to it then. So with the
output of the hennery, the apiary, the blacksmith-shop in the place.
On that plan Woodbine has won the respect of the neighborhood. The
good-will will follow, says its Czar, confidently.

He, too, was a nihilist, who dreamed with the young of his people for
a better day. He has lived to see it dawn on a far-away shore.
Concerning his task, he has no illusions. There is no higher
education, no "frills," at Woodbine. Its scheme is intensely
practical. It is to make, if possible, a Jewish yeomanry fit to take
their place with the native tillers of the soil, as good citizens as
they. With that end in view, everything is "for present purposes, with
an eye on the future." The lad is taught dairying with scientific
precision, because on that road lies the profit in keeping cows. He is
taught the commercial value of extreme cleanliness in handling milk
and making butter. He learns the management of the poultry-yard, of
bees, of pigeons, and of field crops. He works in the nursery, the
greenhouse, and the blacksmith-shop. If he does not get to know the
blacksmith's trade, he learns how to mend a broken farm wagon and
"save expense." So he shall be able to make farming pay, to keep his
grip on the land. His native shrewdness will teach him the rest.

The vineyards were budding, and the robins sang joyously as we drove
over the twenty-four-mile stretch through the colonies of Carmel,
Rosenhayn, Alliance, and Brotmansville. Everywhere there were signs of
reawakened thrift. Fields and gardens were being got ready for their
crops; fence-corners were being cleaned, roofs repaired, and houses
painted. In Rosenhayn they were building half a dozen new houses. A
clothing factory there that employs seventy hands brought out
twenty-four families from New York and Philadelphia, for whom shelter
had to be found. Some distance beyond the village we halted to inspect
the forty-acre farm of a Jew who some years ago kept a street stand
in Philadelphia. He bought the land and went back to his stand to earn
the money with which to run it. In three years he moved his family
out.

"I couldn't raise the children in the city," he explained. A son and
two daughters now run the adjoining farm. Two boys were helping him
look after a berry patch that alone would "make expenses" this year.
The wife minded the seven cows. The farm is free and clear save for
$400 lent by the Hirsch people to pay off an onerous mortgage. Some
comme