logical one to choose. She declared that no one was as capable of taking things into their own hands as I—that is why the honor was presented to me. I think I’d like to be a Scout Corporal.

Sunday evening. We decided to stop Farmer Ames when he drives past, in the morning, and ask him to take us as far as Four Corners with him. We are going there to ask two girls to join a new Patrol at once; after that we’re going to Mr. Ames’s brother’s farm and invite Dorothy Ames to enlist, too. Then we will look at the pigs for sale, and on the way home we will stop in at Ames’s farm and choose some chickens. You have doubtless discovered that I have decided to try out the stock-raising idea and see how I like it. If it doesn’t succeed, I can always kill the chickens and sell them to Rachel for fricasee. Then I won’t have lost out on my experiment or investment.

Monday morning, before breakfast. I was awakened from a sweet sleep by unearthly shouts from out-of-doors. It was Natalie in her garden, calling us to hurry out and see the new greens that had come up since Saturday. Of course we all hurried; Rachel who was in the kitchen preparing breakfast, ran first, Jimmy second and I was third, twisting up my hair as I ran. Rachel made a great fuss over the marvel of her “Honey-Chile” raising vegetables. And I admitted that it was a marvel that anything Natalie ever planted was given time to come up. Natalie frowned, and Rachel pooh-poohed but Jimmy laughed. She told me later that Natalie really did dig up the seeds several times, to see how far they had sprouted.

Monday, after breakfast. I am up in my room for my hat so I can steal a moment to say that we are off for Four Corners to visit the girls Natalie knows, to join our Patrol-to-be. Farmer Ames is coming down the road, so no more at present, little diary.

Monday A. M. at Four Corners. I’m scribbling a line in my diary while Nat is writing postals to the girls at home, urging them to come to Green Hill at once, as we need them in the Patrol. The new members we met at the Corners are crazy to join us, so that is settled. Natalie said she would write while at the store so the cards could go out on the next mail. Farmer Ames will be back for us in a few minutes to take us to his brother’s farm to see the pigs. On our way back from his brother’s home he is going to stop at his own place and let us choose the chickens.

Monday, one P. M. Well, I’ve gone and done the most reckless thing! I spent most of my monthly allowance for three weeny pigs, an adult hen that wants to set, and several big chickens, and a lot of baby chicks. It happened this way: The piglets were so wee and darling that I just had to have them so I bought all that Mr. Ames had for sale.

When we drove in at our Farmer Ames’s place, he said that Nat and I could select any chickens we liked for a dollar each. The rooster would be half a dollar more. We went to the yard and looked over all the chickens there, but a variegated cock that strutted around like an emperor in his palace gardens caught my eye. I drew Natalie’s attention to him, and we decided to buy him. He has a marvelous tail of long coque feathers, and a pair of red bibs hanging from his beak. I suppose they are called bibs, because that seems to be the only use they can be put to.

After deciding upon that rooster, we began looking for the largest and fattest hens we could find. This was Natalie’s suggestion. She is becoming a splendid business woman since coming to the farm to live. She whispered to me so Farmer Ames need not overhear her: “He said we could choose any chicken we wanted as they are all the same price. So let’s take those great big ones for they must weigh at least a pound more than the smaller brown ones.”

Farmer Ames tried to dissuade us from taking the gorgeous chanticler, and the big Plymouth Rock hens—that is what he called them—but we knew it was because he hated to lose the beautiful cock and those fine big hens. So we insisted upon having the ones we chose, or none.

Ames begged us to take Rhode Island Reds and a few speckled guinea-hens because he said they were better laying hens. But we could see that his worry and concern was because we chose the most picturesque of all his fowl. Natalie is shrewd, so she said, as Ames went in to catch the little chicks for us: “Doesn’t it stand to reason that those small brown hens will lay small eggs? Our lovely big hens will lay great big fat eggs!” I hadn’t given that a thought until Nat spoke of it, but it sounds plausible.

Mr. Ames took the setting hen we wanted, and put her in a feed-bag so we could take her home, but he said he could not catch the other chickens until night when they went to roost. He promised to bring them over in the morning. Then we started home. On the way, he said: “Remember! I warned you not to choose that fancy rooster and them ancient hens, but you would have it your own way. So now I wash my hands of the consequences. Don’t blame me if they don’t lay golden eggs for you!”

Natalie and I laughed, for we felt sorry for poor Ames; that cock was the only handsome bird he had, and now he is ours. The piglets, safe in a crate in the back of the wagon, squealed too cunningly for anything when we bumped over a rut in the road. As soon as we arrived at the house, Farmer Ames left the crate on the back stoop, and Nat helped me carry the bag with the hen in it to the barn where a chicken coop was waiting for her. On the way out of the yard, Mr. Ames called to Jimmy and said: “Them cherries oughta be picked today or tomorrow, sure. They’ll rot if you don’t gather them.”

Rachel hurried out to the stoop at that, and suggested that the girl scouts pick the fruit on shares. That sounded great, so Natalie and I offered to run down and ask the scouts if they wanted to help pick the cherries. Of course they did!

Monday, 6 P. M. Just finished picking cherries. Rachel is preparing supper for all of us; the scouts did such good work that Jimmy said they must have a meal included with their wages. Their pay was half of all the cherries they picked. My, there were a lot! And we ate so many, besides, that it is doubtful if we can eat a bit of supper.

A dreadful thing happened to Natalie while we were up in the cherry trees. A hornet stung her on the neck and she let go of the bough. Down she came, but a friendly limb caught her and held her until we rescued her. When Rachel heard her scream, she ran out to see what had happened. It only took her a second to rush across the grass and catch hold of a high step-ladder that stood under a neighboring tree. But Rachel did not see the girl standing on top of the ladder, so it was whirled away from under her, and she was left hanging high and dry. Rachel stood the ladder under Natalie’s bough and then began to hastily ascend it. But the ladder was not securely placed and when it began to sway, Rachel got dizzy. Down came her two hundred pounds right in a bushel of ripe ox-hearts. I could have wept at the wholesale loss of such fruit! Rachel said she might be able to reclaim the cherries by canning them.

