ot. Now at sunset my work is done. But Papa is irrigating--that takes
twenty-four hours a day.

"This was a typical working day; but it would have been as natural for
me to have described one of the six days last week when I spent ten
hours a day hoeing corn. To-morrow we girls will put on overalls and
shock hay. Don't let it shock you--we live in the West!

"The trouble with farming is that the days are not long enough for work
or the nights long enough for sleep."

The writer of the following "typical day" has become early the possessor
of husband and child; but we shall not omit her story on that account.
She lives sixty miles from the railroad station and has wonderful
mountains about her horizon. Her account of one of her marvelous days
may be commended to all country people wherever they may be found. The
joy of work and the joy of living, here reach a climax together:

"It is dusk. The children and I have just come in from the corral,
where I milked seven cows. I am so in love with life that I find a day
very short to hold its allotted joys.

"First, I awoke a little earlier than usual this morning and lay
thinking over the 'had-to-be-dones.' It was baking day; but that is a
glad-to-be as well as the other, because I love to experiment outside of
the cookbooks. At half-past five I arose and by half-past six had
breakfast on the table and my bread set. By eight o'clock we had
breakfasted and I had the seven cows milked. How I love my gentle cows!
What an inspiration their calm patience is! And I love to get out at
that hour. At this altitude the mornings are always chilly but by eight
it is pleasant. At half-past eight I had the three larger children
dressed and at breakfast, while I ran the milk through the separator.
While the children finished, I went again to the barnyard, where I fed
my little chicks and turkeys and looked after the rest. I have two rows
of flowers between the barnyard and the house, so I stopped a few
minutes to smell the sweet-peas, to admire the gorgeous colors of the
poppies, and to pull a few weeds. By ten I had baby Robert bathed and
all his little wants attended to, the breakfast dishes and the milk
things washed, my bread in the oven and my dinner started. So I sat down
to churn and to read while I churned. I use an old-fashioned dash churn,
therefore I have an excuse for sitting down. I am glad of it, for I can
read then. By twelve I have my sweet golden butter printed, have hear