The Project Gutenberg eBook, Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled during Her Visit among the "Pennsylvania Germans", by Edith M. Thomas

MARY AT THE FARM

AND

BOOK OF RECIPES

COMPILED DURING HER

VISIT AMONG THE

"PENNSYLVANIA GERMANS"

BY

EDITH M. THOMAS

WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

1915

We love our Pennsylvania, grand old Keystone State;
Land of far famed rivers, and rock-ribbed mountains great.
With her wealth of "Dusky Diamonds" and historic valleys fair,
Proud to claim her as our birthplace; land of varied treasures rare.

PREFACE

The incidents narrated in this book are based on fact, and, while not absolutely true in every particular, the characters are all drawn from real life. The photographs are true likenesses of the people they are supposed to represent, and while in some instances the correct names are not given (for reasons which the reader will readily understand), the various scenes, relics, etc., are true historically and geographically. The places described can be easily recognized by any one who has ever visited the section of Pennsylvania in which the plot (if it can really be called a plot) of the story is laid. Many of the recipes given Mary by Pennsylvania German housewives, noted for the excellence of their cooking, have never appeared in print.

THE AUTHOR.

THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED TO MY FRIENDS WITH GRATITUDE FOR THEIR MANY HELPFUL KINDNESSES.

"HE WHO HAS A THOUSAND FRIENDS, HAS NEVER A ONE TO SPARE."

THE HOUSEKEEPER'S SYMPHONY

"To do the best that I can, from morn till night.
And pray for added strength with coming light;
To make the family income reach alway,
With some left over for a rainy day;
To do distasteful things with happy face,
To try and keep the odds and ends in place.
To smile instead of frown at Fate,
Which placed me in a family always late
For meals; to do the sewing, mending and
The thousand small things always near at hand,
And do them always with a cheerful heart,
Because in life they seem to be my part;
To know the place of everything and keep
It there, to think, to plan, to cook, to sweep,
To brew, to bake, to answer questions,
To be the mainspring of the family clock.
(Or that effect) and see that no tick, tock
Is out of time or tune, or soon or late,
This is the only symphony which I
Can ever hope to operate."

MARION WILEY.

CONTENTS

[PREFACE]
[CONTENTS]
[ILLUSTRATIONS]
[CHAPTER I. Mary's Letter Received at Clear Spring Farm]
[CHAPTER II. Mary's Arrival at the Farm]
[CHAPTER III. Schuggenhaus Township]
[CHAPTER IV. John Landis]
[CHAPTER V. The Old Farm-House and Garden]
[CHAPTER VI. Mary Confides in "Aunt Sarah" and Gives Her Views on Suffrage for Women]
[CHAPTER VII Professor Schmidt]
[CHAPTER VIII. Uses of An Old-Fashioned Wardrobe]
[CHAPTER IX. Poetry and Pie]
[CHAPTER X. Sibylla Linsabigler]
[CHAPTER XI. New Colonial Rag Rugs]
[CHAPTER XII. Mary Imitates Navajo Blankets]
[CHAPTER XIII. "The Girls' Camp Fire" Organized by Mary]
[CHAPTER XIV. Mary Makes "Violet and Rose Leaf" Beads]
[CHAPTER XV. Mary and Elizabeth Visit Sadie Singmaster]
[CHAPTER XVI. The Old Parlor Made Beautiful (Modernized)]
[CHAPTER XVII. An Old Song Evening]
[CHAPTER XVIII. A Visit to the "Pennsylvania Palisades"]
[CHAPTER XIX. Mary Is Taught to Make Pastry, Patties and Rosenkuchcen]
[CHAPTER XX. Old Potteries and Decorated Dishes]
[CHAPTER XXI. The Value of Wholesome, Nutritious Food]
[CHAPTER XXII. A Variety of Cakes Evolved From One Recipe]
[CHAPTER XXIII. The Old "Taufschien"]
[CHAPTER XXIV. The Old Store on the Ridge Road]
[CHAPTER XXV. An Elbadritchel Hunt]
[CHAPTER XXVI. The Old Shanghai Rooster]
[CHAPTER XXVII. A "Potato Pretzel"]
[CHAPTER XXVIII. Faithful Service]
[CHAPTER XXIX. Mary, Ralph, Jake and Sibylla Visit the Allentown]
[CHAPTER XXX. Fritz Schmidt Explores Durham Cave]
[CHAPTER XXXI. Mary's Marriage]
[MARY'S COLLECTION OF RECIPES]
[INDEX TO RECIPES]

ILLUSTRATIONS

[Mary
] [Aunt Sarah
] [The Old Spring House
] [The Old Mill Wheel
] [The Old Mill
] [Old Corn Crib
] [The New Red Barn
] [The Old Farm-House
] [Ralph Jackson
] [Rocky Valley
] [Professor Schmidt
] [Frau Schmidt
] [Old Time Patch-Work Quilts
] [Old Time Patch-Work
] [Home-Made Rag Carpet
] [A Hit-and-Miss Rug
] [A Brown and Tan Rug
] [A Circular Rug
] [Imitation of Navajo Blankets
] [Rug With Design
] [Rug With Swastika in Centre
] [Home Manufactured Silk Prayer Rug
] [Elizabeth Schmidt—"Laughing Water"
] [Articles in the Old Parlor Before It Was Modernized
] [Other Articles in the Old Parlor Before It Was Modernized
] [Palisades, or Narrows of Nockamixon
] [The Canal at the Narrows
] [The Narrows, or Pennsylvania Palisades
] [Top Rock
] [Ringing Rocks of Bucks County, Pennsylvania
] [High Falls
] [Big Rock at Rocky Dale
] [The Old Towpath at the Narrows
] [Old Earthenware Dish
] [Sgraffito Plate
] [Old Plates Found in Aunt Sarah's Corner Cupboard
] [Old Style Lamps
] [Old Taufschien
] [The Old Store on Ridge Road
] [Catching Elbadritchels
] [Old Egg Basket at the Farm
] [A Potato Pretzel
] [Loaf of Rye Bread
] [A "Brod Corvel," or Bread Basket
] [Church Which Sheltered Liberty Bell in 1777-78
] [Liberty Bell Tablet
] [Durham Cave
] [The Woodland Stream
] [Polly Schmidt
] [An Old-Fashioned Bucks County Bake-Oven
]

MARY

MARY AT THE FARM

AND BOOKS OF RECIPES

CHAPTER I.

MARY'S LETTERS RECEIVED AT CLEAR SPRING FARM.

One morning in early spring, John Landis, a Pennsylvania German farmer living in Schuggenhaus Township, Bucks County, on opening his mail box, fastened to a tree at the crossroads (for the convenience of rural mail carriers) found one letter for his wife Sarah, the envelope addressed in the well-known handwriting of her favorite niece, Mary Midleton, of Philadelphia.

A letter being quite an event at "Clear Spring" farm, he hastened with it to the house, finding "Aunt Sarah," as she was called by every one (Great Aunt to Mary), in the cheery farm house kitchen busily engaged kneading sponge for a loaf of rye bread, which she carefully deposited on a well-floured linen cloth, in a large bowl for the final raising.

Carefully adjusting her glasses more securely over the bridge of her nose, she turned at the sound of her husband's footsteps. Seeing the letter in his hand she inquired: "What news, John?" Quickly opening the letter handed her, she, after a hasty perusal, gave one of the whimsical smiles peculiar to her and remarked decisively, with a characteristic nod of her head: "John, Mary Midleton intends to marry, else why, pray tell me, would she write of giving up teaching her kindergarten class in the city, to spend the summer with us on the farm learning, she writes, to keep house, cook, economize and to learn how to get the most joy and profit from life?"

"Well, well! Mary is a dear girl, why should she not think of marrying?" replied her husband; "she is nineteen. Quite time, I think, she should learn housekeeping—something every young girl should know. We should hear of fewer divorces and a less number of failures of men in business, had their wives been trained before marriage to be good, thrifty, economical housekeepers and, still more important, good homemakers. To be a helpmate in every sense of the word is every woman's duty, I think, when her husband works early and late to procure the means to provide for her comforts and luxuries and a competency for old age. Write Mary to come at once, and under your teaching she may, in time, become as capable a housekeeper and as good a cook as her Aunt Sarah; and, to my way of thinking, there is none better, my dear."

Praise from her usually reticent husband never failed to deepen the tint of pink on Aunt Sarah's still smooth, unwrinkled, youthful looking face, made more charming by being framed in waves of silvery gray hair, on which the "Hand of Time," in passing, had sprinkled some of the dust from the road of life.

In size, Sarah Landis was a little below medium height, rather stout, or should I say comfortable, and matronly looking; very erect for a woman of her age. Her bright, expressive, gray eyes twinkled humorously when she talked. She had developed a fine character by her years of unselfish devotion to family and friends. Her splendid sense of humor helped her to overcome difficulties, and her ability to rise above her environment, however discouraging their conditions, prevented her from being unhappy or depressed by the small annoyances met daily. She never failed to find joy and pleasure in the faithful performance of daily tasks, however small or insignificant. Aunt Sarah attributed her remarkably fine, clear complexion, seldom equalled in a woman of her years, to good digestion and excellent health; her love of fresh air, fruit and clear spring water. She usually drank from four to five tumblerfuls of water a day. She never ate to excess, and frequently remarked: "I think more people suffer from over-eating than from insufficient food." An advocate of deep breathing, she spent as much of her time as she could spare from household duties in the open air.

AUNT SARAH

Sarah Landis was not what one would call beautiful, but good and whole-souled looking. To quote her husband: "To me Sarah never looks so sweet and homelike when all 'fussed up' in her best black dress on special occasions, as she does when engaged in daily household tasks around home, in her plain, neat, gray calico dress."

This dress was always covered with a large, spotlessly clean, blue gingham apron of small broken check, and she was very particular about having a certain-sized check. The apron had a patch pocket, which usually contained small twists or little wads of cord, which, like "The Old Ladies in Cranford," she picked up and saved for a possible emergency.

