Country life -- Juvenile fiction; Families -- Juvenile fiction; Farm life -- Juvenile fiction; New York (State) -- Juvenile fiction
A visit to "Crusoe Island" entertained the children more than anything
else. A mountain stream had been dammed so as to make an island. On the
surrounding waters were fleets of water-fowl, ducks and geese of
various breeds, and, chief in interest, a flock of Canada wild-geese,
domesticated. Here we could look closely at these great wild migrants
that, spring and fall, pass and repass high up in the sky, in flocks,
flying in the form of a harrow or the two sides of a triangle,
meanwhile sending out cries that, in the distance, sound strange and
weird.
Leaving my wife and children admiring these birds and their rustic
houses on the island, I went with Major Alvord to his offices, and saw
the fine scientific appliances for carrying on agricultural experiments
designed to extend the range of accurate and practical knowledge. Not
only was the great farm planted and reaped, blood stock grown and
improved by careful breeding, but, accompanying all this labor, was
maintained a careful system of experiments tending to develop and
establish that supreme science--the successful culture of the soil.
Major Alvord evidently deserved his reputation for doing the work
thoroughly and intelligently, and I was glad to think that there were
men in the land, like the proprietor of Houghton Farm, who are willing
to spend thousands annually in enriching the rural classes by bringing
within their reach the knowledge that is power.
After a visit to the sheep and poultry departments, each occupying a
large farm by itself, we felt that we had seen much to think and talk
over.
It was hard to get Winnie away from the poultry-houses and yards, where
each celebrated breed was kept scrupulously by itself. There were a
thousand hens, besides innumerable young chickens. We were also shown
incubators, which, in spring, hatch little chickens by hundreds.
"Think of fifteen hundred eggs at a sitting, Winnie!" I cried; "that's
quite a contrast to the number that you put under one of your biddies
at home."
"I don't care," replied the child; "we've raised over a hundred
chickens since we began."
"Yes, indeed," I said. "That for you--for you have seen to it all
chiefly--is a greater success than anything here."
I was thoughtful as we drove home, and at last my wife held out a penny.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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