Monday night, 8 P. M. My troubles have begun. I forgot about those pigs in the crate while the scouts were here to supper. As we all went out on the side porch to say good night to the girls of Solomon’s Seal Camp, the porkers began squealing dreadfully. The scouts said I was cruel to forget to give them their supper, so I got Rachel to help me fix up a dish of corn meal and milk for them. This done, I remembered the setting hen in the barn. I had not fed her, either.

When I told Natalie, she laughed and said my investment would be a dead loss if I kept up that kind of treatment. So we both decided to go to the barn, as it is too spooky a place for one to wander in alone. Not that the hen would jump at us, and there is no other animal there, yet, but two is company, you know.

It was Natalie’s suggestion that we take the eggs with us and place them in the nest under the hen, while she ate her meal. We took the leavings from supper, and all the bad cherries that Rachel had thrown in the garbage pail, and filled a pan with them. We took twelve eggs from the pasteboard box in the pantry, although Mr. Ames said for us to place fifteen eggs under the hen at a time. Rachel only had thirteen left in the box that came from the store, and we thought we had best leave one in case she needed it for breakfast in the morning. Nat carried the pan of food and the flashlight, while I carefully carried the twelve eggs.

Oh, such a time as we had with that old scrapper of a hen! She fought us with bill and claws, and our hands and wrists are a sight! Finally Natalie almost squeezed the life out of her in trying to hold her out of the nest, and I managed to get seven of the dozen eggs in the straw for her to set upon. The other five were smashed in the fray. Maybe we were not glad when that job was over!

As it is not worth while taking the time to hatch but seven eggs, I am going to get another dozen from the store as soon as I have the money, and then I’ll add them to the other eggs already under the hen. I don’t suppose it makes any difference whether the chicks come out a few days late, or not. As long as they come—that is the main thing. The hen can’t tell when they were put in the nest, a few days late, or all on time. And all eggs look alike to her. That makes me think of the funny song: “All coons, etc.”

Tuesday A. M. Rachel gave us ham for breakfast. She said she could “a’swore” she had a few eggs left for an omelette but when she went to the pantry she found only one egg. Natalie and I kept very sober faces although we both wanted to shriek with laughter. Jimmy knew we had been up to something and when Rachel left the room, she turned and asked Nat what we were choking over.

Natalie giggled as she replied: “Janet and I scrambled those eggs last night. That’s why Rachel couldn’t find any this morning.”

We both roared, but we never said a word about the setting hen, as we intend a surprise for Mrs. James when the first chicks come out of the shells. It certainly will be a surprise! Before we finished breakfast, Rachel reappeared and said: “Dem pigs is yelling fit to kill themselves. Ef you don’t git ’em out of dat crate dis mawnin’, dey’ll die on you. The fust thing you do, dis mawnin’ is to nail up some slats fer a pen and dump ’em in so dey kin exercise. And don’t fergit a hearty breakfast fer ’em, too.”

“Well, my little diary, I am now going to build a pig pen and a chicken coop. I may not be able to give you another message for a time, but I will have every morning and every evening for this pleasant work.”

CHAPTER II
JANET TRIES CARPENTRY

There was so much to do, once Janet started in trying to keep fowl and other barn yard stock, that the poor diary was seldom remembered. Now and then, at long intervals, she jotted down items, merely as a salve to her conscience and to placate Helene, when the home-coming should reveal the truth that the diary had been sadly neglected.

Early Tuesday morning, having thrown the diary into the bottom bureau drawer, Janet ran downstairs to ask Rachel for a hammer, saw and nails.

“What foh, Honey?” demanded the suspicious cook.

“I’ve got to build a good pig pen, Rach, and fix over that chicken coop before Ames brings over the hens and rooster.”

“Does yoh know how to drive a nail?” asked Rachel.

“That’s nothing to learn. You just hold the nail where it is to go and then bang! bring down the hammer,” explained Janet.

“Ump!” chuckled the mammy. “Da’s all! Jus’ fotch down the hammer. But moh times as not, dat same weapon hits yoh fingah nail and den yoh does a jazz dance, all right!”

“Oh, pooh! If one uses judgment and looks where the hammer is to go, there is no excuse for accidents,” Janet bragged.

“All right! Hab it yoh way. I’m sure I ain’t one to wish no mashed nails fer yoh. But be keerful—da’s all I says!” And with this last admonition, Rachel got the tools for Janet.

Natalie assisted Janet in moving the crate containing the three pigs, to the barn yard where they were left until such a time as their future residence should be completed. Meantime they certainly made the welkin ring with their deafening squeals.

“My goodness, Jan, how can such nerve-racking sounds come from such tiny creatures?” wondered Natalie aloud, as she stood gazing down at the squirming porkers.

“They can silence any steam siren from the factories in New York, or across the River,” laughed Janet.

“Well, I’m off for my garden. I don’t envy you working to such an accompaniment of harmony,” giggled Natalie, skipping away.

Janet now went to the loft of the barn to seek such lumber as would answer for the building of the pen. But she found that most of it was too heavy and cumbersome, or very frail and light. The pig pen and chicken coops had to be ready, however, so she took as many old lath and discarded shingles as she could carry, and heaped them beside the broken down pen that had given years of service to the last tenant of the farm.

Janet stood planning what was the first step to take in building a pig pen. As she was a bright girl, she decided to examine the methods used in building the nearby cow shed. So she went over and found it was necessary to use posts to form solid supports to which the crossboards could be nailed.

“That means I’ll have to hunt up some sort of stuff to do for posts,” murmured Janet, as she returned to the barn for the quest.

But she saw nothing that would answer her need, so she left the barn and sought anxiously back of the sheds in the piled up discard of old posts, boards and broken sash frames and trim. Finally she selected seven badly decayed posts which had been removed from the road line years before when the former tenant of the farm had nailed the wire fencing to the cherry trees, as Farmer Ames explained in Natalie’s Garden Book.