One of Aunt Sarah's special economies was the saving of twine and paper bags. The latter were always neatly folded, when emptied, and placed in a cretonne bag made for that purpose, hanging in a convenient corner of the kitchen.

Aunt Sarah's gingham apron was replaced afternoons by one made from fine, Lonsdale cambric, of ample proportions, and on special occasions she donned a hemstitched linen apron, inset at upper edge of hem with crocheted lace insertion, the work of her own deft fingers. Aunt Sarah's aprons, cut straight, on generous lines, were a part of her individuality.

Sarah Landis declared: "Happiness consists in giving and in serving others," and she lived up to the principles she advocated. She frequently quoted from the "Sons of Martha," by Kipling:

"Lift ye the stone or cleave the wood, to make a path more fair or flat,
Not as a ladder from earth to heaven, not as an altar to any creed,
But simple service, simply given, to his own kind in their human need."

"I think this so fine," said Aunt Sarah, "and so true a sentiment that I am almost compelled to forgive Kipling for saying 'The female of the species is more deadly than the male.'"

Aunt Sarah's goodness was reflected in her face and in the tones of her voice, which were soft and low, yet very decided. She possessed a clear, sweet tone, unlike the slow, peculiar drawl often aiding with the rising inflection peculiar to many country folk among the "Pennsylvania Germans."

The secret of Aunt Sarah's charm lay in her goodness. Being always surrounded by a cheery atmosphere, she benefited all with whom she came in contact. She took delight in simple pleasures. She had the power of extracting happiness from the common, little every-day tasks and frequently remarked, "Don't strive to live without work, but to find more joy in your work." Her opinions were highly respected by every one in the neighborhood, and, being possessed of an unselfish disposition, she thought and saw good in every one; brought out the best in one, and made one long to do better, just to gain her approval, if for no higher reward. Sarah Landis was a loyal friend and one would think the following, by Mrs. Craik, applied to her:

"Oh, the comfort, the inexpressible comfort, of feeling safe with a person—having neither to weigh thoughts nor measure words, but pouring them all right out, just as they are—chaff and grain together, certain that a faithful hand will take and sift them, keep what is worth keeping and then with the breath of kindness blow the rest away."

She was never so happy as when doing an act of kindness for some poor unfortunate, and often said. "If 'twere not for God and good people, what would become of the unfortunate?" and thought like George McDonald, "If I can put one touch of rosy sunset into the life of any man or woman (I should add child) I shall feel that I have worked with God."

Aunt Sarah's sweet, lovable face was the first beheld by many a little, new-born infant; her voice, the first to hush its wailing cries as she cuddled it up to her motherly breast, and oft, with loving hands, softly closed the lids over eyes no longer able to see; whom the Gracious Master had taken into His keeping.

One day I overheard Aunt Sarah quote to a sorrowing friend these fine, true lines from Longfellow's "Resignation": "Let us be patient, these severe afflictions not from the ground arise, but celestial benedictions assume the dark disguise."

THE OLD SPRING HOUSE

CHAPTER II.

MARY'S ARRIVAL AT THE FARM.

The day preceding that of Mary's arrival at the farm was a busy one for Aunt Sarah, who, since early morning, had been preparing the dishes she knew Mary enjoyed. Pans of the whitest, flakiest rolls, a large loaf of sweetest nut-brown, freshly-baked "graham bread," of which Mary was especially fond; an array of crumb-cakes and pies of every description covered the well-scrubbed table in the summer kitchen, situated a short distance from the house. A large, yellow earthenware bowl on the table contained a roll of rich, creamy "smier kase" just as it had been turned from the muslin bag, from which the "whey" had dripped over night; ready to be mixed with cream for the supper table. Pats of sweet, freshly-churned butter, buried in clover blossoms, were cooling in the old spring-house near by.

The farm house was guiltless of dust from cellar to attic. Aunt Sarah was a model housekeeper; she accomplished wonders, yet never appeared tired or flurried as less systematic housekeepers often do, who, with greater expenditure of energy, often accomplish less work. She took no unnecessary steps; made each one count, yet never appeared in haste to finish her work.

Said Aunt Sarah, "The lack of system in housework is what makes it drudgery. If young housekeepers would sit down and plan their work, then do it, they would save time and labor. When using the fire in the range for ironing or other purposes, use the oven for preparing dishes of food which require long, slow cooking, like baked beans, for instance. Bake a cake or a pudding, or a pan of quickly-made corn pone to serve with baked beans, for a hearty meal on a cold winter day. A dish of rice pudding placed in the oven requires very little attention, and when baked may be placed on ice until served. If this rule be followed, the young housewife will be surprised to find how much easier will be the task of preparing a meal later in the day, especially in hot weather."

The day following, John Landis drove to the railroad station, several miles distant, to meet his niece. As Mary stepped from the train into the outstretched arms of her waiting Uncle, many admiring glances followed the fair, young girl. Her tan-gold naturally wavy, masses of hair rivaled ripened grain. The sheen of it resembled corn silk before it has been browned and crinkled by the sun. Her eyes matched in color the exquisite, violet-blue blossoms of the chicory weed. She possessed a rather large mouth, with upturned corners, which seemed made for smiles, and when once you had been charmed with them, she had made an easy conquest of you forever. There was a sweet, winning personality about Mary which was as impossible to describe as to resist. One wondered how so much adorable sweetness could be embodied in one small maid. But Mary's sweetness of expression and charming manner covered a strong will and tenacity of purpose one would scarcely have believed possible, did they not have an intimate knowledge of the young girl's disposition. Her laugh, infectious, full of the joy of living, the vitality of youth and perfect health and happiness, reminded one of the lines: "A laugh is just like music for making living sweet."

Seated beside her Uncle in the carriage, Mary was borne swiftly through the town out into the country. It was one of those preternaturally quiet, sultry days when the whole universe appears lifeless and inert, free from loud noise, or sound of any description, days which we occasionally have in early Spring or Summer, when the stillness is oppressive.

Frequently at such times there is borne to the nostrils the faint, stifling scent of burning brush, indicating that land is being cleared by the forehanded, thrifty farmer for early planting. Often at such times, before a shower, may be distinctly heard the faintest twitter and "peep, peep" of young sparrows, the harsh "caw, caw" of the crow, and the song of the bobolink, poised on the swaying branch of a tall tree, the happiest bird of Spring; the dozy, drowsy hum of bees; the answering call of lusty young chanticleers, and the satisfied cackle of laying hens and motherly old biddies, surrounded by broods of downy, greedy little newly-hatched chicks. The shrill whistle of a distant locomotive startles one with its clear, resonant intonation, which on a less quiet day would pass unnoticed. Mary, with the zest of youth, enjoyed to the full the change from the past months of confinement in a city school, and missed nothing of the beauty of the country and the smell of the good brown earth, as her Uncle drove swiftly homeward.

"Uncle John," said Mary, "'tis easy to believe God made the country."

"Yes," rejoined her Uncle, "the country is good enough for me."

"With the exception of the one day in the month, when you attend the 'Shriners' meeting' in the city," mischievously supplemented Mary, who knew her Uncle's liking for the Masonic Lodge of which he was a member, "and," she continued, "I brought you a picture for your birthday, which we shall celebrate tomorrow. The picture will please you, I know. It is entitled, 'I Love to Love a Mason, 'Cause a Mason Never Tells.'"

They passed cultivated farms. Inside many of the rail fences, inclosing fields of grain or clover, were planted numberless sour cherry trees, snowy with bloom, the ground underneath white with fallen petals. The air was sweet with the perfume of the half-opened buds on the apple trees in the near-by orchards and rose-like pink blossoms of the "flowering" crab-apple, in the door yards. Swiftly they drove through cool, green, leafy woods, crossing a wooden bridge spanning a small stream, so shallow that the stones at the bottom were plainly to be seen. A loud splash, as the sound of carriage wheels broke the uninterrupted silence, and a commotion in the water gave evidence of the sudden disappearance of several green-backed frogs, sunning themselves on a large, moss-grown rock, projecting above the water's edge; from shady nooks and crevices peeped clusters of early white violets; graceful maidenhair ferns, and hardier members of the fern family, called "Brake," uncurled their graceful, sturdy fronds from the carpet of green moss and lichen at the base of tree trunks, growing along the water's edge. Partly hidden by rocks along the bank of the stream, nestled a few belated cup-shaped anemones or "Wind Flowers," from which most of the petals had blown, they being one of the earliest messengers of Spring. Through the undergrowth in the woods, in passing, could be seen the small buds of the azalea or wild honeysuckle, "Sheep's Laurel," the deep pink buds on the American Judas tree, trailing vines of "Tea Berry," and beneath dead leaves one caught an occasional glimpse of fragrant, pink arbutus. In marshy places beside the creek, swaying in the wind from slender stems, grew straw-colored, bell-shaped blossoms of "Adder's Tongue" or "Dog Tooth Violet," with their mottled green, spike-shaped leaves. In the shadow of a large rock grew dwarf huckleberry bushes, wild strawberry vines, and among grasses of many varieties grew patches of white and pink-tinted Alsatian clover.

Leaving behind the spicy, fragrant, "woodsy" smell of wintergreen, birch and sassafras, and the faint, sweet scent of the creamy, wax-like blossoms of "Mandrake" or May apple, peeping from beneath large, umbrella-like, green leaves they emerged at last from the dim, cool shadows of the woods into the warm, bright sunlight again.

Almost before Mary realized it, the farm house could be seen in the distance, and her Uncle called her attention to his new, red barn, which had been built since her last visit to the farm, and which, in her Uncle's estimation, was of much greater importance than the house.

Mary greeted with pleasure the old landmarks so familiar to her on former visits. They passed the small, stone school house at the crossroads, and in a short time the horses turned obediently into the lane leading to the barn a country lane in very truth, a tangle of blackberry vines, wild rose bushes, by farmers called "Pasture Roses," interwoven with bushes of sumach, wild carrots and golden rod.

Mary insisted that her Uncle drive directly to the barn, as was his usual custom, while she was warmly welcomed at the farm house gate by her Aunt. As her Uncle led away the horses, he said, "I will soon join you, Mary, 'to break of our bread and eat of our salt,' as they say in the 'Shrine.'"

