efforts that would rob her of
vivacity and dull her social and domestic impulses. No; if the hen will
politely present me with one hundred eggs a year, I will thank her and
ask no more. Some one will say: "How can you make hens pay if they don't
lay more than eight dozen eggs a year? Eggs sometimes sell as low as
twelve cents per dozen."

Four Oaks hens never have laid one-cent eggs, and never will. They would
quit work if such a price were suggested. Ninety per cent of the eggs
from Four Oaks have sold for thirty cents or more per dozen, and the
demand is greater than the supply. The Four Oaks certificate that the
egg is not thirty-six hours old when it reaches the egg cup, makes two
and a half cents look small to those who can afford to pay for the best.
To lack confidence in the egg is a serious matter at the breakfast
table, and a person who can insure perfect trust will not lack
patronage. If, therefore, a hen will lay eight dozen eggs, she is
welcome to say to an acquaintance: "I have just handed the Headman a
two-dollar bill," for she knows that I have not paid fifty cents for her
food.

Of course the wages of the hen man and his food and the interest on the
plant must be counted, but I do not propose to count them twice. Four
Oaks is a factory where several things are made, each in a measure
dependent on, and useful to, the others, and we cannot itemize costs of
single products because of this mutual dependence. I feel certain that I
could not drop one of the factory's industries without loss to each of
the others. For this reason I kept a very simple set of books. I charged
the farm with all money spent for it, and credited it with all moneys
received. Even now I have no very definite knowledge of what it costs
to keep a hen, a hog, or a cow; nor do I care. Such data are greatly
influenced by location, method of getting supplies, and market
fluctuations. I furnish most of my food, and my own market. My crops
have never entirely failed, and I take little heed whether they be large
or small. They are not for sale as crops, but as finished products. I am
not willing to sell them at any price, for I want them consumed on the
place for the sake of the land.

Corn has sold for eighty cents a bushel since I began this experiment,
yet at that time I fed as much as ever and was not tempted to sell a
bushel, though I could easily have spared five thousand. When it went
down to twenty-eight cents, I did not care, for