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Show A STORY Charles Clements I heard a good story the other day. It went like this. A farmer had become tired of his home. He had lived on the place all his life. He was born there. When a boy he drove cows in from the field, gathered apples in the orchard, swam in the Creek, and carried his books across the meadow and through the pasture to the little schoolhouse down the north road. As a young man he plowed and harrowed har-rowed in the spring, made hay and bound oats in the summer, and hauled fodder to the cattle in winter. To the old home he brought his bride. There his three children were born that were now grown up and gone. He was sick of the place. He drteamed of some nice, quiet spot where conditions were ideal, where he could pass his reclining days in comfort. com-fort. So he went to the real estate agent in town and listed his farm for sale. The agent dorve out and looked the premises over. He said he thought he could sell it easy enough. When the famer got his next weeks issue of his paper he read the agents advertisements. It stated that the Perkins farm of one hundred and sixty six-ty acres was for sale. It was all fertile. fer-tile. A crop failur had never been known. There were forty acres of excellent timber, a good artision well, plenty of pasture land, and a charming charm-ing dwelling house, with barns, bins, and sheds. The place was well stock- ed with cattle, horses, pigs, and poul-try. poul-try. It was an easy access to the city, and had telephone and rural free delivery de-livery advantages. Any one looking for an ideal farm would do well to consult the agent at once. The next day the farmer called at the agents office and said: "Say, I read your advertisements of my place in the paper, and as near as I can figure that's exactly the kind of farm I've been looking for. I'll keep it myself." |