On their way to the house, Mary remarked: "I am so glad we reached here before dusk. The country is simply beautiful! Have you ever noticed, Aunt Sarah, what a symphony in green is the yard? Look at the buds on the maples and lilacs—a faint yellow green—and the blue-green pine tree near by; the leaves of the German iris are another shade; the grass, dotted with yellow dandelions, and blue violets; the straight, grim, reddish-brown stalks of the peonies before the leaves have unfolded, all roofed over with the blossom-covered branches of pear, apple and 'German Prune' trees. Truly, this must resemble Paradise!"

"Yes," assented her Aunt, "I never knew blossoms to remain on the pear trees so long a time. We have had no 'blossom shower' as yet to scatter them, but there will be showers tonight, I think, or I am no prophet. I feel rain in the atmosphere, and Sibylla said a few moments ago she heard a 'rain bird' in the mulberry tree."

"Aunt Sarah," inquired Mary, "is the rhubarb large enough to use?"

"Yes, indeed, we have baked rhubarb pies and have had a surfeit of dandelion salad or 'Salat,' as our neighbors designate it. Your Uncle calls 'dandelion greens' the farmers' spring tonic; that and 'celadine,' that plant you see growing by the side of the house. Later in the season it bears small, yellow flowers not unlike a very small buttercup blossom, and it is said to be an excellent remedy for chills and fevers, and it tastes almost as bitter as quinine. There are bushels of dandelion blossoms, some of which we shall pick tomorrow, and from them make dandelion wine."

"And what use will my thrifty Aunt make of the blue violets?" mischievously inquired Mary.

"The violets," replied her Aunt, "I shall dig up carefully with some earth adhering to their roots and place them in a glass bowl for a centrepiece on the table for my artistic and beauty-loving niece; and if kept moist, you will be surprised at the length of time they will remain 'a thing of beauty' if not 'a joy forever.' And later, Mary, from them I'll teach you to make violet beads."

"Aunt Sarah, notice that large robin endeavoring to pull a worm from the ground. Do you suppose the same birds return here from the South every Summer?"

"Certainly, I do."

"That old mulberry tree, from the berries of which you made such delicious pies and marmalade last Summer, is it dead?"

"No; only late about getting its Spring outfit of leaves."

CHAPTER III.

SCHUGGENHAUS TOWNSHIP.

"Schuggenhaus," said Sarah Landis, speaking to her niece, Mary Midleton, "is one of the largest and most populous townships in Bucks County, probably so named by the early German settlers, some of whom, I think, were my father's ancestors, as they came originally from Zweibrucken, Germany, and settled in Schuggenhaus Township. Schuggenhaus is one of the most fertile townships in Bucks County and one of the best cultivated; farming is our principal occupation, and the population of the township today is composed principally of the descendants of well-to-do Germans, frequently called 'Pennsylvania Dutch.'"

"I have often heard them called by that name," said Mary. "Have you forgotten, Aunt Sarah, you promised to tell me something interesting about the first red clover introduced in Bucks County?"

"Red clover," replied her Aunt, "that having bright, crimson-pink heads, is the most plentiful and the most common variety of clover; but knowing how abundantly it grows in different parts of the country at the present time, one would scarcely have believed, in olden times, that it would ever be so widely distributed as it now is.

"One reason clover does so well in this country is that the fertilization of the clover is produced by pollenation by the busy little bumble-bee, who carries the pollen from blossom to blossom, and clover is dependent upon these small insects for fertilization, as without them clover would soon die out."

"I admire the feathery, fuzzy, pink-tipped, rabbit-foot clover," said Mary; "it is quite fragrant, and usually covered with butterflies. It makes such very pretty bouquets when you gather huge bunches of it."

THE OLD MILL WHEEL

"No, Mary, I think you are thinking of Alsatian clover, which is similar to white clover. The small, round heads are cream color, tinged with pink; it is very fragrant and sweet and grows along the roadside and, like the common white clover, is a favorite with bees. The yellow hop clover we also find along the roadside. As the heads of clover mature, they turn yellowish brown and resemble dried hops; sometimes yellow, brown and tan blossoms are seen on one branch. The cultivation of red clover was introduced here a century ago, and when in bloom the fields attracted great attention. Being the first ever grown in this part of Bucks County, people came for miles to look at it, the fence around the fields some days being lined with spectators, I have been told by my grandfather. I remember when a child nothing appeared to me more beautiful than my father's fields of flax; a mass of bright blue flowers. I also remember the fields of broom-corn. Just think! We made our own brooms, wove linen from the flax raised on our farm and made our own tallow candles. Mary, from what a thrifty and hard-working lot of ancestors you are descended! You inherit from your mother your love of work and from your father your love of books. Your father's uncle was a noted Shakespearean scholar."

Many old-time industries are passing away. Yet Sarah Landis, was a housewife of the old school and still cooked apple butter, or "Lodt Varrik," as the Germans call it; made sauerkraut and hard soap, and naked old-fashioned "German" rye bread on the hearth, which owed its excellence not only to the fact of its being hearth baked but to the rye flour being ground in an old mill in a near-by town, prepared by the old process of grinding between mill-stones instead of the more modern roller process. This picture of the old mill, taken by Fritz Schmidt, shows it is not artistic, but, like most articles of German manufacture, the mill was built more for its usefulness than to please the eye.

THE OLD MILL

"Aunt Sarah, what is pumpernickel?" inquired Mary, "is it like rye bread?"

"No, my dear, not exactly, it is a dark-colored bread, used in some parts of Germany. Professor Schmidt tells me the bread is usually composed of a mixture of barley flour and rye flour. Some I have eaten looks very much like our own brown bread. Pumpernickel is considered a very wholesome bread by the Germans—and I presume one might learn to relish it, but I should prefer good, sweet, home-made rye bread. I was told by an old gentleman who came to this country from Germany when a boy, that pumpernickel was used in the German army years ago, and was somewhat similar to 'hard tack,' furnished our soldiers in the Civil War. But I cannot vouch for the truth of this assertion."

"Aunt Sarah," said Mary later, "Frau Schmidt tells me the Professor sends his rye to the mill and requests that every part of it be ground without separating—making what he calls 'whole rye flour,' and from this Frau Schmidt bakes wholesome, nutritious bread which they call 'pumpernickel,' She tells me she uses about one-third of this 'whole rye flour' to two-thirds white bread flour when baking bread, and she considers bread made from this whole grain more wholesome and nutritious than the bread made from our fine rye flour."

CHAPTER IV.

JOHN LANDIS.

The Bucks County farmer, John Landis, rather more scholarly in appearance than men ordinarily found in agricultural districts, was possessed of an adust complexion, caused by constant exposure to wind and weather; tall and spare, without an ounce of superfluous fat; energetic, and possessed of remarkable powers of endurance. He had a kindly, benevolent expression; his otherwise plain face was redeemed by fine, expressive brown eyes. Usually silent and preoccupied, and almost taciturn, yet he possessed a fund of dry humor. An old-fashioned Democrat, his wife was a Republican. He usually accompanied Aunt Sarah to her church, the Methodist, although he was a member of the German Reformed, and declared he had changed his religion to please her, but change his politics, never. A member of the Masonic Lodge, his only diversion was an occasional trip to the city with a party of the "boys" to attend a meeting of the "Shriners."

Aunt Sarah protested. "The idea, John, at your age, being out so late at night and returning from the city on the early milk train the following morning, and then being still several miles from home. It's scandalous!"

He only chuckled to himself; and what the entertainment had been, which was provided at Lulu Temple, and which he had so thoroughly enjoyed, was left to her imagination. His only remark when questioned was: "Sarah, you're not in it. You are not a 'Shriner.'" And as John had in every other particular fulfilled her ideal of what constitutes a good husband, Sarah, like the wise woman she was, allowed the subject to drop.

A good, practical, progressive farmer, John Landis constantly read, studied and pondered over the problem of how to produce the largest results at least cost of time and labor. His crops were skillfully planted in rich soil, carefully cultivated and usually harvested earlier than those of his neighbors. One summer he raised potatoes so large that many of them weighed one pound each, and new potatoes and green peas, fresh from the garden, invariably appeared on Aunt Sarah's table the first of July, and sometimes earlier. I have known him to raise cornstalks which reached a height of thirteen feet, which were almost equaled by his wife's sunflower stalks, which usually averaged nine feet in height.

Aunt Sarah, speaking one day to Mary, said: "Your Uncle John is an unusually silent man. I have heard him remark that when people talk continuously they are either very intelligent or tell untruths." He, happening to overhear her remark, quickly retorted:

"The man who speaks a dozen tongues,
When all is said and done,
Don't hold a match to him who knows
How to keep still in one."

When annoyed at his wife's talkativeness, her one fault in her husband's eyes, if he thought she had a fault, he had a way of saying, "Alright, Sarah, Alright," as much as to say "that is final; you have said enough," in his peculiar, quick manner of speaking, which Aunt Sarah never resented, he being invariably kind and considerate in other respects.

John Landis was a successful farmer because he loved his work, and found joy in it. While not unmindful of the advantages possessed by the educated farmer of the present day, he said, "'Tis not college lore our boys need so much as practical education to develop their efficiency. While much that we eat and wear comes out of the ground, we should have more farmers, the only way to lower the present high cost of living, which is such a perplexing problem to the housewife. There is almost no limit to what might be accomplished by some of our bright boys should they make agriculture a study. Luther Burbank says, 'To add but one kernel of corn to each ear grown in this country in a single year would increase the supply five million bushels.'"

CHAPTER V.

THE OLD FARM HOUSE AND GARDEN.

Old Corn Crib

The New Barn

The old unpainted farm house, built of logs a century ago, had changed in the passing years to a grayish tint. An addition had been built to the house several years before Aunt Sarah's occupancy, The sober hue of the house harmonized with the great, gnarled old trunk of the meadow willow near-by. Planted when the house was built, it spread its great branches protectingly over it. A wild clematis growing at the foot of the tree twined its tendrils around the massive trunk until in late summer they had become an inseparable part of it, almost covering it with feathery blossoms.

