The Fat of the Land | Page 9

and get
better results than a stranger.
The transient farm-hand is a delusion and a snare. He has no interest
except his wages, and he is a breeder of discontent. If the hundreds of
thousands of able-bodied men who are working for scant wages in
cities, or inanely tramping the country, could see the dignity of the
labor which is directly productive, what a change would come over the
face of the country! There are nearly six million farms in this nation,
and four millions of them would be greatly benefited by the addition of
another man to the working force. There is a comfortable living and a
minimum of $180 a year for each of four million men, if they will only
seek it and honestly earn it. Seven hundred millions in wages, and
double or treble that in product and added values, is a consideration not
unworthy the attention of social scientists. To favor an exodus to the
land is, I believe, the highest type of benevolence, and the surest and
safest solution of the labor problem.
Besides engaging Thompson, I tentatively bespoke the services of his
wife and son. Mrs. Thompson was to come for $15 a month and a
half-dollar raise for each six months, the son on the same terms as the
father.
The other man whom I engaged that day was William Johnson, a tall,
blond Swede about twenty-six years old. Johnson had learned
gardening in the old country, and had followed it two years in the new.
He was then employed in a market gardener's greenhouse; but he

wanted to change from under glass to out of doors, and to have charge
of a lawn, shrubs, flowers, and a kitchen garden. He spoke brokenly,
but intelligently, had an honest eye, and looked to me like a real "find."
Polly, who was to be his immediate boss, was pleased with him, and we
took him with the understanding that he was to make himself generally
useful until the time came for his special line of work. We now had two
men engaged (with a possible third) and one woman, and my venire
was exhausted.
Two days later I again advertised, and out of a number of applicants
secured one man. Sam Jones was a sturdy-looking fellow of middle age,
with a suspiciously red nose. He had been bred on a farm, had learned
the carpenter's trade, and was especially good at taking care of chickens.
His ambition was to own and run a chicken plant. I hired him on the
same terms as the others, but with misgivings on account of the florid
nose. This was on the 19th or 20th of July, and there were still ten days
before I could enter into possession. The men were told to report for
duty the last day of the month.
CHAPTER V
BORING FOR WATER
The water supply was the next problem. I determined to have an
abundant and convenient supply of running water in the house, the
barns, and the feeding grounds, and also on the lawn and gardens. I
would have no carrying or hauling of water, and no lack of it. There
were four wells on the place, two of them near the houses and two
stock wells in the lower grounds. Near the well at the large house was a
windmill that pumped water into a small tank, from which it was piped
to the barn-yard and the lower story of the house. The supply was
inadequate and not at all to my liking.
My plan involved not only finding, raising, and distributing water, but
also the care of waste water and sewage. Inquiring among those who
had deep wells in the village, I found that good water was usually
reached at from 180 to 210 feet. As my well-site was high, I expected

to have to bore deep. I contracted with a well man of good repute for a
six-inch well of 250 feet (or less), piped and finished to the surface, for
$2 a foot; any greater depth to be subject to further agreement.
It took nearly three months to finish the water system, but it has proved
wonderfully convenient and satisfactory. During seven years I have not
spent more than $50 for changes and repairs. We struck bed-rock at 197
feet, drilled 27 feet into this rock, and found water which rose to within
50 feet of the surface and which could not be materially lowered by the
constant use of a three-inch power-pump. The water was milky white
for three days, in spite of much pumping; and then, and ever after, it ran
clear and sweet, with a temperature of 54° F. Well and water being
satisfactory, I cheerfully paid the well man $448 for the job.
Meantime I