“Well, they’re posts, anyway!” declared Janet to herself, dragging as many as she could move over to the new location for the pig pen.

The best post was used first. Janet held it up on the line she proposed to build upon, but she discovered that the timber would not stand without a support.

“What now?” thought she, glancing around for an inspiration.

Then she comprehended what was lacking. “Oh, I see! One has to dig holes and plant the posts, first!”

Again she stood bewildered. “What do they dig with? I think I’ll ask Jimmy.” She ran to the house to secure the valuable information that would enable her to continue her work.

Mrs. James was assisting Rachel with the dinner and both women paused long enough to explain that most post-holes were made with a boring machine that came for that very purpose. But, as there was no post-hole digger at Green Hill Farm, the next best plan was to use muscles to bore the holes. A pick and spade were the necessary tools to handle.

Janet frowned but she was determined to succeed or die. So she took the pick and spade from the cellar and carried them to the barn yard. She dug and shoveled steadily for an hour, and then sat up on the crate and moaned with the ache in her back and arms.

“I wish to goodness I hadn’t listened to Nat’s sorcery! If she only had hinted at one iota of the labor necessary to start a stock farm, this scout would never have been the one to break a back working at it!” complained Janet, very carefully wiggling her spine to dispossess a few of the cramps.

While she tried to straighten out her muscles Farmer Ames drove in at the side gate and shouted to Rachel. “I got the fowl for them gals. Where shall I leave ’em?”

Janet was eager to run to the house to greet her new stock members but she could barely move. So she contented herself with watching Rachel wave her arms to direct the farmer toward the barn yard.

When the team stopped near the chicken yard, Farmer Ames pulled the feed bags from the wagon and carried them to the “run.” Janet had managed to exercise her muscles sufficiently, by this time, to be able to get over and welcome the farmer. He looked at her and then at the poor enclosure for the chickens.

“You don’t mean to keep chickens in that broken-down yard, do you?” asked he.

“Oh, no! I’m going to build a fine fence and new coops immediately. But I have to look after the pigs first, you know. I have been working like mad all morning to finish their new sty.”

“You don’t say you ain’t got them pigs outen that crate yet? By the great horned spoon, gal, do you want to kill ’em?” gasped Farmer Ames.

“Of course not!” retorted Janet, highly indignant at such a needless query. “Did I not spend my own money to buy them?”

Then Farmer Ames went over to look at the posts Janet had erected. She followed in silence, hoping for yet fearing his verdict. He grasped one with an iron hand and shook it vigorously. The timber was rotted, and the post was only standing in a hole of about three inches depth; but Janet had piled dirt up about it to the height of about ten inches and had packed it solidly about the sides to make it seem to be firmly standing. But one result could occur at the shaking—the post fell.

“Oh, dear me! Just see what you’ve done by handling it as if it were a steel girder on a skyscraper!” exclaimed Janet, her voice expressing her annoyance.

“If the rotten post wouldn’t stand a gentle tap like I gave it, how do you s’pose them pigs would keep penned in when they grows a bit. I wants to tell you, gal, that them pigs ain’t no sickly brand. Once you treats them fair they’ll make your eyes pop with the way they grow. My brother gets all the prizes for his hogs at the County Fairs hereabouts. And your pigs are of that same kind,” was Farmer Ames’s practical reply.

“What else could I do when posts are not to be found?” complained Janet.

“Buy some and use a post-hole digger!”

“Where do you buy such things? And a post-hole digger will take a week before it gets here from the city.”

“Can’t you cut down some young trees in the woods down by the crick? Them will make good posts. And you could have hired me to dig the holes with my machine. I was comin’ here, anyway.”

Janet pondered this solution, but waited before engaging the man to dig the holes. “I’ll think it over and let you know. I must not go into debt for this business, and I spent all my money for the fowl and pigs, yesterday.”

“Well, I’ll leave them bags with the chickens in ’em, until you fixes a coop for ’em. I kin take home the bags any time,” returned the farmer, then he went back to the wagon and climbed in.

Janet watched him go as if the last friend on earth was about to vanish, but she would not ask him to help her dig holes for the young trees which she now planned to chop down in the woods. So Ames drove away and Janet sat down on the crate to revise her old building plan for the pen.

“Pshaw! The darlings have to be taken out of this box without delay. And chopping trees and digging holes means delay. I’ll just go on and finish this fence as I started it, and build a stronger and better pen afterward.”

So she jumped up and stuck the fallen post back in the shallow pit and tamped down more earth about it. The other posts were planted in the same manner, and then Janet began to arrange the lath and boards upon these shaky posts.

There was little difficulty in nailing the light boards to the sides of the old sty, but when she began to hammer the nails to the post, she found matters to be very different. With the first hard blow from the hammer, the post leaned. With the second blow, it wobbled suspiciously. Janet frowned and straightened it from inside the pen. Then she braced a board against its side to force it out the other way. By holding it carefully on one side while she tried to hammer the nails in on the other side, the post stood the test—but Janet did not.

She paid more attention to the hand that held the post than she did to the direction the hammer took. Her thumb was quite close to the nail she planned to drive into the wood, while her four fingers circled the post and were on the opposite side to the thumb. When the hammer came down with great force, it glanced from the wire nail and landed on her thumb nail instead.

“Ou-ouch! Whe-ooo-ah! Ooh-ooo!” howled Janet, dancing wildly and holding her thumb while she tried to ascertain how badly it was crushed. To her further annoyance she found there was not a bit of blood or other sign to have caused such severe pain. So she began sucking her thumb loudly in order to ease its jumping pain. Then she examined it again; still no visible testimony of injury.

“Wouldn’t Rachel haw-haw if she knew this! She said a hammer made lots of trouble for one. But I won’t tell a soul of the old thing!” So deciding, Janet got up and renewed her efforts at building.

The call for dinner interrupted her carpentry, hence she dropped the hammer and nails with a sigh of relief and ran for the house. As she ran, she heard the pigs squealing in the crate, but she held both hands over her ears until she was in the house where their sounds could not be heard.

“Well, Janet, how goes the barn yard work?” asked Natalie.

