The Winter Kitchen at Cherokee.
In the little hamlet of Peaceville truly the simple life, now so much vaunted and preached, is lived. A community of gentle folk, about sixteen households, most of the families were wealthy in the time prior to 1860, and all well born. Now theirs is a life of privation and labor, and borne without murmur or repining, and they are gentle folk emphatically. With the mercury for weeks over 90, and sometimes 98, there is but one family who can indulge in the luxury of ice. Until this summer I have always got 200 pounds a week, but things are changed by the failure of rice and I have given it up, as by the time I get it from the nearest town, eighteen miles away, the 200 pounds cost $1.50. Every one is much excited over the sale, and early in the afternoon they gather at the little schoolhouse, across the road from my gate, which had been selected for the event. The five ice-cream churns are grouped under a tree and two or three tables placed around, while the benches from the schoolhouse are placed about as seats. Two ladies down on their knees serve out the cream to the excited string of children, who bring their nickels clasped tightly in their hand. Two other ladies have a large dish pan and towels and keep a constant supply of fresh saucers and spoons, while one with a little basket receives the nickels.
The string of excited children.
The five-cent saucers are very big, but I call to mind how rarely these children ever taste ice-cream and what self-denial on the part of the mother each nickel represents, and so our results are not as large as they might be. My churn is pure cream as that is the only kind I can make, but it is not nearly so popular as the others which are made of custard with different flavorings. Finally, after a period of great activity I hear "All gone but the Newport vanilla" (that is mine) and the answer comes, "Well, if there is nothing else I will take that," and everything is gone and the benches are put back in the schoolhouse and the tables are carried home, and we have made $8 for our auxiliary, not much, but it represents a good deal of labor and self sacrifice on the part of the women who have given their material and their time, for all the things are contributed by different members and so we have no bills to pay. This will go to a cot in the hospital at Shanghai in memory of Bishop Howe and for a Bible woman in Japan. A mite truly, but God grant it may be blessed.
June 22.
Rose at 5, skimmed and set the churn. It is very hot, and having no ice there is no chance of good butter except by handling it very early. When I went to the plantation, I found that my two English side-saddles had been left on a rack in the piazza where I had them moved this spring from the stuffy harness room, but I didn't mean them to stay there always; it is scarcely safe now that I have moved to the village and there is no one in the yard; so this afternoon I called Gibbie to bring them into the house. He brought the first and placed it on the rack, and I covered it with a large white cloth and he went for the other.
As he came with it I heard a strange rumbling noise. "What is that?" I asked. Gibbie is quite deaf and answered that he heard nothing. I went on: "It is either a steamboat on the river or an approaching tornado."