Near by stood an antique arbor, covered with thickly-clustering vines, in season bending with the weight of "wild-scented" grapes, their fragrance mingling with the odor of "Creek Mint" growing near by a small streamlet and filling the air with a delicious fragrance. The mint had been used in earlier years by Aunt Sarah's grandfather as a beverage which he preferred to any other.

From a vine clambering up the grape arbor trellies, in the fall of the year, hung numerous orange-colored balsam apples, which opened, when ripe, disclosing bright crimson interior and seeds. These apples, Aunt Sarah claimed, if placed in alcohol and applied externally, possessed great medicinal value as a specific for rheumatism.

THE OLD FARM HOUSE

A short distance from the house stood the newly-built red barn, facing the pasture lot. On every side stretched fields which, in summer, waved with wheat, oats, rye and buckwheat, and the corn crib stood close by, ready for the harvest to fill it to overflowing. Beside the farm house door stood a tall, white oleander, planted in a large, green-painted wooden tub. Near by, in a glazed earthenware pot, grew the old-fashioned lantana plant, covered with clusters of tiny blossoms, of various shades of orange, red and pink.

In flower beds outlined by clam shells which had been freshly whitewashed blossomed fuchsias, bleeding hearts, verbenas, dusty millers, sweet clove-scented pinks, old-fashioned, dignified, purple digitalis or foxglove, stately pink Princess Feather, various brilliant-hued zinnias, or more commonly called "Youth and Old Age," and as gayly colored, if more humble and lowly, portulacas; the fragrant white, star-like blossoms of the nicotiana, or "Flowering Tobacco," which, like the yellow primrose, are particularly fragrant at sunset. Geraniums of every hue, silver-leaved and rose-scented; yellow marigolds and those with brown, velvety petals; near by the pale green and white-mottled leaves of the plant called "Snow on the Mountain" and in the centre of one of the large, round flower beds, grew sturdy "Castor Oil Beans," their large, copper-bronze leaves almost covering the tiny blue forget-me-nots growing beneath. Near the flower bed grew a thrifty bush of pink-flowering almonds; not far distant grew a spreading "shrub" bush, covered with fragrant brown buds, and beside it a small tree of pearly-white snowdrops.

Sarah Landis loved the wholesome, earthy odors of growing plants and delighted in her flowers, particularly the perennials, which were planted promiscuously all over the yard. I have frequently heard her quote: "One is nearer God's heart in a garden than any place else on earth." And she would say, "I love the out-of-door life, in touch with the earth; the natural life of man or woman." Inside the fence of the kitchen garden were planted straight rows of both red and yellow currants, and several gooseberry bushes. In one corner of the garden, near the summer kitchen, stood a large bush of black currants, from the yellow, sweet-scented blossoms of which Aunt Sarah's bees, those "Heaven instructed mathematicians," sucked honey. Think of Aunt Sarah's buckwheat cakes, eaten with honey made from currant, clover, buckwheat and dandelion blossoms!

Her garden was second to none in Bucks County. She planted tomato seeds in boxes and placed them in a sunny window, raising her plants early; hence she had ripe tomatoes before any one else in the neighborhood. Her peas were earlier also, and her beets and potatoes were the largest; her corn the sweetest; and, as her asparagus bed was always well salted, her asparagus was the finest to be had.

Through the centre of the garden patch, on either side the walk, were large flower beds, a blaze of brilliant color from early Spring, when the daffodils blossomed, until frost killed the dahlias, asters, scarlet sage, sweet Williams, Canterbury bells, pink and white snapdragon, spikes of perennial, fragrant, white heliotrope; blue larkspur, four o'clocks, bachelor buttons and many other dear, old-fashioned flowers. The dainty pink, funnel-shaped blossoms of the hardy swamp "Rose Mallow'" bloomed the entire Summer, the last flowers to be touched by frost, vying in beauty with the pink monthly roses planted near by.

Children who visited Aunt Sarah delighted in the small Jerusalem cherry tree, usually covered with bright, scarlet berries, which was planted near the veranda, and they never tired pinching the tiny leaves of the sensitive plant to see them quickly droop, as if dead, then slowly unfold and straighten as if a thing of life.

Visitors to the farm greatly admired the large, creamy-white lily-like blossoms of the datura. Farthest from the house were the useful herb beds, filled with parsley, hoarhound, sweet marjoram, lavender, saffron, sage, sweet basil, summer savory and silver-striped rosemary or "old man," as it was commonly called by country folk.

Tall clusters of phlox, a riot of color in midsummer, crimson-eyed, white and rose-colored blossoms topping the tall stems, and clusters of brilliant-red bergamot near by had been growing, from time immemorial, a cluster of green and white-striped grass, without which no door yard in this section of Bucks County was considered complete in olden times. Near by, silvery plumes of pampas grass gently swayed on their reed-like stems. Even the garden was not without splashes of color, where, between rows of vegetables, grew pale, pink-petaled poppies, seeming to have scarcely a foothold in the rich soil. But the daintiest, sweetest bed of all, and the one that Mary enjoyed most, was where the lilies of the valley grew in the shade near a large, white lilac bush. Here, on a rustic bench beneath an old apple tree, stitching on her embroidery, she dreamed happy dreams of her absent lover, and planned for the life they were to live together some day, in the home he was striving to earn for her by his own manly exertions; and she assiduously studied and pondered over Aunt Sarah's teaching and counsel, knowing them to be wise and good.

A short distance from the farm house, where the old orchard sloped down to the edge of the brook, grew tall meadow rue, with feathery clusters of green and white flowers; and the green, gold-lined, bowl-shaped blossoms of the "Cow Lily," homely stepsisters of the fragrant, white pond lily, surrounded by thick, waxy, green leaves, lazily floated on the surface of the water from long stems in the bed of the creek, and on the bank a carpet was formed by golden-yellow, creeping buttercups.

In the side yard grew two great clumps of iris, or, as it is more commonly called, "Blue Flag." Its blossoms, dainty as rare orchids, with lily-like, violet-veined petals of palest-tinted mauve and purple.

On the sunny side of the old farm house, facing the East, where at early morn the sun shone bright and warm, grew Aunt Sarah's pansies, with velvety, red-brown petals, golden-yellow and dark purple. They were truly "Heart's Ease," gathered with a lavish hand, and sent as gifts to friends who were ill. The more she picked the faster they multiplied, and came to many a sick bed "sweet messengers of Spring."

If Aunt Sarah had a preference for one particular flower, 'twas the rose, and they well repaid the time and care she lavished on them. She had pale-tinted blush roses, with hearts of deepest pink; rockland and prairie and hundred-leaf roses, pink and crimson ramblers, but the most highly-prized roses of her collection were an exquisite, deep salmon-colored "Marquis De Sinety" and an old-fashioned pink moss rose, which grew beside a large bush of mock-orange, the creamy blossoms of the latter almost as fragrant as real orange blossoms of the sunny Southland. Not far distant, planted in a small bed by themselves, grew old-fashioned, sweet-scented, double petunias, ragged, ripple, ruffled corollas of white, with splotches of brilliant crimson and purple, their slender stems scarcely strong enough to support the heavy blossoms.

In one of the sunniest spots in the old garden grew Aunt Sarah's latest acquisition. "The Butterfly Bush," probably so named on account of its graceful stems, covered with spikes of tiny, lilac-colored blossoms, over which continually hovered large, gorgeously-hued butterflies, vying with the flowers in brilliancy of color, from early June until late Summer.

Aunt Sarah's sunflowers, or "Sonnen Blume," as she liked to call them, planted along the garden fence to feed chickens and birds alike, were a sight worth seeing. The birds generally confiscated the larger portion of seeds. A pretty sight it was to see a flock of wild canaries, almost covering the tops of the largest sunflowers, busily engaged picking out the rich, oily seeds.

Aunt Sarah loved the golden flowers, which always appeared to be nodding to the sun, and her sunflowers were particularly fine, some being as much as fifty inches in circumference.

A bouquet of the smaller ones was usually to be seen in a quaint, old, blue-flowered, gray jar on the farm house veranda in Summertime. Earlier in the season blossoms of the humble artichoke, which greatly resemble small sunflowers, or large yellow daisies, filled the jar. Failing either of these, she gathered large bouquets of golden-rod or wild carrot blossoms, both of which grew in profusion along the country lanes and roadside near the farm. But the old gray jar never held a bouquet more beautiful than the one of bright, blue "fringed gentians," gathered by Aunt Sarah in the Fall of the year, several miles distant from the farm.

CHAPTER VI.

MARY CONFIDES IN AUNT SARAH AND GIVES HER VIEWS ON SUFFRAGE FOR WOMEN.

"There's no deny'n women are foolish,
God A'mighty made them to match the men."

A short time after her arrival at the farm Mary poured into the sympathetic ear of Aunt Sarah her hopes and plans. Her lover, Ralph Jackson, to whom she had become engaged the past Winter, held a position with the Philadelphia Electric Company, and was studying hard outside working hours. His ambition was to become an electrical engineer. He was getting fair wages, and wished Mary to marry him at once. She confessed she loved Ralph too well to marry him, ignorant as she was of economical housekeeping and cooking.

Mary, early left an orphan, had studied diligently to fit herself for a kindergarten teacher, so she would be capable of earning her own living on leaving school, which accounted for her lack of knowledge of housework, cooking, etc.

Aunt Sarah, loving Mary devotedly, and knowing the young man of her choice to be clean, honest and worthy, promised to do all in her power to make their dream of happiness come true. Learning from Mary that Ralph was thin and pale from close confinement, hard work and study, and of his intention of taking a short vacation, she determined he should spend it on the farm, where she would be able to "mother him."

