Hidden Treasures | Page 9

grandfather stood watching him keenly.
"You'll make a good farmer some day, Bob," he said a little later, "for I
see you use your head as well as your muscle. All my life I've been
grinding farm tools, but I never once greased them to keep them from
getting rusty, and they were mostly rusty, too, when I wanted to use

them," he added with a dry smile.
"How'd you like to have the afternoon off, Bob, to fish?" asked his
uncle after dinner, looking at the rain.
"Fine, Uncle Joe! Perhaps I could catch a mess for supper," the boy
replied, and without waiting for any further suggestions started for the
woodshed to get his rod and line.
He was soon sitting on the end of the log carriage under the shelter of
the saw-mill roof, his line dangling into the water of the forebay,
waiting for a bite. He had been seated only a few moments when his
attention was attracted by a small automobile bouncing over the deep-
rutted road, a few yards to the south of the mill. When it got nearly
opposite, one of the rear tires, with a loud report, blew out, and it came
to a sudden stop. Two men got out of the car, but after looking up at the
sky decided to wait until the shower was over before making the repairs.
So, turning up their coat collars, they ran over to the shelter of the mill.
They did not seem to notice Bob as they came up a plank at the
opposite end, but sat down on a log with their back to him. As they
seated themselves, one of the men took out his cigar case and passed it
to the other.
"We'd better be careful about smoking in a saw mill, John, don't you
think?" remarked the other, as he hesitated to take the proffered cigar.
"Oh, that's all right, Al," said his friend. "Just be careful where you
throw the match."
"This must be a pretty old mill, John," said the one called "Al," a few
moments later, as, his cigar lighted, he gazed around at the structure.
"Well, it's been here for some time, that's sure," his friend replied.
"Don't they ever use it any more? Don't look as though they have cut
any lumber here in years," remarked Al.

"No, the timber's pretty well cut down around here, Al, and one doesn't
haul it very far in these days of portable steam mills. In the old days,
you know, they hauled the tree to the mill; nowadays, they take the mill
to the tree. It's the modern idea."
"But I should think they would use the power for other things," his
friend persisted. "For one thing, the water would be able to run a small
generator and supply the farm with electric lights."
"Electric light! Ha! Ha! Joe Williams using electric lights on his
farm--that's a good one, Al."
"Well, why not?" demanded his friend. "Electricity is not a new thing,
even in the country, and there certainly are enough uses for power on a
farm that would pay for a plant in a very short time."
"Yes, but you don't know Joe Williams, Al," persisted his friend.
"Well, who is he, then, that he never heard of electricity?" demanded
Al.
"Oh, he's heard of electricity all right; but you see he's not
progressive--he has no 'git up and git,' as they say around here. Of
course, he expects to find electric lights and concrete sidewalks in town,
but electric lights on his farm and good roads from here to town would
never enter his head," was the reply.
"Has he always lived here? Doesn't he ever get far enough away from
home to know what the rest of the world is doing, or is he just plain
lazy?" asked his friend.
"Neither, Al. In fact, he spent two years on the big farms in the West,
and I had hoped he would wake up our farmers with new ideas when he
came back and bought the old homestead. But I've been disappointed.
He's one of those powerful men, who thinks that farming is a matter of
physical strength rather than thoughtful planning. He doesn't seem to
see the advantage of headwork. True, it's going to take a lot of hard
work to redeem this old place with its dilapidated buildings and

broken-down fences, but headwork will help a lot. Why, do you know,
Al, the acreage wasted by rail fences on this farm alone would raise
enough corn each year to send a boy to college."
"Yes, and what's more," he continued, "here's an old pond full of the
richest soil in the whole county--soil that's been washed down from the
fertile fields for years--to say nothing