sonable specified time. This is to avoid. the danger of speculative holdings.

The water power men who are fighting enlightened sentiment in Congress deny the justice of any one of these three points. They are, however, essential to a good law, in one form or another. Many other more progressive water power men, however, are willing to agree to these three provisions, but contend that in their exact interpretation they require discussion in order to be fair to both sides. point of view is interesting, and will well repay examination.

Their

Point one they are willing to concede in

toto.

Point two they concede, but desire elucidation on the phrases to the public" and "a reasonable charge."

Some of these people honestly feel that the water power sites should be in charge of the States, for the simple reason that they thin the revenue tained by water power should be spent where it is earned. In other words, we of California should not pay a tax that may be spent in North Carolina. There is considerable plausibility in this view; and it has been very skillfully taken advantage of by those who think a State government is a cinch to manipulate—as it generally is. The answer is, of course, that the State gets its return from its water power through taxation of property brought into being by water power development; and that the conservation tax is only payment to the public at large for taking care of that water power in its National Forests. There exists, in short, no more reason why a State should be subsidized than an individual. We ought to pay for what we get, wherever we get it. The test of the water power man's sincerity in this contention is as to whether or not he is willing to say: Very well. I'm perfectly willing to pay this charge, and will do so. I have my private opinion as to where the money should go; but that is only my private opinion and has nothing to do with the mere fact of payment." If he will say that—and act on it--he is sincere; other wise he is to be suspected of designs on our pure and innocent State legislatures. Some of them do say it.

66

He maintains that

more closely defined. the charge at present levied is unreasonable, and can quote you figures by the yard to help his contention. We have a few comparative figures ourselves, and cannot just see how an average annual tax of 65 cents, beginning at 10 cents per horse-power for the first year, and increasing to a maximum of 321⁄2 cents per horse-power from the forty-sixth to the fiftieth year, is going fatally to injure a half-million-dollar-a-year business. Evidently, as far as opinion goes, there exists a deadlock. But the water power man, if he is sincerely honest, will agree to this: that the conservation charge shall be fixed, as at present, by the Bureau of Forestry, and that its reasonableness may be subject to review by the courts, where the company is privileged to prove its unreasonableness-if it can. Some of them agree to this.

The third point, that as to development within ithin a reasonable /time, is necessarily so roughly cast as to be susceptible to much discussion. What constitutes reasonable time? What defines development?

a

There can be little question that a wellregulated local monopoly of such matters as hydro-electric power and light is better than the more clumsy expedient of competition. The building of two complete systems of reservoirs, dams, power-houses, and conduits where one would suffice is a foolish economic waste. Sooner or later one of two things happens: either one of the rival companies goes to smash and is absorbed by the other, or the consumer pays the added cost of maintaining two. In the absence of real regulation it is perhaps better that he pay that added cost as an insurance against unrestrained monopoly; but with adequate regulation it is imbecile. The problem is to see to it that the monopoly does not so extend in power as to menace the purity of that regulation.

Suppose, for example, that the city of Podunk is naturally and can be adequately served by the water power developed in one or more given watersheds, and that said watersheds serve only the city of Podunk. It is best for Podunk to put the matter into the hands of one responsible company, and see that it remains responsible.

The regulation of light and power

rates in Podunk should not be left to the company. Nor should it be left to the city council; for from the public point of view the company is too near and dear to that august body. Conceivably the State could take care of it, but only provided the Podunk Basin Light and Power Company did not combine with the light and power companies of all the other basins serving all the other cities. Then the combine could probably handle the astute statesmen at the State Capitol. And if enough of the State combinations got together in a good big National water power trust, why, then the very size and wealth and power of it might induce us to offer up prayers for the integrity of our National regulation.

That danger may be more or less remote, according to your training and point of view, but it is unnecessary. The obvious thing to do is to allow the local natural monopoly, but to prohibit any and all combinations of such affiliated interests. The water power men try to defend such combinations on the score of economy in financing, and claim that said economy would reduce the cost to the consumer. I doubt the latter point.

As

to the former, I believe that the consumer should be willing to pay a trifle more to insure himself against the possible danger of a too powerful trust.