"You acted sensibly, Mary," said her Aunt, "in refusing to marry Ralph at the present time, realizing your lack of knowledge of housework and inability to manage a home. Neither would you know how to spend the money provided by him economically and wisely, and, in this age of individual efficiency, a business knowledge of housekeeping is almost as important in making a happy home as is love. I think it quite as necessary that a woman who marries should understand housekeeping in all its varied branches as that the man who marries should understand his trade or profession; for, without the knowledge of means to gain a livelihood (however great his love for a woman), how is the man to hold that woman's love and affection unless he is able by his own exertions to provide her with necessities, comforts, and, perhaps, in later years, luxuries? And in return, the wife should consider it her duty and pleasure to know how to do her work systematically; learn the value of different foods and apply the knowledge gained daily in preparing them; study to keep her husband in the best of health, physically and mentally. Then will his efficiency be greater and he will be enabled to do his 'splendid best' in whatever position in life he is placed, be he statesman or hod-carrier. What difference, if an honest heart beat beneath a laborer's hickory shirt, or one of fine linen? 'One hand, if it's true, is as good as another, no matter how brawny or rough.' Mary, do not think the trivial affairs of the home beneath your notice, and do not imagine any work degrading which tends to the betterment of the home. Remember, 'Who sweeps a room as for Thy law, makes that and the action fine.'

"Our lives are all made up of such small, commonplace things and this is such a commonplace old world, Mary. 'The commonplace earth and the commonplace sky make up the commonplace day,' and 'God must have loved common people, or He would not have made so many of them.' And, what if we are commonplace? We cannot all be artists, poets and sculptors. Yet, how frequently we see people in commonplace surroundings, possessing the soul of an artist, handicapped by physical disability or lack of means! We are all necessary in the great, eternal plan. 'Tis not good deeds alone for which we receive our reward, but for the performance of duty well done, in however humble circumstances our lot is cast. Is it not Lord Houghton who says: 'Do not grasp at the stars, but do life's plain, common work as it comes, certain that daily duties and daily bread are the sweetest things of life.' I consider a happy home in the true sense of the word one of the greatest of blessings. How important is the work of the housemother and homemaker who creates the home! There can be no happiness there unless the wheels of the domestic machinery are oiled by loving care and kindness to make them run smoothly, and the noblest work a woman can do is training and rearing her children. Suffrage, the right of woman to vote; will it not take women from the home? I am afraid the home will then suffer in consequence. Will man accord woman the same reverence she has received in the past? Should she have equal political rights? A race lacking respect for women would never advance socially or politically. I think women could not have a more important part in the government of the land than in rearing and educating their children to be good, useful citizens. In what nobler work could women engage than in work to promote the comfort and well-being of the ones they love in the home? I say, allow men to make the laws, as God and nature planned. I think women should keep to the sphere God made them for—the home. Said Gladstone, 'Woman is the most perfect when most womanly.' There is nothing, I think, more despicable than a masculine, mannish woman, unless it be an effeminate, sissy man. Dr. Clarke voiced my sentiments when he said: 'Man is not superior to woman, nor woman to man. The relation of the sexes is one of equality, not of better or worse, of higher and lower. The loftiest ideal of humanity demands that each shall be perfect in its kind and not be hindered in its best work. The lily is not inferior to the rose, nor the oak superior to the clover; yet the glory of the lily is one and the glory of the oak is another, and the use of the oak is not the use of the clover.'

"This present-day generation demands of women greater efficiency in the home than ever before. And Mary, many of the old-time industries which I had been accustomed to as a girl have passed away. Electricity and numerous labor-saving devices make household tasks easier, eliminating some altogether. When housekeeping you will find time to devote to many important questions of the day which we old-time housekeepers never dreamed of having. Considerable thought should be given to studying to improve and simplify conditions of the home-life. It is your duty. Obtain books; study food values and provide those foods which nourish the body, instead of spending time uselessly preparing dainties to tempt a jaded appetite. Don't spoil Ralph when you marry him. Give him good, wholesome food, and plenty of it; but although the cooking of food takes up much of a housekeeper's time, it is not wise to allow it to take up one's time to the exclusion of everything else. Mary, perhaps my views are old-fashioned. I am not a 'new woman' in any sense of the word. The new woman may take her place beside man in the business world and prove equally as efficient, but I do not think woman should invade man's sphere any more than he should assume her duties."

"Aunt Sarah, I am surprised to hear you talk in that manner about woman's sphere," replied Mary, "knowing what a success you are in the home, and how beautifully you manage everything you undertake. I felt, once you recognized the injustice done woman in not allowing them to vote, you would feel differently, and since women are obliged to obey the laws, should they not have a voice in choosing the lawmakers? When you vote, it will not take you out of the home. You and Uncle John will merely stop on your way to the store, and instead of Uncle John going in to write and register what he thinks should be done and by whom it should be done, you too will express your opinion. This will likely be twice a year. By doing this, no woman loses her womanliness, goodness or social position, and to these influences the vote is but another influence. I know there are many things in connection with the right of equal suffrage with what you do not sympathize.

"Aunt Sarah, let me tell you about a dear friend of mine who taught school with me in the city. Emily taught a grammar grade, and did not get the same salary the men teachers received for doing the same work, which I think was unfair. Emily studied and frequently heard and read about what had been done in Colorado and other States where women vote. She got us all interested, and the more we learned about the cause the harder we worked for it. Emily married a nice, big, railroad man. They bought a pretty little house in a small town, had three lovely children and were very happy. More than ever as time passed Emily realized the need of woman's influence in the community. It is true, I'll admit, Aunt Sarah, housekeeping and especially home-making are the great duties of every woman, and to provide the most wholesome, nourishing food possible for the family is the duty of every mother, as the health, comfort and happiness of the family depend so largely on the common sense (only another name for efficiency) and skill of the homemaker, and the wise care and though she expends on the preparation of wholesome, nutritious food in the home, either the work of her own hands or prepared under her direction. You can not look after these duties without getting outside of your home, especially when you live like Emily, in a town where the conditions are so different from living as you do on a farm in the country. Milk, bread and water are no longer controlled by the woman in her home, living in cities and towns; and just because women want to look out for their families they should have a voice in the larger problems of municipal housekeeping. To return to Emily, she did not bake her own bread, as you do, neither did she keep a cow, but bought milk and bread to feed the children. Wasn't it her duty to leave the home and see where these products were produced, and if they were sanitary? And, knowing the problem outside the home would so materially affect the health, and perhaps lives, of her children, she felt it her distinctive duty to keep house in a larger sense. When the children became old enough to attend school, Emily again took up her old interest in schools. She began to realize how much more just it would be if an equal number of women were on the school board."

"But what did the husband think of all this?" inquired Aunt Sarah, dubiously.

"Oh, Tom studied the case, too, at first just to tease Emily, but he soon became as enthusiastic as Emily. He said, 'The first time you are privileged to vote, Emily, I will hire an automobile to take you to the polls in style.' But poor Emily was left alone with her children last winter. Tom died of typhoid fever. Contracted it from the bad drainage. They lived in a town not yet safeguarded with sewerage. Now Emily is a taxpayer as well as a mother, and she has no say as far as the town and schools are concerned. There are many cases like that, where widows and unmarried women own property, and they are in no way represented. And think of the thousands and thousands of women who have no home to stay in and no babies to look after."

"Mercy, Mary! Do stop to take breath. I never thought when I started this subject I would have an enthusiastic suffragist with whom to deal."

"I am glad you started the subject, Aunt Sarah, because there is so much to be said for the cause. I saw you glance at the clock and I see it is time to prepare supper. But some day I'm going to stop that old clock and bring down some of my books on 'Woman's Suffrage' and you'll he surprised to hear what they have done in States where equal privileges were theirs. I am sure 'twill not be many years before every State in the Union will give women the right of suffrage."

After Mary retired that evening Aunt Sarah had a talk with her John, whom she knew needed help on the farm. As a result of the conference, Mary wrote to Ralph the following day, asking him to spend his vacation on the farm as a "farm hand." Needless to say, the offer was gladly accepted by Ralph, if for no other reason than to be near the girl he loved.

Ralph came the following week—"a strapping big fellow," to quote Uncle John, being several inches over six feet.

"All you need, young chap," said Mary's Uncle, "is plenty of good, wholesome food of Sarah's and Mary's preparing, and I'll see that you get plenty of exercise in the fresh air to give you an appetite to enjoy it, and you'll get a healthy coat of tan on your pale cheeks before the Summer is ended."

Ralph Jackson, or "Jack," as he was usually called by his friends, an orphan like Mary, came of good, old Quaker stock, his mother having died immediately after giving birth to her son. His father, supposed to be a wealthy contractor, died when Ralph was seventeen, having lost his fortune through no fault of his own, leaving Ralph penniless.

Ralph Jackson possessed a good face, a square, determined jaw, sure sign of a strong will and quick temper; these Berserker traits he inherited from his father; rather unusual in a Quaker. He possessed a head of thick, coarse, straight brown hair, and big honest eyes. One never doubted his word, once it had been given. 'Twas good as his bond. This trait he inherited also from his father, noted for his truth and integrity. Ralph was generous to a fault. When a small boy he was known to take off his shoes and give them to a poor little Italian (who played a violin on the street for pennies) and go home barefoot.

Ralph loved Mary devotedly, not only because she fed him well at the farm, as were his forefathers, the "Cave Men," fed by their mates in years gone by, but he loved her first for her sweetness of disposition and lovable ways; later, for her quiet unselfishness and lack of temper over trifles—so different from himself.

When speaking to Mary of his other fine qualities, Aunt Sarah said: "Ralph is a manly young fellow; likeable, I'll admit, but his hasty temper is a grave fault in my eyes."

Mary replied, "Don't you think men are very queer, anyway, Aunt Sarah? I do, and none of us is perfect."

RALPH JACKSON

To Mary, Ralph's principal charm lay in his strong, forceful way of surmounting difficulties, she having a disposition so different. Mary had a sweet, motherly way, seldom met with in so young a girl, and this appealed to Ralph, he having never known "mother love," and although not at all inclined to be sentimental, he always called Mary his "Little Mother Girl" because of her motherly ways.