“Splendidly, Nat! I’ve almost got the pig pen done. And Ames brought the fowl this noon. I’ll have to finish that chicken run so I can let them out of the feed bags.”

Rachel was bringing in the soup at this moment and overheard the reply. “Does yoh mean to say dem hens ain’t out of dose bags, yit?”

“No; Ames said it wouldn’t hurt them to wait while I build the coops. But he did say that the pigs must be removed from the crate or they will die. So I have to finish their pen first,” explained Janet.

“Den it will do dem hens good to run about and scratch a bit, Janet. All my fowl down Souf’ used to wander about. Dey lays better fer such exercises. Ef we opens dose bags inside the old henhouse and gets ’em acquainted wid surroundin’s, dey will come back to roost at night. Let ’em go about the place, says I, ’stead of baggin’ ’em up in Ames’s potato sacks,” advised Rachel.

As this was acceptable advice to Janet, and Mrs. James and Natalie seconded it, no time was lost after dinner in freeing the chickens from the feed bags. They were taken to the old chicken house and there released. Not only were the six Plymouth Rock hens and the highly colored cock glad to be free, but the eighteen little chicks showed their pleasure, too, by fluttering noisily about and scratching without further delay.

“Aren’t they wonderful birds!” sighed Janet, as she saw them all follow the rooster out of the run into the open barn yard back of the hen house.

“Yes,” added Natalie. “Now the place begins to really look like a farm, don’t you think so, Jimmy?”

“When we have that cow, and a calf that Janet wants, and other stock, we will realize it is a farm, not alone look like one,” laughed Mrs. James.

“Humph! I says dat when sech a time ’rives, it’ll be mos’ time fer my nephew, Sam, to jine us. Den it’ll need a man to help,” added Rachel, whose one great ambition was to find some need at Green Hill Farm whereby her orphaned Sambo would be called upon to hasten from the wicked city and devote his energies to farming.

Mrs. James inspected the fence Janet had worked so arduously upon that morning, but she had to hide a smile when she took hold of a post. “Will this pen soon be ready for the pigs, Janet?” she asked.

“I hope so, Jimmy,” sighed the carpenter.

“Natalie, what do you say if we remain to help Janet finish the fence so we can free the poor little pigs?” suggested Mrs. James.

“Oh, I think it will be fun, Jimmy. I’ll run back with Rachel and hunt up a hammer and some more nails.”

As there was but one hammer in the establishment, Rachel gave Natalie a hatchet to use. It had a flat head that could be used as a hammer if one were careful in wielding it properly. When Natalie returned to her friends, she found Mrs. James hard at work sawing some narrow boards in pieces of similar lengths and Janet was busy bracing the posts with short wooden stakes.

“I’d love to saw wood, Jimmy, while you help Jan nail the fences,” hinted Natalie, eagerly.

“Do you think you can handle a saw?” asked Mrs. James.

“Certainly! It is easier than making the fence.”

“You keep a knee on this end of the wood, you know, and hold the saw——” began Mrs. James, when Natalie interrupted.

“I know just how to do it, Jimmy, so don’t lose time!”

At this assurance from Natalie, Mrs. James handed her the saw and took the hatchet. She went over to help Janet brace the posts firmly, and left Natalie to her sawing.

Thus left alone, Natalie began to saw as she thought Mrs. James had done. She knelt upon one end of a board and began to work the saw up and down. But she used both hands to hold the handle of the saw and failed to steady the board with the left hand. She had not seen Mrs. James use one hand to keep the board from sliding about.

Once, twice, three—not all of three times did the saw gr-r-rate up and down through the wood, then all of a sudden the narrow board slid diagonally across the box and Natalie’s knee slid from under her. Down she came upon the box, skinning her arm from elbow to wrist upon the rough edges of the board.

Both Janet and Mrs. James came running at the cry of indignant surprise and pain from Natalie. She was twisting her neck in the attempt to ascertain how badly her forearm was disabled; but Janet reassured her thus: “Oh, it’s a mere scratch, Nat. You’d have something to wail about if you mashed your hand as I did this noon, when the hammer slipped and hit the wrong nail!”

Then Mrs. James patiently explained why the board slid. And Natalie began again while her two companions went back to erect the fence. All went well for a time, for Natalie was circumspect over the sawing. But even the greatest watchfulness will not always prevent mistakes, and so when Natalie sawed and sawed, and sawed without making any apparent progress through the narrow board, she called again for Mrs. James.

Janet followed, too, because she would not be left out of any interesting events in this carpentry work; besides, Natalie’s tone suggested that another thrilling experience was taking place.

“Why, my dear child!” laughed Mrs. James, when she saw what Natalie had been trying to saw through. “Didn’t you notice that the board was moved so close to the edge of the box that you were actually sawing through the three sides of this box as well as trying to go through the board?”

When the herculean task she had been striving to accomplish was revealed and demonstrated to Natalie, she dropped the saw and cried: “You saw wood, Jimmy! I’m going to hammer nails.”

Mrs. James laughed merrily and called after her: “But don’t hammer the wrong nail, Natalie!”

The hens had wandered away from the barn yard and were temporarily forgotten by the stock-farmer, but the pigs gave their owner no peace until the pen was thrown together in a sort of a way, and the crate carried to the enclosure. Mrs. James and Natalie helped release the cramped little creatures, and Janet stood inside the fence to take each one as it was removed from the crate.

It was a fortunate thing that they were too stiff from their close quarters in the box to be able to squirm and get away as they were lifted up out of the crate. But once they were at large in the pen they soon recovered their activities and raced about in excitement.

Mrs. James and Natalie stood watching them run and double back in their tracks and often strike against Janet’s shins with such force that she staggered in the pen; then Mrs. James said: “Better come out, Jan, and go for some mush to feed them.”

Unthinkingly, Janet climbed up by one of the corner posts and before she could reach the top slat in the fence, the whole structure fell over throwing her full length in the pen. The pigs were so frightened that they sought the shelter of the little shed and there huddled silently.

