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himself at the breakfast table, he continued, "I wish you would put me up a big lunch, Maria, I probably won't be back by noon. Put in plenty of apple pie and cheese."

Later, Maria watched him cross the yard to the barn with his lunch pail in his hand, and Percy, the big black and white cat, following at his heels.

Soon he was back with Percy in his

arms.

"You had better shut Percy up until I have been gone a little while," said he. "I can't have him tagging me all day."

Maria put the struggling cat down cellar, then went out to feed the hens. She could hear Silas' cheery whistle in the distance, and as she listened she said softly to herself with a tender light in her eyes, "Bless him! He's nothing but a boy after all."

Silas went leisurely across the meadow to the brook and followed along the bank until he came to a deep, quiet pool. A large willow tree leaned over the water, and an old, moss-covered log invited him to rest. He looked around him with happy eyes. He could see the clean sand through the yellow water, and the little shiners darting here and there. Across the pool, under the willow roots, he caught a glimpse of a trout. In an hour he had caught only one small one, then he came back again to rest on the old log.

A sound caused him to turn as Simon Gay came around a bend in the brook some distance away.

Simon carried a pail in one hand, and in the other he had a fishing rod and some trout strung on a willow twig. His good-natured face broke into a smile of delight as he saw Silas sitting on the log.

"I thought perhaps I should find you here, Sile," said he, as he deposited his pail on the ground and seated himself beside Silas.

"See what I caught as I came along," and he dangled six speckled beauties before Silas' admiring eyes.

"You always was a master hand to catch fish, Sime. Don't you remember when we were boys how you used to divide with me when we went fishing, because I never had as good luck as you? I only catched one little one." And Silas took from his pocket a little trout that was so covered with chaff it was hard to tell what it was.

"Percy wanted to come with me and I wouldn't let him, so I thought I would carry this home for his supper."

"You'd better wash the fish before you give it to him, Sile, or he won't know what he's eating," and Simon laughed so heartily that he nearly fell off the log.

"Mother and Rena went over to Mrs. Redmonds this morning to spend the day, so I just skun out to take a little vacation. Strange ain't it, Sile, how a woman never seems to think a man needs a day off now and then? Mother thinks I am splitting wood."

"Mother thinks I am cutting bushes. in the west lot," said Silas with a chuckle. "I did intend to until this morning. Some way this misty spring air, that smells of the ground and all the sweet things that grow on it, and the sound of the brook, makes me feel lazy. I just want to sit here and talk with you and rest. Some folks might think it strange that two old fellers like you and me can have such a good time together, Sime, but we do, don't we?' and Silas looked at Simon wistfully.

"Course we do, Sile. We have had lots of good times together, and I hope we will have many more. Life wouldn't be the same to me without

you, Sile. I just hope we will fare. along to the next life about the same time, for it seems to me I would be lonesome even there without you.'

The old men looked at each other. and for a moment in their eyes there shone a prophetic light, giving them a fleeting glimpse of a time when one must be taken, and the other left. Simon broke the silence in his matter-offact way.

"I don't know how you feel, Sile, but I'm as hungry as a bear. I know it ain't noon, but let's get dinner and eat it. Then we can rest and visit. You find some wood for the fire, and I will get the fish ready to fry."

Soon a little fire was snapping briskly on a large flat rock, and a delightful odor of browning fish arose from Simon's pail cover. Simon took some huge slices of bread and butter, and some ginger snaps from his pail, and Silas contributed apple pie, cheese, and a bottle of coffee.

"Why! we have a dinner fit for a king," said Simon, as he put his beautifully browned fish before Silas.

"I never knew a woman, not even Maria, that could fry fish so it tasted as yours does," said Silas, as he lifted a piece with his jack-knife and put it on his bread.

"Don't you remember the first time we caught fish and fried them here?" said Simon. "We were little shavers. Your father had set you to piling wood in the shed, and mine went to town and left me to rake up the front yard. We came down here and stayed all day, and both got a good licking when we got home at night. But it was worth it," continued the old man reminiscently.

The last crumb disappeared from the rude little table. The sun came out. The mist vanished. And still the old

men talked. "Don't you remember?" prefaced many a story they told each other with quiet enjoyment. The long afternoon slipped quickly by. The sun disappeared behind a bank of clouds, and all the world looked gray. The hylas began their plaintive music in the little pond in the pasture, before the old men thought of home.

"This has been the best day we ever had together, Sile," said Simon. "I feel ten years younger than I did this morning."

"We are 'old boys' Sime, but a play day now seems as good to me as it ever did," answered Silas, as he picked up his fishing rod and pail and turned toward home.

Maria sat by the kitchen window, sewing, when she saw Silas come around the barn, with his dinner pail in his hand. Percy ran to meet him. Silas took something from his pocket, and after carefully washing it in the water tub, gave it to him. When Silas opened the kitchen door, Percy ran by him and under the stove, from which at once issued savage growls, and the vigorous cracking of bones. Evidently Percy was having a supper much to his liking.

Silas looked a little uneasy, but Maria only said with a twinkle in her eye, "Percy must have caught that big rat that has been bothering me so long in the back pantry."