ROCKY VALLEY

"Well," continued Mary's Aunt, "a quick temper is one of the most difficult faults to overcome that flesh is heir to, but Ralph, being a young man of uncommon good sense, may in time curb his temper and learn to control it, knowing that unless be does so it will handicap him in his career. Still, a young girl will overlook many faults in the man she loves. Mary, ere marrying, one should be sure that no love be lacking to those entering these sacred bonds. 'Tis not for a day, but for a lifetime, to the right thinking. Marriage, as a rule, is too lightly entered into in this Twentieth Century of easy divorces, and but few regard matrimony in its true holy relation, ordained by our Creator. If it be founded on the tower of enduring love and not ephemeral passion, it is unassailable, lasting in faith and honor until death breaks the sacred union and annuls the vows pledged at God's holy altar."

"Well," replied Mary, as her Aunt paused to take breath, "I am sure of my love for Ralph."

"God grant you may both be happy," responded her Aunt.

"Mary, did you ever hear this Persian proverb? You will understand why I have so much to say after hearing it."

"'Says a proverb of Persia provoking mirth;
When this world was created by order divine.
Ten measures of talk were put down on the earth,
And the woman took nine.'"

Speaking to Mary of life on the farm one day, Ralph laughingly said: "I am taught something new every day. Yesterday your Uncle told me it was 'time to plant corn when oak leaves were large as squirrels' ears.'" Ralph worked like a Trojan. In a short time both his hands and face took on a butternut hue. He became strong and robust. Mary called him her "Cave Man," and it taxed the combined efforts of Aunt Sarah and Mary to provide food to satisfy the ravenous appetite Mary's "Cave Man" developed. And often, after a busy day, tired but happy, Mary fell asleep at night to the whispering of the leaves of the Carolina poplar outside her bedroom window.

But country life on a farm has its diversions. One of Mary's and Ralph's greatest pleasures after a busy day at the farm was a drive about the surrounding country early Summer evenings, frequently accompanied by either Elizabeth or Pauline Schmidt, their nearest neighbors.

One of the first places visited by them was a freak of nature called "Rocky Valley," situated at no great distance from the farm.

PROFESSOR SCHMIDT

CHAPTER VII

PROFESSOR SCHMIDT.

A small country place named "Five Oaks," a short distance from "Clear Spring" farm, was owned by a very worthy and highly-educated, but rather eccentric, German professor. He came originally from Heidelberg, but had occupied the position of Professor of German for many years in a noted university in a near by town. A kind, warm-hearted, old-fashioned gentleman was the Professor; a perfect Lord Chesterfield in manners. Very tall, thin almost to emaciation, although possessed of excellent health; refined, scholarly looking: a rather long, hooked nose, faded, pale-blue eyes; snowy, flowing "Lord Dundreary" whiskers, usually parted in the centre and twisted to a point on either side with the exceedingly long, bony fingers of his well-kept, aristocratic-looking white hands. He had an abrupt, quick, nervous manner when speaking. A fringe of thin, white hair showed at the lower edge of the black silk skull cap which he invariably wore about home, and in the absence of this covering for his bald head, he would not have looked natural to his friends.

The Professor always wore a suit of well-brushed, "shiny" black broadcloth, and for comfort old-fashioned soft kid "gaiters," with elastic in the sides. He was a man with whom one did not easily become acquainted, having very decided opinions on most subjects. He possessed exquisite taste, a passionate love of music, flowers and all things beautiful; rather visionary, poetical and a dreamer; he was not practical, like his wife; warm-hearted, impulsive, energetic Frau Schmidt, who was noted for her executive abilities. I can imagine the old Professor saying as Mohammed has been quoted as saying, "Had I two loaves, I would sell one and buy hyacinths to feed my soul." Impulsive, generous to a fault, quick to take offense, withal warm-hearted, kind and loyal to his friends, he was beloved by the students, who declared that "Old Snitzy" always played fair when he was obliged to reprimand them for their numerous pranks, which ended sometimes, I am obliged to confess, with disastrous results. The dignified old Professor would have raised his mild, blue, spectacled eyes in astonishment had he been so unfortunate as to have overheard the boys, to whom he was greatly attached, call their dignified preceptor by such a nickname.

The Professor's little black-eyed German wife, many years younger than her husband, had been, before her marriage, teacher of domestic science in a female college in a large city. "She was a most excellent housekeeper," to quote the Professor, and "a good wife and mother."

The family consisted of "Fritz," a boy of sixteen, with big, innocent, baby-blue eyes like his father, who idolized his only son, who was alike a joy and a torment. Fritz attended the university in a near-by town, and was usually head of the football team. He was always at the front in any mischief whatever, was noted for getting into scrapes innumerable through his love of fun, yet he possessed such a good-natured, unselfish, happy-go-lucky disposition that one always forgave him.

Black-eyed, red-cheeked Elizabeth was quick and impulsive, like her mother. A very warm and lasting friendship sprung up between merry Elizabeth and serious Mary Midleton during Mary's Summer on the farm, although not at all alike in either looks or disposition, and Elizabeth was Mary's junior by several years.

The third, last and least of the Professor's children was Pauline, or "Pollykins," as she was always called by her brother Fritz, the seven-year-old pet and baby of the family. A second edition of Fritz, the same innocent, questioning, violet-blue eyes, fair complexion, a kissable little mouth and yellow, kinky hair, she won her way into every one's heart and became greatly attached to Mary, who was usually more patient with the little maid (who, I must confess, was sometimes very willful) than was her sister Elizabeth. Mary, who had never been blessed with a sister, dearly loved children, and thought small "Polly" adorable, and never wearied telling her marvelous fairy tales.

FRAU SCHMIDT

CHAPTER VIII.

USES OF AN OLD-FASHIONED WARDROBE.

Shortly after Mary's advent at the farm she one day said: "Aunt Sarah, the contents of this old trunk are absolutely worthless to me; perhaps they may be used by you for carpet rags."

"Mary Midleton!" exclaimed Aunt Sarah, in horrified tones, "you extravagant girl. I see greater possibilities in that trunk of partly-worn clothing than, I suppose, a less economically-inclined woman than I ever would have dreamed of."

Mary handed her Aunt two blue seersucker dresses, one plain, the other striped. "They have both shrunken, and are entirely too small for me," said Mary.

"Well," said her Aunt, considering, "they might be combined in one dress, but you need aprons for kitchen work more useful than those little frilly, embroidered affairs you are wearing. We should make them into serviceable aprons to protect your dresses. Mary, neatness is an attribute that every self-respecting housewife should assiduously cultivate, and no one can be neat in a kitchen without a suitable apron to protect one from grime, flour and dust."

"What a pretty challis dress; its cream-colored ground sprinkled over with pink rose buds!"

Mary sighed. "I always did love that dress, Aunt Sarah, 'Twas so becoming, and he—he—admired it so!"

"And HE, can do so still," replied Aunt Sarah, with a merry twinkle in her kind, clear, gray eyes, "for that pale-green suesine skirt, slightly faded, will make an excellent lining, with cotton for an interlining, and pale green Germantown yarn with which to tie the comfortable. At small cost you'll have a dainty, warm spread which will be extremely pretty in the home you are planning with HIM. I have several very pretty-old-style patchwork quilts in a box in the attic which I shall give you when you start housekeeping. That pretty dotted, ungored Swiss skirt will make dainty, ruffled sash curtains for bedroom windows. Mary, sometimes small beginnings make great endings; if you make the best of your small belongings, some day your homely surroundings will be metamorphosed into what, in your present circumstances, would seem like extravagant luxuries. An economical young couple, beginning life with a homely, home-made rag carpet, have achieved in middle age, by their own energy and industry, carpets of tapestry and rich velvet, and costly furniture in keeping; but, never—never, dear, are they so valued, I assure you, as those inexpensive articles, conceived by our inventive brain and manufactured by our own deft fingers during our happy Springtime of life when, with our young lover husband, we built our home nest on the foundation of pure, unselfish, self-sacrificing love."

Aunt Sarah sighed; memory led her far back to when she had planned her home with her lover, John Landis, still her lover, though both have grown gray together, and shared alike the joys and sorrows of the passing years. Aunt Sarah had always been the perfect "housemother" or "Haus Frau," as the Germans phrase it, and on every line of her matured face could be read an anxious care for the family welfare. Truly could it be said of her, in the language of Henry Ward Beecher: "Whoever makes home seem to the young dearer and happier is a public benefactor."

Aunt Sarah said earnestly to Mary, "I wish it were possible for me to impart to young, inexperienced girls, about to become housewives and housemothers, a knowledge of those small economics, so necessary to health and prosperity, taught me by many years of hard work, mental travail, experience and some failures. In this extravagant Twentieth Century economy is more imperative than formerly. We feel that we need so much more these days than our grandmothers needed; and what we need, or feel that we need, is so costly. The housemother has larger problems today than yesterday.

"Every husband should give his wife an allowance according to his income, so that she will be able to systematize her buying and occasionally obtain imperishable goods at less cost. Being encouraged thus to use her dormant economical powers; she will become a powerful factor in the problem of home-making along lines that will essentially aid her husband in acquiring a comfortable competency, if not a fortune. Then she will have her husband's interest truly at heart; will study to spend his money carefully, and to the best advantage; and she herself, even, will be surprised at the many economies which will suggest themselves to save his hard-earned money when she handles that money herself, which certainly teaches her the saving habit and the value of money.

"The majority of housewives of today aren't naturally inclined to be extravagant or careless. It is rather that they lack the knowledge and experience of spending money, and spending it to the best advantage for themselves and their household needs.

"'Tis a compulsory law in England, I have heard, to allow a wife pin money, according to a man's means. 'Tis a most wise law. To a loyal wife and mother it gives added force, dignity and usefulness to have a sufficient allowance and to be allowed unquestioningly to spend that money to her best ability. Her husband, be he a working or professional man, would find it greatly to his advantage in the home as well as in his business and less of a drain on his bank account should he give his wife a suitable allowance and trust her to spend it according to her own intelligence and thrift.

"Child, many a man is violently prejudiced against giving a young wife money; many allow her to run up bills, to her hurt and to his, rather than have her, even in her household expenditure, independent of his supervision. I sincerely hope, dear, that your intended, Ralph Jackson, will be superior to this male idiosyncrasy, to term it mildly, and allow you a stated sum monthly. The home is the woman's kingdom, and she should be allowed to think for it, to buy for it, and not to be cramped by lack of money to do as she thinks best for it."