Concede our natural monopoly for the individual locality, then; the matter of its regulation we will discuss shortly. The water power men maintain, and quite justly, that in fairness they ought to be protected against the blackmailing tactics of the man who takes up water power and makes a bluff at developing it merely in order to hold up the company. If, says the company, we can take up only the water we can develop within a few years, what becomes of the rest of the possible water power in our basin? What is to prevent the aforesaid blackmailer from getting busy? Should we not be allowed to take up all the water power, and be allowed to develop it as fast as, and no faster than, it is required? The counterquery to that, on the part of the citizen, is, of course, How do we know that you will actually develop it as fast as it is required? How do we know that you would not rather make a showing by which you

could hold your smaller developments at a higher price? In short, how do we know that our community will get the fullest benefits from its water power through you as the agent? Is it not better to hold you down to what you can use? The water power men invariably answer by saying in effect: "Let us leave that to competent regulation."

So that at the end we find ourselves fairly reduced to makeshifts because we cannot decide on regulation that we dare trust. The power of the trusts has increased so flagrantly that we doubt the integrity, or at least the disinterestedness, of our own government. We are very, very strongly disinclined to concede anything that would concentrate power.

In that feeling we are quite right. We would rather forego certain benefits in order to be assured against certain evils. Even though one kind of monopoly is best, we would rather fight tooth and nail against all monopolies than run the risk of the dangerous sort. Although we might admit that piracy or wasteful competition is a bungling method of regulating public utility charges, we would rather pay too much than have no regulation at all. We are inclined to shy violently at the word "corporation," although many corporations are well disposed. The latter class of corporation men feel the essential unfairness of this attitude; so they, in turn, distrust or despise the public. Thus the breach widens.

Where should this "competent regulation" be? Not in the immediate locality, that is sure; nor in the State. Even should we admit an unprecedented integrity in all State legislatures to come, how can we be sure that, were we to pass over our National water sites to the States, they would all enact the proper regulating legislation? We cannot bargain on that. Evidently the control must be Federal.

Of course there is the Constitution, and States' Rights, and a dozen other things. It is a matter for lawyers-of whom some people think we have a superabundance in the present Administration. The machinery of establishment should come through the Federal ownership of the sites on which water power could be developed. By issuing a fifty-year ease

ters." They seemed to be coming nearer. I glanced out of a front window, and saw Jonathan and his cow coming up the road past the house.

"Where are you taking her?" I called. "I thought you meant to go the other way."

“So I did," he shouted, in some irritation. "But she swung up to the right as she went out the gate, and I couldn't head her off in time. Oh, there's Bill Russell. Head her round, will you, Bill? There, now we're all right."

At

"I'll be back in ten minutes," he called up at my window as he repassed. I watched them go back up the road. the big farm gate the cow made a break for the barnyard again, but the two men managed to turn her. Just beyond, at the fork in the road, I saw Bill turn down towards the cider-mill, while Jonathan kept on with his convoy over the hill. I glanced at the clock. It was not yet nine. There was plenty of time, of

course.

At half-past nine I went downstairs again, and wandered out toward the big gate.

It seemed to me time for Jonathan to be back. In the Sunday hush I thought I heard sounds of distant "hiing." They grew louder; yes, surely, there was the cow, just appearing over the hill and trotting briskly along the road towards home. And there was Jonathan, also trotting briskly. He looked red and warm. I stepped out into the road to keep the cow from going past, but there was no need. She swung cheerfully in at the big gate, and fell to cropping the long grass just inside the fence.

Jonathan slowed down beside me, and, pulling out his handkerchief, began flapping the dust off his trousers while he explained:

"You see, I got her down there all right, but I had to let down the bars, and while I was doing that she went along the road a bit, and when she saw me coming she just kicked up her heels and galloped."

"How did you stop her?" I asked.

"I didn't. The Maxwells were coming along with their team, and they headed her back for me. Then they went on. Only by that time, you see, she was a bit excited, and when we came along back to

those bars she shot right past them, and never stopped till she got here."

I looked at her grazing quietly inside the fence. "She doesn't look as though she had done so much;" and then, as I glanced at Jonathan, I could not forbear saying, "but you do."

"I suppose I do." He gave his trousers a last flick, and, putting up his handkerchief, shifted his stick to his right hand.

"Well, put her back in the inner yard," I said, "and this afternoon I'll help you." "Put her back!" said Jonathan. "Not much! You don't think I'd let a cow beat me that way!"

"But, Jonathan, it's half-past nine !"

"What of it? I'll just work her slowly-she's quiet now, you see, and the bars are open. There won't be any

trouble."