“Quick! Quick, Natalie!” called Mrs. James, seeing that the inevitable would happen if once the little pigs escaped from the pen. “Get me the box we used for a sawbuck—I’ll shut the pigs in the shed by standing the box against the door.”

Natalie ran for the box while Janet managed to get upon her feet again and try from within the pen to bolster up the fence. She managed to prop up the post but the weight of the boards made it sag hopelessly. Meantime, the box was used to close up the entrance of the shed and kept the pigs inside.

“It’s too late to work longer on this fence,” said Mrs. James. “The pigs are all right for the night, and we’ll repair the fence in the morning. But you must go to the house and prepare the corn meal and milk for them or they’ll squeal all through the night.”

Natalie and Janet eagerly cooked the mush and carried it back to the pigs, then gave them a fresh drink of water and left them. Janet suddenly stopped and gasped.

“Now what’s wrong?” cried Natalie, also stopping to gaze questioningly at her friend.

“The chickens, Nat!” was the hardly audible reply.

“Oh, the chickens!” added Natalie. “Where can they be?”

“I hope they have not lost themselves. I’ll never be able to collect them all again, if one went here and another there,” wailed Janet, then added as an afterthought: “And all my monthly allowance will be lost with them!”

But an encouraging cluck, sounding from the grass plot near the house, now cheered the two girls and they hurried there to find the chickens—big and little—eagerly picking up the scraps of food from the grass where Rachel had tossed them for the wild birds.

By dint of warily dropping corn in a trail that led to the barn yard, Janet succeeded in housing all the chickens that night. Then she gave them a generous supper of corn and locked them in the coop.

After Janet had housed the fowl Natalie smilingly glanced over at her gardens. “I guess I’ll run over and see how the greens are coming on,” murmured she, and started off.

Before she had gone very far along the pathway, Janet joined her and described how easy it was to catch chickens! Arm in arm they reached the first garden bed. But the awful cries and subsequent actions from Natalie caused both Rachel and Mrs. James to hasten from the house and fly across the lawn in order to learn the cause of the fearful commotion.

“See! Just look at my beautiful vegetables!” cried Natalie, pointing at the stumps of lettuce plants minus their blades of green, and those tender shoots dug out and wilted, beside the piled up heaps of soil.

Mrs. James and Rachel exchanged looks and frowned at Janet who had a suspicion of the truth. But Natalie never dreamed it might have been the chickens. She fumed and shook a fist at the woodland where a flock of crows could be heard cawing—cawing!

“I’ll rig up the most frightful scarecrow tonight and place it out in this lovely garden of mine; then let one of those black thieves dare to come again! They’ll see!” was the garden scout’s threat as she sent another malignant look over her shoulder at the tall tree where the crows laughed at her.

CHAPTER III
TRIALS OF A STOCK-FARMER

“You neglected little diary,” wrote Janet that night before jumping into bed. “I must say a word to you to let you know why I have not written to-day. Those noisy pigs, and the dreadful chickens kept me too busy for anything. I say ‘dreadful chickens’ advisedly, for they scratched up poor Nat’s little garden greens and left the vegetables in such a condition that I shall have to get up an hour before sun-up in the morning in order to help her replant the slips that were dug out of the soil. Rachel assured us that they would be all right again, in a day or two, if they were planted before the warm sun shone to wilt them. But Nat will have to place inverted flower pots over them during the heat of the day until they are fresh again. If she knew it was the fowl that did it what would she not do to me and to them!

“Oh, I almost forgot to say here, that Rachel when she ran at Nat’s awful yelling, to see what had happened, forgot she had left the potatoes boiling on the fire. When we came back to the kitchen door we saw smoke coming from it that would have made the scouts envious. Such a signal for trouble! No scout could ever have succeeded in warning others in such a distinct way that simply said, ‘Supper burning—come to rescue!’

“Phew! the whole house was filled with smoke. If you’ve ever burned potatoes to a cinder, you’ll know what it smelled like.”

Having finished her duty to the diary, Janet jumped into bed and was soon dreaming of giant pigs that were forever escaping from the pig pen, and flocks of chickens which scratched pits that went down to China.

Before breakfast the next morning, Janet and Natalie replanted the little slips that were dug out by the fowl, and Natalie sighed in relief when she saw the work finished. That morning while breakfasting, Janet plied questions for anyone to answer. It was Rachel who had the knowledge stored away because of past experiences down “Souf’” when she was a girl on a farm.

“How long does it take little pigs to become big hogs?” was Janet’s first query.

“Dat depen’s on how much you feeds ’em. Ef you guvs ’em all day kin eat, den you’ll soon see what grub kin do fer ’em,” was Rachel’s non-committal reply.

“Will three meals a day be enough?” asked Janet.

“What, t’ree! Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Rachel, shaking with amusement at such a silly question. “Pigs eats a meal every time you will guv it to ’em. And ’tween times dey noses and grunts about in the pen rootin’ fer more to eat. It don’t matter how soon after one meal you feeds ’em again—dey is always hungry and ready to eat.”

Mrs. James laughed at Rachel’s graphic explanation but she agreed with her.

“I should think they’d have indigestion,” Natalie ventured.

“Dat’s an ailment dey don’t know nuttin’ of, but little pigs is easy to die. I shoulden’ wonner but what Janet will have one er two of her’n die on her han’s dis summer. But not f’om dyspepsy!”

“Dear me, Rachel,” was Janet’s worried reply. “If pigs die as easy as that, where will the dividends of my investment come from? Think of what they cost to feed? Why, I used two quarts of milk yesterday besides that bag of cornmeal I bought off Tompkins. I figured it would last a week, and they ate all of it at one supper!”

“Yeh, I ’grees wid you, Janet—pork is ’spensive meat, but it am so sweet ef it’s cooked wid cabbitch an’ seasoned wid pertaters!” Rachel’s smack and the way she rolled her round eyes ceiling-ward caused her audience to laugh merrily at the pantomime.

Rachel ate her breakfast in the kitchen and as she ate, she planned to help Janet with those pigs. Perhaps there would be a chance for a feast of spare ribs and cabbage in the fall.