"But, Aunt Sarah, some housewives are so silly that husbands cannot really be blamed for withholding money from them and preventing them from frittering it away in useless extravagance."

"Mary, wise wives should not suffer for those who are silly and extravagant. I don't like to be sarcastic, but with the majority of the men, silliness appeals to them more than common sense. Men like to feel their superiority to us. However, though inexperienced, Mary, you aren't silly or extravagant, and Ralph could safely trust you with his money. It makes a woman so self-respecting, puts her on her mettle, to have money to do as she pleases with, to be trusted, relied upon as a reasoning, responsible being. A man, especially a young husband, makes a grave mistake when he looks upon his wife as only a toy to amuse him in his leisure moments and not as one to be trusted to aid him in his life work. A trusted young housewife, with a reasonable and regular allowance at her command, be she ever so inexperienced, will soon plan to have wholesome, nutritious food at little cost, instead of not knowing until a half hour before meal time what she will serve. She would save money and the family would be better nourished; nevertheless, I would impress it on the young housewife not to be too saving or practice too close economy, especially when buying milk and eggs, as there is nothing more nutritious or valuable. A palatable macaroni and cheese; eggs or a combination of eggs and milk, are dishes which may be substituted occasionally, at less expense, for meat. A pound of macaroni and cheese equals a pound of steak in food value. Take time and trouble to see that all food be well cooked and served, both in an attractive and appetizing manner. Buy the cheaper cuts of stewing meats, and by long, slow simmering, they will become sweet and tender and of equal nutritive value as higher priced sirloins and tenderloins.

"But, Mary, I've not yet finished that trunk and its contents. That slightly-faded pink chambray I'll cut up into quilt blocks. Made up with white patches, and quilted nicely, a pretty quilt lined with white, will be evolved. I have such a pretty design of pink and white called the 'Winding Way,' very simple to make. The beauty of the quilt consists altogether in the manner in which the blocks are put together, or it might be made over the pattern called 'The Flying Dutchman.' From that tan linen skirt may be made a laundry bag, shoe pocket, twine bag, a collar bag and a table runner, the only expense being several skeins of green embroidery silk, and a couple yards of green cord to draw the bags up with, and a couple of the same-hued skirt braids for binding edges, and," teasingly, "Mary, you might embroider Ralph Jackson's initials on the collar and laundry bag."

A-12 Pine Tree Quilt
A-13 Tree of Life
A-14 Pineapple
A-15 Enlarged Block of Winding Way Quilt
A-16 Lost Rose in the Wilderness
A-17 Tree Quilt

Mary blushed rosily red and exclaimed in an embarrassed manner, most bewitchingly, "Oh!"

Aunt Sarah laughed. She thought to have Mary look that way 'twas worth teasing her.

"Well, Mary, we can in leisure moments, from that coarse, white linen skirt which you have discarded, make bureau scarfs, sideboard cover, or a set of scalloped table mats to place under hot dishes on your dining-room table. I will give you pieces of asbestos to slip between the linen mats when finished. They are a great protection to the table. You could also make several small guest towels with deep, hemstitched ends with your initials on. You embroider so beautifully, and the drawn work you do is done as expertly as that of the Mexican women."

"Oh, Aunt Sarah, how ingenious you are."

"And, Mary, your rag carpet shall not be lacking. We shall tear up those partly-worn muslin skirts into strips one-half inch in width, and use the dyes left over from dyeing Easter eggs. I always save the dye for this purpose, they come in such pretty, bright colors. The rags, when sewed together with some I have in the attic, we'll have woven into a useful carpet for the home you are planning.'

"Oh! Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary, "do you mean a carpet like the one in the spare bedroom?"

"Yes, my dear, exactly like that, if you wish."

"Indeed I do, and I think one like that quite good enough to have in a dining-room. I think it so pretty. It does not look at all like a common rag carpet."

"No, my dear, it is nothing very uncommon. It is all in the way it is woven. Instead of having two gay rainbow stripes about three inches wide running through the length of the carpet, I had it woven with the ground work white and brown chain to form checks. Then about an inch apart were placed two threads of two shades of red woolen warp, alternating with two threads of two shades of green, across the whole width, running the length of the carpet. It has been greatly admired, as it is rather different from that usually woven. All the rag carpets I found in the house when we moved here, made by John's mother, possessed very wide stripes of rainbow colors, composed of shaded reds, yellows, blues and greens. You can imagine how very gorgeous they were, and so very heavy. Many of the country weavers use linen chain or warp instead of cotton, and always use wool warp for the stripes."

"Aunt Sarah, I want something so very much for the Colonial bedroom I should like to have when I have a home of my very own."

"What is it, dear? Anything, e'en to the half of my kingdom," laughingly replied her Aunt.

"Why, I'd love to have several rag rugs like those in your bedroom, which you call 'New Colonial' rugs."

"Certainly, my dear. They are easily made from carpet rags. I have already planned in my mind a pretty rag rug for you, to be made from your old, garnet merino shirtwaist, combined with your discarded cravenette stormcoat.

"And you'll need some pretty quilts, also," said her Aunt.

"I particularly admire the tree quilts," said Mary.

"You may have any one you choose; the one called 'Tree of Paradise,' another called 'Pineapple Design,' which was originally a border to 'Fleur de lis' quilt or 'Pine Tree,' and still another called 'Tree of Life,' and 'The Lost Rose in the Wilderness.'"

"They are all so odd," said Mary, "I scarcely know which one I think prettiest."

"All are old-fashioned quilts, which I prize highly," continued her Aunt. "Several I pieced together when a small girl, I think old-time patchwork too pretty and useful an accomplishment to have gone out of fashion.

"You shall have a small stand cover like the one you admired so greatly, given me by Aunt Cornelia. It is very simple, the materials required being a square of yard-wide unbleached muslin. In the centre of this baste a large, blue-flowered handkerchief with cream-colored ground, to match the muslin. Turn up a deep hem all around outside edge; cut out quarter circles of the handkerchief at each of four corners; baste neatly upon the muslin, leaving a space of muslin the same width as the hem around each quarter circle; briarstitch all turned-in edges with dark-blue embroidery silk, being washable, these do nicely as covers for small tables or stands on the veranda in Summertime."

"Aunt Sarah," ecstatically exclaimed Mary, "you are a wizard to plan so many useful things from a trunk of apparently useless rags. What a treasure Uncle has in you. I was fretting about having so little to make my home attractive, but I feel quite elated at the thought of having a carpet and rugs already planned, besides the numerous other things evolved from your fertile brain."

Aunt Sarah loved a joke. She held up an old broadcloth cape. "Here is a fine patch for Ralph Jackson's breeches, should he ever become sedentary and need one."

Mary reddened and looked almost offended and was at a loss for a reply.

A-18 Fleur DeLys Quilt
A-19 Oak Leaf Quilt
A-20 One Block of Fleur DeLys Quilt
A-21 Winding Way Quilt
A-22 Tulip Quilt
A-23 Flower Pot Quilt

Greatly amused, Aunt Sarah quoted ex-President Roosevelt: "'Tis time for the man with the patch to come forward and the man with the dollar to step back,'" and added, "Never mind, Mary, your Ralph is such an industrious, hustling young man that he will never need a patch to step forward, I prophesy that with such a helpmeet and 'Haus Frau' as you, Mary, he'll always be most prosperous and happy. Kiss me, dear."

Mary did so, and her radiant smile at such praise from her honored relative was beautiful to behold.

OLD RAG CARPET

CHAPTER IX.

POETRY AND PIE.

"Aunt Sarah," questioned Mary one day, "do you mind if I copy some of your recipes?"

"Certainly not, my dear," replied her Aunt.

"And I'd like to copy some of the poems, also, I never saw any one else have so much poetry in a book of cooking recipes."

"Perhaps not," replied her Aunt, "but you know, Mary, I believe in combining pleasure with my work, and our lives are made up of poetry and prose, and some lives are so very prosy. Many times when too tired to look up a favorite volume of poems, it has rested me to turn the pages of my recipe book and find some helpful thought, and a good housewife will always keep her book of recipes where it may be readily found for reference. I think, Mary, the poem 'Pennsylvania,' by Lydia M.D. O'Neil, a fine one, and I never tire of reading it over and over again. I have always felt grateful to my old schoolmaster. Professor T——, for teaching me, when a school girl, to love the writing of Longfellow, Whittier, Bryant, Tennyson and other well-known poets. I still, in memory, hear him repeat 'Thanatopsis,' by Bryant and 'The Builders,' by Longfellow. The rhymes of the 'Fireside Poet' are easily understood, and never fail to touch the heart of common folk. I know it appears odd to see so many of my favorite poems sandwiched in between old, valued cooking recipes, but, Mary, the happiness of the home life depends so largely on the food we consume. On the preparation and selection of the food we eat depends our health, and on our health is largely dependent our happiness and prosperity. Who is it has said, 'The discovery of a new dish makes more for the happiness of man than the discovery of a star'? So, dearie, you see there is not such a great difference between the one who writes a poem and the one who makes a pie. I think cooking should be considered one of the fine arts—and the woman who prepares a dainty, appetizing dish of food, which appeals to the sense of taste, should be considered as worthy of praise as the artist who paints a fine picture to gratify our sense of sight. I try to mix all the poetry possible in prosaic every-day life. We country farmers' wives, not having the opportunities of our more fortunate city sisters, such as witnessing plays from Shakespeare, listening to symphony concerts, etc., turn to 'The Friendship of Books,' of which Washington Irving writes: 'Cheer us with the true friendship, which never deceived hope nor deserted sorrow.'"

"Yes," said Mary, "but remember, Aunt Sarah, Chautauqua will be held next Summer in a near-by town, and, as Uncle John is one of the guarantors, you will wish to attend regularly and will, I know, enjoy hearing the excellent lectures, music and concerts."