"Oh, I wish you wouldn't,” I said. But, seeing he was firm, Well, if you will go, I'll harness."

Jonathan looked at me ruefully. "That's too bad-you're all dressed." He wavered, but I would take no concessions based on feminine equipment. "Oh, that doesn't matter. I'll get my big apron. First you start her out, and I'll keep her from going towards the house or down to the mill."

Jonathan sidled cautiously through the gate and around the grazing cow. Then, with a gentle and ingratiating “Hi there, Bossie!" he managed to turn her, still grazing, toward the road. While the grass held out she drifted along easily enough, but when she reached the dirt of the roadway she raised her head, flicked her tail, and gave a little hop with her hind quarters that seemed to me indicative of an unquiet spirit. But I stood firm and Jonathan was gently urgent, and we managed to start her on the right road once more. She was not, however, going as slowly as Jonathan had planned, and it was with some misgivings that I donned my apron and went in to harness Kit. I led her around to the carriagehouse and put her into the buggy, and still he had not returned. I got out the lap-robe, shook it, and folded it neatly on the back of the seat. No Jonathan ! There was nothing more for me to do, so I took off my apron and climbed into the carriage to wait. The carriage-house was

as cool a place as one could have found. Both its big sliding doors were pushed back, one opening out toward the front gate, the other, opposite, opening into the inner barnyard. I sat and looked out over the rolling sunny country and felt the breeze, warm, but fresh and sweet, and listened to the barn-swallows in the barnyard behind me, and wondered, as I have wondered a thousand times, why in New England the outbuildings always have so much better views than the house.

Ten o'clock. Where was Jonathan? The Morehouses drove past, then the Elkinses; they went to the Baptist. Ten minutes past! There went the O'Neilsthey belonged to our church-and the Scrantons, and Billy Howard and his sister, driving fast as usual; they were always late. Quarter past ten! Well, we might as well give up church. I thought of unharnessing, but I was very comfortable where I was, and Kit seemed contented as she stood looking out of the door. Hark! What was that? It sounded like the beat of hoofs in the lane-the cattle wouldn't come up at this hour! I stood up to see past the inner barnyard and off down the lane. What on earth!" I said to myself. For-yes-surely that was the two-year-old Devon coming leisurely up the lane towards the yard. In a few moments Jonathan's head appeared, then his shoulders, then his entire dusty, discouraged self. Yes, somehow or other they must have made the round trip. As this dawned upon me, I smiled, then I laughed, then I sat down and laughed again till I was weak and tearful. cruel, and by the time Jonathan had reached the carriage-house and sunk down on its threshold I had recovered enough to be sorry for him. But I was unfortunate in my first remark. "Why, Jonathan," I gasped, "what have you been doing with that cow?"

It was

shape, only we were going a little fast. She tried to dodge the bars, but I turned her in through them all right. But some idiot had left the bars down at the other end of the pasture-between that and the back lots, you know-and that blamed. COW went for that opening, just as straight—”

I began to shake again. "Oh, that brought you out by the huckleberry knoll, and the ledges! Why, she could go anywhere!"

She could, and she did," said Jonathan, grimly. He leaned back against the door-post, immersed in bitter reminiscence. “She-certainly-did. I chased her up the ledges and through the sumachs and down through the birches and across the swamp. Oh, we did the farm, the whole blamed farm. What time is it?"

"Half-past ten," I said, gently, and added, "What are you going to do with her now?"

His jaw set in a fashion I knew.

"I'm going to put her in that lower pasture."

I saw it was useless to protest. Church was a vanished dream, but I began to fear that Sunday dinner was also doomed. “Do you want me to help ?" I asked.

“Oh, no,” said Jonathan. "I'll put her in the barn till I can get a rope, and then I'll lead her."

However, I did help get her into the barn. Then while he went for his rope I unharnessed. When he came back, he had changed into a flannel shirt and working trousers. He entered the barn and in a few moments emerged, pulling hard on the rope. Nothing happened.

"Go around the other way," he called, "and take a stick, and poke that cow till she starts."

I went in at the back door, slid between the stanchions into the cow stall, and gingerly poked at the animal's hind quarters and said, “ Hi!" until at last, with a hunching of hips and tossing of head, she bounded out into the sunny barnyard.

She'll be all right now," said Jonathan. I watched them doubtfully, but they got through the bars and as far as the road without incident. At the road she suddenly balked. She twisted her horns and set her front legs. I hurried