While Janet and she were repairing the fence directly after breakfast, the former continued her thirst for information.

“Rachel, what did you mean when you said that pigs were hard to raise. What can make them die easy if I feed them all they can eat, and keep them safely in the sty?”

“I diden’ say dey died ‘easy,’ Janet, ’cuz I’ve seen ’em die orful hard! Once hog-cholery gits ’em no one kin say dey dies easy,” was Rachel’s lugubrious reply.

“What I meant to say was, are pigs quick to catch things?”

“It all depen’s on what you hast to cotch. Now I don’ see no spechul reason why dese pigs mus’ get hog-cholery, toomerkolosis ner anything what goes perwailing about the country down Souf’. Ef you-all gives ’em pure air, an’ fattenin’ grub widdout much swill, an’ scrubs the sty once a week, why should dey get complainin’?”

“I’m sure I don’t see why they should, either, Rachel,” admitted Janet, driving a nail so forcibly that it went half through the decayed wood.

“Sam—dat’s my sister’s son, you know, Janet—Sam says he read in a paper, one time, how dem orful slaughter-houses out west feeds doze pigs wid leavin’s f’m dead cattle. Dat’s what makes fer disease, Sam says. Jus’ think of it, Janet! Us smackin’ our lips on roas’ pork what’s raised on sech sickenin’ clean-up affer all the cows and steers and sof’ little lambs, is butchered!”

Janet shivered with disgust at the picture Rachel painted so vividly for her, but Rachel was on the “Stump” and paid no attention to her companion’s tremors.

“Now dese pigs of your’n, dey will be sweet eatin’ and no danger in carryin’ germs of toomerkolosis in the meat. We will keep the swill clean and feed ’em onny what makes fer big lusty hogs,” promised the eloquent maid-of-all-work.

“I read in a book on stock raising, that pigs should never have swill fed them,” suggested Janet. “And you spoke of cleaning their sty once a week to keep it clean. The book says every pig-pen should have a sunken bath with fresh water in it daily so the pigs can bathe. It states that pigs are the cleanliest of all animals if they are given the chance to wash and eat as they like. It mentions the wild boars—how they bathe in pools many times during the course of the day, and prefer nuts or acorns to any other food.”

Rachel stood so amazed at hearing that a pig would take a bath if given the opportunity, that she unconsciously dropped the hammer. Unfortunately it struck on a pet bunion and made Rachel sit down on the ground and hold her injured joint while she rocked to and fro with the pain.

Then she got up and snarled angrily, while she shook a fist at the innocent porkers: “Dat settles it! Yoh fix your own pen, you squeelin’ critters!” and away she went to the house.

When Natalie joined Janet at the pig pen and heard how Rachel blamed the pigs for dropping the hammer on her inflamed joint, Natalie laughed and said, wisely: “She was peeved, Janet, because you knew something about pigs that she had never heard of before. I’ve learned that Rachel loves to be referred to for information when it touches anything she had down south. She considers pigs a personal line that she excels in, and such a surprise as having pigs yearn for a bath was too much for her.”

The fence had been reinforced and Janet now stood looking in at the pen. Natalie watched her for a few moments and then said: “What are you thinking of?”

“I was wondering if we could sink a porcelain tub in the yard where my pigs could bathe whenever they liked. I’d want them to have every modern convenience, you know.”

The way Janet said this made Natalie laugh. But she said: “They are still shut up in the shed. I’d suggest that we let them out and give them their breakfast before we decide on porcelain tubs and open plumbing.”

“If you will get the feed, Natalie, I’ll open the door and catch them as they come out. I think as they are so fond of bathing I will wash their little faces to make them feel better.”

Giggling to herself but not feeling experienced enough in the matter of raising a pig-family to say that washing their faces was a luxury that was taxable in various ways, Natalie went for the breakfast. She returned in time to see her best friend sprawled out in front of the shed-door, and three lively little pigs running and jumping over her prostrate form.

But their activities were soon concentrated when the pan of warm mush was shoved into the pen. Such a grunting and pushing at each other as those three pigs did, made both the girls laugh.

Then Natalie said: “Jan, Rachel told me while she was mixing this mush, that your pigs will need from six to eight quarts of milk each day and a peck of corn-meal, if you only feed them on this stuff.”

“Oh, Nat!” gasped Janet, quickly figuring. “And milk is fifteen cents a quart when called for at Ames’s farmhouse!”

“You’ll simply have to feed them table-scraps, Jan.”

“When we go to Four Corners again, I’m going to ask Mr. Tompkins what he feeds his pigs. I won’t ask Mr. Ames, because he wants to sell me the milk, but the storekeeper will tell.”

There Janet learned that she could and should feed the pigs with bran, boiled potatoes or the parings, all the greens that were cut from the vegetables, wheat screenings and middlings, and whatever table-waste was wholesome and clean for the pigs to root about in at odd times between meals.

Janet also learned from Si Tompkins, that it was not necessary to buy straw and bed the pigs down every night with it; but dry leaves, or dead hay, mixed with a little straw was as good for bedding as anything. A list of the grain was made and ordered from the mill that stood on the road to White Plains, and then Janet felt more resigned to stock-raising than she had been all that day.

On the way home Natalie remarked: “I should think any animal would grow big and fat on such a diet as Tompkins suggests.”

“I was thinking that we could feed the pigs your garden greens when we haven’t any left at the house,” was Janet’s reply.

“No siree! My garden greens stay exactly where they are—in the ground. When they are grown enough to harvest I’ll see that we eat them ourselves,” she said.

“Oh, I didn’t mean now—I meant that the pigs might eat the tops while we eat the bottoms. Turnips, beets, and such,” explained Janet.

“That’s different. But remember, Jan! My vegetables mean as much to me, and cost my spending money, too, as your stock does to you. So don’t send your cattle over into my preserves to feast; because I’ll shoot the first poacher I see in my garden,” threatened Natalie. But it never dawned upon her mind that the fowl had already poached.

