Farm life -- Fiction; Love stories; New England -- Fiction
Three days later I got a report on the water from a chemist in
Springfield; it was pure. Meanwhile, I had decided to tap the town
main, so it didn't make any difference, anyway. We ran the car back to
Bentford, and I closed the deal, took an inventory of the farm
implements and equipment which went with the place, made a few hasty
arrangements for my permanent coming, and hastened back to college. There
I remained only long enough to see that the faculty had a competent
man to fill my unexpired term (so much of conscience remained to
me!), to pack up my books, pictures, and furniture, to purchase a
few necessary household goods, or what I thought were necessary, and to
consult the college botanical department. Professor Grey of the
department assigned his chief assistant at the gardens to my case. He
took me to Boston, and, armed with my inventory, in one day he spent
exactly $641 of my precious savings, while I gasped, helpless in my
ignorance. He bought, it appeared to me, barrels of seeds, tons of
fertilizers, thousands of wheel hoes for horse and man, millions of
pruning saws and spraying machines, hotbed frames and sashes, tomato
trellises, and I knew not what other nameless implements and impedimenta.
"There!" he cried, at 5 P.M. "Now you can make a beginning. You'll
have to find out this summer what else you need. Probably you'll want
to sink another $600 in the fall. I told 'em not to ship your small
fruits--raspberries, etc.--till you ordered 'em to. You won't be
ready for some weeks. The first thing you must do now is to hire a
first-class farmer and call in a tree specialist. Meanwhile, I'll give
you a batch of government bulletins on orchards, field crops, cattle,
and the like. You'd better read 'em up right away."
"You're damn cheerful about it!" I cried. "You talk as if I were a
millionaire, with nothing to do but read bulletins and spend money!"
"That's about all you will do, for the next twelve months," he grinned.
This was rather disconcerting. But the die was cast, and I came to a
sudden realization that seven years of teaching the young idea how to
punctuate isn't the best possible training for running a farm, and if I
were to get out of my experiment with a whole skin I had got to turn to
and be my own chief labourer, and hereafter my own purchaser, as well.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account