FRANCES

BY DOROTHY E. COLLINS

When Frances was a young thing,
Mad-cap games she played

On the sea-gull's eyrie,

Nor ever was afraid

Of the cliffs below her

Where deep-sea breakers rose,

With green and beast-like shoulders. To splash her clinging toes.

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H

WALKER HAARTZE SPOFFORD: HOLDER OF WORLD'S RECORD OF MILK PRODUCTION

FOR 305 DAYS. RECORD 26,333 POUNDS.

HOLSTEINS THAT WIN Some New Hampshire Champions

BY H. STYLES BRIDGES

OLSTEINS, or "The Black and Whites," as they are enthusiastically called by Holstein breeders, the country over, are the largest of any of the dairy breeds and are noted for their production of milk. No breed of cattle can surpass or equal their records in the economical or high production of this fluid that is so essential and vital to the human race.

Right here in New Hampshire we have the honor of having two world's champions of this famous breed. They are Walker Haartze Spofford, who holds the world record for cows of all ages and breeds for total milk production in the 305 day class, and Silda Creamelle Johanna who holds the senior four year record for both milk and butter in the same class. Walker Haartze Spofford's world's record for milk production in 305 days is 26,333 pounds of milk.

Just stop and consider what this means. It means that in ten months time this cow produced more milk than

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HAVENDALE INKA BOWER METCHILD: RECORD 20,450 POUNDS OF MILK, ONE YEAR; 950 POUNDS OF BUTTER. ONE YEAR

cide to go into farming, it means the expenditure of a great deal of money, the buying of a high-priced farm, the building of fine buildings, the assembling of a herd of high-priced cattle, in fact that everything is done to create a show appearance without regard to the economical phase of farming. Then, according to popular opinion, the owner generally sits back and watches things progress, usually with his check book in close proximity. Mr. Baker is not a man of this type. He is running his farm not as a hobby but as a strictly commercial proposition, and from observations and from the records it would seem to the visitor that he is successful. The Baker farm can be correctly classed as among New Hampshire's practical farms. The farm is managed by Mr. C. C. Laughton, a very thorough and practical farmer. Mr. A. L. Frost and Elwin Flanders are the herdsmen and are in immediate charge of the herd.

This herd of Holsteins probably ranks not only as the best in New Hampshire, but as one of the very best in the Eastern States. The herd numbers about eighty head of registered

animals, of which more than half are milking. When milking is mentioned on the Baker farm, it has a real meaning, for they milk many of their cows four times a day and get results by it too. All the milking is done by hand, and, when you consider that some members of this herd milk as high as one hundred and eight pounds a day, milking means a real job.

The cattle are kept under ordinary farm conditions. Two old-fashioned barns have been remodeled to the extent of letting in plenty of sunlight and a ventilating system has been installed.

At the Baker Farm they believe in the old maxim that "the sire is half the herd."

Their senior herd sire is King Segis Pontiac Maartze, an animal of great individuality and backing. This bull's two nearest dams averaged 34.8 pounds of butter in seven days, and his seven nearest dams averaged 30.7 pounds of butter in seven days. Not many herd sires in the country have such records behind them. Colantha Johanna Lad and King Segis, two of the Holstein breed's greatest sires, are his immediate ancestors. His worth does not stop with his looks

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"THE SIRE IS HALF THE HERD." KING SEGIS PONTIAC MAARTZE, SENIOR HERD SIRE.

and pedigree, for he has some producing daughters that are fast winning him renown. Several are to be found in the Baker herd. One has a record of twenty-six pounds of butter as a two-yearold and others have fine records in both milk and butter production.

The young stock have a fine chance, for Manager Laughton believes in feeding when the animals are young and not half-starving the youngsters, as the case on many dairy farms. Plenty of the right kind of food when they are young makes strong vigorous cows that are real producers. These cows bear out the above statement, for many of them weigh between sixteen hundred and seventeen hundred pounds.

The crops raised on the farm are mostly for forage. In fact all the roughage used for feeding purposes is home produced. It consists mainly of clover hay and corn silage. Manager Laughton states that this spring they intend to try alfalfa, and he believes that it will be a big asset to them if they are able to get a stand.

Nothing is sold off the farm except

dairy products, and livestock. The dairy products are sold principally in the form of milk, a retail milk route being conducted in Newmarket that disposes of between 200 and 300 quarts daily. The remainder is sold in Boston at wholesale, but at a fancy price. Most of the livestock sold are young animals, particularly bulls, which are sold from farmers' prices up to as high as $1,000 a piece.

The two world's champions are by no means the only high producers of which this herd boasts, for the majority of the cows have records from 20 to 31 pounds of butter in seven days, as well as large yearly milk and butter records. The herd is under Federal supervision and the animals all tested and healthy. They show every evidence of good care and careful management, and are a sight that any lover of animals would enjoy.

If you are interested in dairy cattle, and particularly in Holsteins, it would pay you to take the time to visit the

Baker farm, the home of New Hampshire's premier herd of Holsteins.

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