As the two friends approached the house they heard Rachel complaining to Mrs. James. “Dese aigs what we got f’om Four Corners ain’t fresh a bit. Why, I foun’ two bad ones in dat udder box and now here’s anudder one in dis new box.”

Mrs. James took the box and examined the shells keenly. Then she said: “Rachel, they look like old preserved eggs.”

“Yas’m. Dat’s what I say. In fack, I mought say dey is been pickled down in water-glass at some remote day,” remarked Rachel.

“I’m afraid so, Rachel. Tompkins should not sell such eggs for fresh ones,” and Mrs. James shook her head disapprovingly.

“Dat las’ box we got f’om him, I spiled a good cake when I cracked an egg inter two more what I had in a bowl. An’ dat las’ one what Natty and Janet lef’ after scramblin’ dem udders on a sly, dat was a bad one, too.”

Janet and Natalie exchanged looks at this information, but the word “water-glass” meant nothing to them so they forgot Rachel’s complaints over the quality of the store-eggs.

The supper was very late that night, owing to the bad eggs that had ruined the batter Rachel had mixed for cakes. That evening the girls planned eagerly with Mrs. James about adding other interesting creatures to Janet’s farm yard stock. But it always ended in Janet’s sighing about her limited bank account.

“We might ask Mr. Marvin to loan us fifty dollars and take a chattel mortgage on the stock,” said Mrs. James.

“We might, but I hate to think anyone else has a hold on my pets. If only I could find some way to own them all myself!” was Janet’s rejoinder.

“Well, let’s go to bed now, girls, as I am sleepy,” said Mrs. James, getting up from the side-porch and going indoors.

Just after every one was in bed and comfortably relaxed for sleep, a shrill cry from Janet caused them to jump up and run to her room to learn what was wrong.

“Oh, oh, oh! The poor things!” wailed she, sitting on the edge of the bed and wringing her hands, dramatically.

“What poor things! Are you dreaming, Jan?” asked Natalie.

“Who is it, Janet?” anxiously inquired Mrs. James while Rachel came scuffling into the room holding a candle to light her way. Her kinky hair was wound up in little cotton covers for the night, and she wore the old-fashioned short sack-gown, with a flannel petticoat underneath to keep the witches away.

Natalie had to giggle but Janet was too concerned to see what Rachel was wearing. She turned regretful eyes up towards Mrs. James as she confessed: “Those poor chickens! I forgot to feed them tonight, because Nat and I spent so much time watching the pigs burrow under the leaves and straw and then curl up to sleep!”

Mrs. James suddenly sat down upon a chair near the bed and laughed with relief. Janet looked at her in sad disapproval. “If it was your fortune that was fading away, you might not think it so funny! Now those hens won’t lay an egg to-morrow and another day will be wasted. Rachel said hens wouldn’t lay if they were not fed regularly.”

“Dat’s so, Mis James! An’ dem spechul hens ain’t had no ’tentchun, whatever, sence Janet brought ’em to live in her barnyard,” was Rachel’s emphatic rejoinder.

Natalie now giggled forth: “At least we can eat them if we find them dead on their roosts in the morning.”

“It’s all right for you to laugh, but you won’t offer to go out with me at this midnight hour and give them some supper!” wailed Janet, picking up her sneakers and trying to pull them up on her bare feet.

“Whad you doin’ dat foh, Honey?” asked Rachel.

“Going to feed the measly chickens,” grumbled Janet.

“Tain’t no use. Go back to bed and fergit ’em.”

“Oh, do you think they are dead?” gasped Janet, fearfully.

“Nah! I betcher it ain’t de fust time dey went to baid on empty stummicks when Farmeh Ames owned ’em. Once moh won’t kill ner cure ’em of trouble,” chuckled Rachel, turning to go back to her room. But she remembered something and laughingly added: “I tought dis house was on fiah f’om the way Janet yelled. Nex’ time you fergits a pig, er a hen’s refreshmen’s, don’t make sech a time oveh it.”

“I’ll tie a string on my finger after this so I won’t forget the poor things again,” sighed Janet, kicking her sneakers across the room.

“I don’t see how you can forget that poor setting-hen, Janet; she has to hatch out all those eggs for you,” was Natalie’s reproof.

“How many eggs did you place under her, Janet?” asked Mrs. James, trying to act interested but hiding a great yawn back of her hand.

Janet counted on her fingers and then said: “Seven and nine—sixteen altogether, Jimmy.”

But Mrs. James did not pursue the subject at that time, for she naturally thought that Janet had taken the eggs which Farmer Ames had brought that day. Whereas, Natalie had helped herself to nine more eggs from the box when it came from the store, and the two girls had shoved the extra eggs under the hen at evening-time. Then the inspected eggs which Ames left at the house, were quietly smuggled into the box for Rachel to use, in place of those which had been taken out.

Soon after this the house was quiet again, and the inmates slept soundly until the cock roused them with his loud crowing from the handrail on the back stoop.

“Now how did he escape?” wondered Janet, as she hurriedly dressed.

She never discovered how he managed to get out, but she felt sure it was because he was starving. So she fed the fowl an extra big breakfast to make up for not giving them any supper.

CHAPTER IV
TENDERFOOT SCOUTS OF SOLOMON’S SEAL TROOP

Having given the setting hen enough feed to last a week, Janet went to the pig pen. She never leaned heavily on the fence, now, but she shoved the pan of food under the fence where one of the porkers had rooted a hole. After watching them fight and grunt madly for the mush, she laughingly turned and went to have one more look at the expectant mother-hen.

She was so perturbed at finding the eggs uncovered and the hen out in the yard gossiping with the other fowl, that she ran quickly to the house.

“Jimmy! Jimmy! Where are you?” she called excitedly.

“On the side-porch writing a letter for catalogues,” came the answer.

Janet ran out there and exclaimed: “Jimmy, that old setting-hen got up to have breakfast and she never went back to her business of hatching those eggs. What will happen, now?”

“Hens must eat and drink and exercise, you know, but they seldom remain off the eggs for any length of time. How long do you think she was away from the nest?”

