Blue Ribbon Corn

"Nothing but justice will console me," said Adam. "I'm not
complaining about losing the prize; I'm fighting mad because my
corn, my beautiful corn, that grew and grew, and held its head so
high, and waved its banners of triumph to me with every breeze,
didn't get its fair show. What encouragement is there for it to
try better the coming year? The crows might as well have had it,
or the cutworms; while all my work is for nothing."

"You're making a big mistake," said Kate. "If your corn was the
finest, it was, and the judges knew it, and you know it, and very
likely the man who has the first prize, knows it. You have a
clean conscience, and you know what you know. They surely can't
feel right about it, or enjoy what they know. You have had the
experience, you have the corn for seed; with these things to back
you, clear a small strip of new land beside the woods this winter,
and try what that will do for you."

Adam looked at her with wide eyes. "By jing, Mother, you are a
dandy!" he said. "You just bet I'll try that next year, but don't
you tell a soul; there are more than you who will let a strip be
cleared, in an effort to grow blue ribbon corn. How did you come
to think of it?"

"Your saying all your work had been for nothing, made me think of
it," she answered. "Let them give another man the prize, when
they know your corn is the best. It's their way of keeping a
larger number of people interested and avoiding the appearance of
partiality; this contest was too close; next year, you grow such
corn, that the CORN will force the decision in spite of the
judges. Do you see?"