tion,
humus, and the storing of nitrogen. That was why, when the corn in the
orchard was last cultivated in July, I planted cow peas between the
rows. The peas made a fair growth in spite of the dry season, and after
the corn was cut they furnished fine pasture for the brood sows, that
ate the peas and trampled down the vines. In the spring ploughing this
black mat was turned under, and with it went a store of fertility to
fatten the land. Cow peas were sowed in all the corn land in 1897, and
the rule of the farm is to sow corn-fields with peas, crimson clover, or
some other leguminous plant. As my land is divided almost equally each
year between corn and oats, which follow each other, it gets a cover
crop turned under every two years over the whole of it. Great quantities
of manure are hauled upon the oat stubble in the early spring, and these
fields are planted to corn, while the corn stubble is fertilized by the
cover crop, and oats are sown. The land is taxed heavily every year, but
it increases in fertility and crop-making capacity. For the past two
years my oats have averaged forty-seven bushels and my corn nearly
sixty-eight bushels per acre. There is no waste land in my fields, and
we have made such a strenuous fight against weeds that they no longer
seriously tax the land. The wisdom of the work done on the fence rows is
now apparent. The ploughing and seeding made it easy to keep the brush
and weeds down; hay gathered close to the fences more than pays us for
the mowing; and we have no tall weed heads to load the wind with seeds.
This is a matter which is not sufficiently considered by the majority of
farmers, for weeds are allowed to tax the land almost as much as crops
do, and yet they pay no rent. Fence lines and corners are usually
breeding beds for these pests, and it will pay any landowner to suppress
them.

CHAPTER XLV

DOGS AND HORSES

It was definitely decided in August that Jane was not to go back to
Farmington. We had all been of two minds over this question, and it was
a comfort to have it settled, though I always suspect that my share of
it was not beyond the suspicion of selfishness.

Jane was just past nineteen. She had a fair education, so far as books
go, and she did not wish to graduate simply for the honor of a diploma.
Indeed, there were many studies between her and the diploma which she
loathed. She could never understand how a girl of healthy mind could
care for mathematics,