“She was still out in the chicken-yard when I came back, just now. I should say she’s been off for twenty minutes, at least.”

“You had better go there and see if the eggs are chilled. Just barely touch them, but do not take them up in your hands,” advised Mrs. James.

“Another thing, Jimmy,” added Janet, sadly. “There wasn’t an egg in either of the other nests. I suppose the hens wouldn’t lay because I forgot their supper.”

Natalie was interested in this case of retribution.

“Will hens lay better the more you feed them, Jimmy?” asked she.

Mrs. James laughed. “I know they must be fed regularly for best results in egg-laying. They are much like other creatures—they need food at certain intervals. But I have heard that they will lay better if they do not have too large a range to run in.”

“Then I’ll build a smaller yard for them,” declared Janet, emphatically. “They must lay eggs or I’ll not be able to pay the corn and feed bills.”

“I’ll go with you, Jan, and figure out how big to have the new yard,” suggested Natalie.

Finding that the setting-hen still neglected her duty to the water-glass eggs, the two girls decided to use compulsion. They tried to lay hands on the wise old hen but she adroitly avoided arrest. Then ensued a chase that so frightened the other chickens that they screeched fearfully and fluttered about in every direction.

Finally the rooster found his way in at the small opening whence the old hen had come out, and immediately after him ran all the hens and young chicks. Janet had left the door of the coop open when Natalie and she went in to attend to the setting hen, and now the fowl all escaped that way into the barnyard.

“Oh, let them go! The old things!” snapped Natalie, as she counted the scratches and streaks of dirt on hands and dress.

“We’ll hurry and move this chicken-fence in until we think the yard is the right size,” suggested Janet, finding the old fence was shaky.

“No, don’t waste time on this old rickety fence, Janet. We’ll measure the ground and order chicken wire from Four Corners. That will make a durable fence and be easier to tack on to the posts than all this slat-affair,” advised Natalie.

Janet agreed with her so they took a ball of string to find out the length of wire they must order. They had quite forgotten the setting-hen until she came clucking nonchalantly up to the door of the coop.

“Oh, mercy! Nat, that hen has been off those eggs fully an hour, by this time,” cried Janet, anxiously watching the creature climb back and settle down upon the eggs.

An angry shout, sounding from the direction of the garden, made the girls look over that way. There was Rachel shaking her gingham apron wildly and Mrs. James waving her arms like a windmill, while both women were crying: “Shoo! Shoo! S-s-s-s-h-hoo!”

With dismay expressed upon her face, Natalie started to run to succor her precious vegetables; Janet followed closely in her tracks. The hens had had time enough to reach the tempting greens, however, and several shoots of lettuce were nipped off, while a row of young tender beet-tops was gone.

“Oh, oh! You miserable birds! I’ll wring your necks and enjoy eating you, after this!” screamed Natalie, as soon as she saw the damage done to her garden-truck.

“If the exasperating old beasts won’t lay enough eggs to pay back for this stealing, you shall have them to eat, and with pleasure, Nat!” declared Janet, angrily stoning the cackling hens.

Rachel stood wondering over the information she had just heard, then she said to Janet: “Ain’t dem hens done laid no eggs yet?”

“No they haven’t, Rachel. And my bookkeeping is all on the debit side. If it keeps on without any credits to jot down, I’ll never have a cent for candy, or anything!” complained Janet.

“Miss James must be right. Dem hens get too much freedom. Now we’ll lock ’em up in a coop and see what we shall see!”

So the four amateurs drove the fowl by devious ways, back to the chicken-yard, and Rachel closed their exit to the run by sliding a board in front of the opening.

“Let ’em sit down and think about it, honey, an’ mebbe they’ll lay some eggs.”

On the way back to the house Janet said: “How much are fresh eggs, Jimmy?”

“I really do not remember, but I’ll look at Tompkins’ bill when we reach the house,” replied Mrs. James.

“Eggs fresh from the nest are worth more than store-eggs, aren’t they?” continued Janet.

“Oh, yes, if they are guaranteed strictly fresh eggs.”

“Well, I won’t charge a cent more than the store does, because I’m using the barn and other things, you know,” said Janet.

“Other things mean lettuce and beet-tops, I s’pose,” laughed Natalie.

That day two letters went from Four Corners post office to addresses in New York, requesting that catalogues be mailed at once. The one of garden seeds was to be sent to Natalie Averill, and the one about fowl, pigs, and other stock was to be sent to Janet Wardell.

When Rachel heard that Natalie was planning to buy more seeds and plant them in an additional garden which she wished to have ploughed up, she said sarcastically:

“Honey, you’se is too easy in believein’ all dat talk in dem cat-logs. Nobuddy ever saw a cabbige grown as big as a house, ner did any beets ever raise up higher’n a man’s head. If wegetables growed like dem cat-logs say dey do, farmers’d have to harwest garden truck wid timber derricks.” The loud haw-haw that ended this comment made the others join in the laugh.

“I usta say dem comic pages in our Sundy papers was the bigges’ lies I ever saw, cus they egssaderate so bad, but dese farmin’ cat-logs kin beat comic papers all holler.” Rachel turned back to her kitchen work after unburdening her soul of the way seed-dealers misled the public.

Solomon’s Seal Scouts called at the house that afternoon, and the hostesses as well as the guests had a good time. The object of the visit was to invite the two girls at the house to attend a council meeting at camp the next day.

“Oh I hope the other girls will be here in time to go! We’re expecting them any time, now, you know,” exclaimed Natalie.

“We can have the council in the afternoon instead of in the morning, if you think they may arrive in time to attend,” said Miss Mason.

“Oh, yes! That will give them the whole morning to get here. I’m sure they’ll be crazy to visit the camp and see everything,” returned Natalie, eagerly.

“Say!” now Janet said impressively. Every one looked at her and waited for some surprise to be forthcoming. “When Ames drives past to the Corners for the evening’s mail, we’ll send word to the three village girls to be sure and come to the house to-morrow afternoon to go with us to the council!”