Chapter 1

Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Charles Franks and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team

HIDDEN TREASURE

THE STORY OF A CHORE BOY WHO MADE THE OLD FARM PAY

BY

JOHN THOMAS SIMPSON

COLORED FRONTISPIECE BY E.H. SUYDAM AND 16 ILLUSTRATIONS

PHILADELPHIA & LONDON

1919

PREFACE

A few years ago the author visited the farm in Western Pennsylvania on which he had lived for a number of years when a boy. Much to his surprise there was not a boy of his acquaintance still on the neighboring farms, many of which had passed into other hands, and in some cases even the names of the original owners had been forgotten.

He bumped over the two short miles of road, still deep with mud, between the town and the farm, and could scarcely recognize in the weedy fields before him, with their broken-down fences partly concealed by undergrowth, the fertile acres of his boyhood.

The orchard, once kept so neatly pruned, was now with trees that were gnarled and broken--while rich bottom land, so productive in years past, was foul with all manner of rank growth. The lane leading up to the house from the main road was in such bad repair that he had to leave his automobile on the main road and complete his journey on foot.

Investigation showed that many of the farms in the neighborhood were in a similar rundown condition; that farm work was generally considered unprofitable or uncongenial; and that the boys and girls born in the country usually took the first opportunity to leave the farms, often for harder and less profitable work in the cities.

In the hope that many boys and girls now living on farms, as well as others, who, if they knew of the advantages of labor-saving machinery and modern farm buildings (to say nothing of the interest of outdoor work), would take up this, the most profitable and independent of all occupations--FARMING--this story of Hidden Treasure is written.

THE AUTHOR FEBRUARY, 1919

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The author begs to acknowledge his indebtedness for valuable information to:

A.A. Drew, Superintendent of Agencies, of the Mutual Benefit Life Insurance Company, Newark, New Jersey, for Constructive Banking and Life Insurance.

Bucyrus Company, South Milwaukee, Wisconsin, for Trenching with Steam Shovels.

Waterloo Cement Machinery Company, Waterloo, Iowa, for Concrete Mixing Machines.

Hercules Powder Company, Hazleton, Pennsylvania, for Progressive Cultivation and Trench Digging by Dynamite.

International Harvester Company of America, Chicago, Illinois, for Tractors and Farm Machinery.

George M. Wright, owner of Indian Hill Farm, Worcester, Massachusetts, for Holstein Cattle, Dairy Methods and Poultry Raising.

John W. Odlin, Publicity Department, Wright Wire Company, Worcester, Massachusetts, Wire Fencing.

C.P. Dadant, Editor American Bee Journal, Hamilton, Illinois, Bee Culture.

The Sharpies Separator Company, West Chester, Pennsylvania, for Milking Machines and Cream Separators.

D. & A. Post Mold Company, Three Rivers, Michigan, for Concrete Fence Posts.

A.A. Simpson, Indiana, Pennsylvania, for much data regarding crop production and market values in that vicinity.

The Domestic Engineering Company, Dayton, Ohio, for Electric Light and Power for Farms.

The Portland Cement Association, Chicago, Illinois, for Concrete Buildings and Road Construction.

United States Department of Agriculture, Washington, D.C., for Farmers' Bulletins covering the great range of subjects referred to throughout the story.

The Country Gentleman, Philadelphia, Pa., for much helpful data on general farming and stock raising.

K.C. Davis, Knapp School of Country Life, Nashville, Tenn., for a final reading of the proof sheets.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER

I. THE OLD HOMESTEAD

II. A DAY'S WORK

III. A RAINY DAY

IV. DRAINING THE POND

V. SELLING TURTLES

VI. SELLING SAND

VII. THE NEW AUNT

VIII. THE SALE

IX. POWER AND BANKING

X. RUNNING WATER

XI. TONY

XII. THE DAIRY HOUSE

XIII. VISITORS

XIV. RUTH AND THE STRAW STACK

XV. NEW METHODS

XVI. RUTH AND JERRY

XVII. FILLING THE INCUBATOR

XVIII. THE NEW IMPLEMENTS

XIX. THE STORM

XX. GOOD ROADS

XXI. FILLING THE SILO

XXII. THE FAIR

XXIII. CHRISTMAS AT BROOKSIDE FARM

XXIV. COST ACCOUNTING

ILLUSTRATIONS

The Afternoon was Spent Examining the Buildings and Looking Over the Plans for the New Barn

The Old Homestead

"Well, Son, Let's Get Down to Business. I See You're Wise All Right to the Value of that Pit"

Bees are a Profitable Side Line

The Tractor Will do the Work of Five Men and Five Teams

Ditch Digging by Dynamite

One-Half the Herd

The Electric Milker

Comfortable Sanitary Stalls

Small, Self-Loading, Kerosene Driven, Concrete Mixers

Every Boy that Ran Away from the Farm and Many that are Still There can Tell of the Days Wasted on Repairs to Wooden Fences and Cleaning Out Fence Rows

Extra Profits are not the Only Things a Farmer Gets from a Herd of Well Bred Dairy Cows

Good Seed Well Planted Lays the Foundation for a Profitable Crop

A Well-Managed Flock of Poultry Will Return Good Profits

The Side Delivery Rake Fluffs up the Hay and Lets the Sun do Its Work Quickly

The Self-Loader Makes Possible the Quick Storage of Properly Cured Hay and Saves Tons of Man-Lifting Power

The Electric-Driven Laundry

Well-Built Concrete Roads Bring the Markets and Your Neighbors Nearer

Transferring the Green Corn Crop from Field to Silo

I.

THE OLD HOMESTEAD

The late afternoon sun shone full upon a boy who was perched on the top of an old rail fence forming the dividing line between the farm that spread out before him and the one over which he had just passed.

It was early March. The keen wind as it whirled past him, whipping the branches of the tree together and carrying away clouds of dried leaves from behind the fence rows, penetrated the thin clothes he wore--but instead of making him shiver, it seemed only to add to his pleasure, for he removed his cap and ran his fingers through his damp hair.

The boy was slender and scarcely looked the eighteen years to which he laid claim. He had curly sandy hair, a freckled face and penetrating blue eyes. His clothes were new, but of rather poor material and ill- fitting, scarcely protecting him from the cutting wind. Because of his short legs and arms, his coat sleeves and trousers, cut for the average boy, were too long for him and were much wrinkled.

He had climbed the last and steepest hill lying between the town and his grandfather's farm--the ancestral home of the Williams family, which was now, for a time at least, to be his home. Since early morning he had bumped over the rough frozen roads between his home in a distant village and the county seat, which was situated some two miles to the west, and from which he had just walked.

He had expected to find his grandfather or his Uncle Joe waiting for him; in this he was disappointed, and as the sun was getting along toward mid-afternoon, he had picked up his worn suitcase and set off through the town by a route that he knew would bring him to a short- cut over the hills.

Despite the wind, he sat for some minutes, cap in hand, while he looked out over the familiar scenes. There was not one foot of ground in the one hundred and sixty acre farm that spread out fan-shape before him which was not familiar. Here he had spent many happy vacations in summers past. The last two years he had attended the State College, taking the course in agriculture, and had worked in a grocery store in the village during the summer vacations, but this work had been distasteful to him--he missed the freedom of outdoor life, especially the birds and animals so plentiful on the farm. So this year, as his father could not afford to have him complete the course, he had asked permission to go on a farm. His two years in the State College had opened his eyes to modern methods of farming and the use of Portland cement for farm buildings, and he wanted a chance to try them out.

His father had hesitated at first in giving his consent, not because he did not wish him to be in the open country, but because he felt, now that he had reached the age of eighteen, he should be able to earn money and direct his attention toward permanent employment, and he could not think of farming as a business with so many other opportunities at hand. A letter from his Uncle Joe, saying that he had purchased the old farm, and would like to have Bob help him with the work on his newly acquired property, had settled the matter, and, as his uncle was anxious to make an early start, he had left home at once.

He could not help noticing, as he gazed at the panorama before him, the dilapidated appearance of the buildings and tumbled-down fences half hidden by rank growths that confronted him on every side, but this, for the moment, was of passing interest.

Across the valley to the east, in the twenty-five acres of woods, he had once found the nest of a great white owl, and there on "Old Round Top," as the steep hill directly opposite him was called, they had overturned a wagon-load of hay one summer with him on top. He even remembered the thrill he had received as he went flying through the air, and how they had all laughed when he landed unhurt on a hay cock some distance down the hill, just clear of the overturned wagon. Then in the valley, at the foot of the hill, stood the old cider mill where neighbors for miles around would bring their apples in the late summer for cider-making. Here, straw in mouth, he and the neighbors' boys lay prone on their stomachs on the great beams and sucked their fill of the freshly squeezed cider as it flowed down the smooth grooves in the planks to the waiting barrels below.

Beyond the cider mill was the old orchard, with its Rainbow and Sheep- nose apple trees; then the garden in one corner of which grew black currants and yellow raspberry bushes; and near by the low red brick smoke-house, from which many a piece of dried beef had been slyly removed to stay his hunger between meals.

Just beyond was the white farmhouse, nestling among the apple trees, the front to the west and facing on the lane that led up to a farm above. The house had a one-story ell on the end toward him, containing the kitchen and pantry--this ell projected back almost to the smokehouse. On the opposite side, but hidden from his view, there was a wide porch running the full length of house and ell, and in the angle formed by the porch, stood the well with its home-made pump.

The water from this well, he recalled, had a peculiar mineral taste, with a strong flavor of sulphur--a taste he did not like. He had never been so tired that he would not go to the spring up on the side of "Old Round Top" for a pail of water, rather than drink from this well. Back of the house, but within the enclosure formed by the picket fence, was the wood and tool shed--while just beyond stood the old- fashioned bank barn and other farm buildings. There was a short steep hill just beyond the barn, down which the lane wound to a mill pond below. An old sawmill with an undershot water-wheel stood at the extreme south-east corner of the farm, diagonally opposite.