"Yea," replied her Aunt, "Chautauqua meetings will commence the latter part of June, and I will expect you and Ralph to visit us then. I think Chautauqua a godsend to country women, especially farmers' wives; it takes them away from their monotonous daily toil and gives them new thoughts and ideas."

"I can readily understand, Aunt Sarah, why the poem, 'Life's Common Things,' appeals to you; it is because you see beauty in everything. Aunt Sarah, where did you get this very old poem, 'The Deserted City'?"

"Why, that was given me by John's Uncle, who thought the poem fine."

"Sad is the sight, the city once so fair!
An hundred palaces lie buried there;
Her lofty towers are fallen, and creepers grow
O'er marbled dome and shattered portico.

"Once in the gardens, lovely girls at play,
Culled the bright flowers, and gently touched the spray;
But now wild creatures in their savage joy
Tread down the flowers and the plants destroy.

"By night no torches in the windows gleam;
By day no women in their beauty beam;
The smoke has ceased—the spider there has spread
His snares in safety—and all else is dead."

"Indeed, it is a 'gem,'" said Mary, after slowly reading aloud parts of several stanzas.

"Yes," replied her Aunt, "Professor Schmidt tells me the poem was written by Kalidasa (the Shakespeare of Hindu literature), and was written 1800 years before Goldsmith gave us his immortal work, 'The Deserted Village.'"

"I like the poem, 'Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel,'" said Mary, "and I think this true by Henry Ward Beecher:"

"'Do not be troubled because you have not great virtues,
God made a million spears of grass where He made one tree;
The earth is fringed and carpeted not with forests but with grasses,
Only have enough of little virtues and common fidelities,
And you need not mourn because you are neither a hero nor a saint.'

"This is a favorite little poem of mine, Aunt Sarah. I'll just write it on this blank page in your book."

There's a little splash of sunshine and a little spot of shade,
always somewhere near,
The wise bask in the sunshine, but the foolish choose the shade.
The wise are gay and happy, on the foolish, sorrow's laid,
And the fault's their own, I fear.

For the little splash of sunshine and the little spot of shade
Are here for joint consumption, for comparison are made;
We're all meant to be happy, not too foolish or too staid.
And the right dose to be taken is some sunshine mixed with shade.

"Aunt Sarah, I see there is still space on this page to write another poem, a favorite of mine. It is called, 'Be Strong,' by Maltbie Davenport."

Be Strong!
We are not here to play, to dream, to drift;
We have hard word to do, and loads to lift,
Shun not the struggle; face it, 'tis God's gift.

Be Strong!
Say not the days are evil—who's to blame?
And fold the hands and acquiesce—Oh, shame!
Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in God's name.

Be Strong!
It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong,
How hard the battle goes, the day how long;
Faint not, fight on! Tomorrow comes the song,

LIFE'S COMMON THINGS.

How lovely are life's common things.
When health flows in the veins;
The golden sunshine of the days
When Phoebus holds the reins;

The floating clouds against the blue;
The fragrance of the air;
The nodding flowers by the way;
The green grass everywhere;

The feathery beauty of the elm,
With graceful-swaying boughs.
Where nesting songbirds find a home
And the night wind sighs and soughs;

The hazy blue of distant hill,
With wooded slope and crest;
The crimson sky when low at night
The sun sinks in the West;

The thrilling grandeur of the storm,
The lightning's vivid flash,
The mighty rush of wind and rain,
The thunder's awful crash.

And then the calm that follows storm,
And rainbow in the sky;
The rain-washed freshness of the earth—
A singing bird near by.

And oh, the beauty of the night!
Its hush, its thrill, its charm;
The twinkling brilliance of its stars;
Its tranquil peace and calm.

Oh, loving fatherhood of God
To give us every day
The lovely common things of life
To brighten all the way!

(Susan M. Perkins, in the Boston Transcript)

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.

Abou Ben Adhem—may his tribe increase—
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace
And saw, within the moonlight of his room,
Making it rich and like a lily in bloom,
An angel writing in a book of gold.
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said:
"What writest thou?" The vision raised his head,
And with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered: "The names of those who love the Lord."
"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"
Replied the angel. Abou spoke low,
But cheerily still, and Said, "I pray thee, then,
write me as one that loves his fellow-men."
The angel wrote and vanished. The next night
It came again, with a great, wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT.

CHAPTER X.

SIBYLLA LINSABIGLER.

A very original character was Sibylla Linsabigler, who had been a member of the Landis household several years. She was Aunt Sarah's only maid servant, but she disliked being referred to as a servant, and when she overheard "Fritz" Schmidt, as he passed the Landis farm on his way to the creek for a days fishing, call to Mary: "Miss Midleton, will you please send the butter over with the servant today, as I shall not return home in time for dinner" Sibylla said, "I ain't no servant. I'm hired girl What does that make out if I do work here? Pop got mad with me 'cause I wouldn't work at home no more for him and Mom without they paid me. They got three more girls to home yet that can do the work. My Pop owns a big farm and sent our 'Chon' to the college, and it's mean 'fer' him not to give us girls money for dress, so I work out, 'Taint right the way us people what has to work are treated these days," said Sibylla to herself, as she applied the broom vigorously to the gay-flowered carpet in the Landis parlor. "Because us folks got to work ain't no reason why them tony people over to the Perfessor's should call me a 'servant.' I guess I know I milk the cows, wash dishes, scrub floors, and do the washin' and ir'nin' every week, but I'm no 'servant,' I'm just as good any day as that good-fer-nothin' Perfesser's son," continued Sibylla, growing red in the face with indignation. "Didn't I hear that worthless scamp, Fritz Schmidt, a-referrin' to me and a-sayin' to Miss Midleton fer the 'servant' to bring over the butter? Betch yer life this here 'servant' ain't a-goin' to allow eddicated people to make a fool of her. First chance I get I'll give that Perfesser a piece of my mind."

Sibylla's opportunity came rather unexpectedly. The gentle, mild-mannered Professor was on good terms with his sturdy, energetic neighbor, John Landis, and frequently visited him for a neighborly chat. On this particular day he called as usual and found Sibvlla in the mood described.

"Good afternoon, Sibylla," said the Professor, good-naturedly. "How are you today?"

"I'd be a whole lot better if some people weren't so smart," replied Sibylla, venting her feelings on the broom. "Should think a Perfesser would feel himself too big to talk to a 'servant'."

"On the contrary, my dear girl, I feel honored. I presume you are not feeling as well as usual. What makes you think it is condescension for me to address you?" asked the genial old man, kindly.

"Well, since you ask me, I don't mind a-tellin' you. Yesterday your son insulted me, I won't take no insult from nobody, I am just as good as what you are, even if I hain't got much book larnin'."

With this deliverance, Sibylla felt she had done full justice to the occasion and would have closed the interview abruptly had not the Professor, with a restraining hand, detained her.

"We must get to the bottom of this grievance, Sibylla. I am sure there is some mistake somewhere. What did my son say?"

"Well, if you want to know," replied the irate domestic, 'I'll tell you. He called me a 'servant.' I know I'm only a working girl, but your son nor nobody else ain't got no right to abuse me by callin' me a 'servant'."

"Ah! I see. You object to the term 'servant' being applied to you," said the Professor, comprehendingly. "The word 'servant' is distasteful to you. You feel it is a disgrace to be called a servant. I see! I see!" In a fatherly way, the old man resumed: "In a certain sense we are all servants. The history of human achievements is a record of service. The men and women who have helped the world most were all servants—servants to humanity. The happiest man is he who serves. God calls some men to sow and some to reap; some to work in wood and stone; to sing and speak. Work is honorable in all, regardless of the capacity in which we serve. There is no great difference, after all, between the ordinary laborer and the railroad president; both are servants, and the standard of measurement to be applied to each man is the same. It is not so much a question of station in life as it is the question of efficiency. Best of all, work is education. There is culture that comes without college and university. He who graduates from the college of hard work is as honorable as he who takes a degree at Yale or Harvard; for wisdom can be found in shop and foundry, field and factory, in the kitchen amid pots and kettles, as well as in office and school. The truly educated man is the man who has learned the duty and responsibility of doing something useful, something helpful, something to make this old world of ours better and a happier place in which to live. The word 'servant,' Sibylla, is a beautiful one, rightly understood. The greatest man who ever lived was a servant. All His earthly ministry was filled with worthy deeds. When man pleaded with Him to rest, He answered: 'My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.' When one of Christ's followers desired to express the true nature of his work and office, he called himself a servant. He used a word, 'doulos,' which means, in the Greek language, a slave or a bond-servant. By the word 'doulos' he meant to say that his mission in life was to work, to do good, to serve. This man was a great preacher, but it is possible for any one to become a 'doulos' in so far as he is willing to serve God and his fellowman. You see, Sibylla, the spirit of Christian work and brotherly love is the spirit of 'doulos.' The word has been transformed by service and unselfish devotion to duty. Great men who have blessed the world, and good and noble women who have helped to uplift humanity, have done it through service. It is just as honorable to bake well, and cook well, and to do the humblest daily tasks efficiently, as it is to play well on the piano and talk fluently about the latest books."

At the conclusion of the Professor's little talk on the dignity of labor, a new light shone in Sibylla's eyes and a new thought gripped her soul. The spirit of "doulos" had displaced her antipathy toward the word servant.

"I'll take that butter over to the Professer's home right away," she said, to herself.

Before leaving Sibylla, the Professor quoted from the "Toiling of Felix," by Henry Vandyke:

"Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod, All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of God, March together toward His triumph, do the task His hands prepare; Honest toil is holy service, faithful work is praise and prayer."

They who work without complaining, do the holy will of God.

Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil.

Sibylla Linsabigler was a healthy, large-boned, solidly-built, typical "Pennsylvania German" girl. Her clear, pinkish complexion looked as if freshly scrubbed with soap and water. A few large, brown freckles adorned the bridge of her rather broad, flat nose. She possessed red hair and laughing, red-brown eyes, a large mouth, which disclosed beautiful even, white teeth when she smiled, extraordinary large feet and hands, strong, willing and usually good-natured, although possessed of a quick temper, as her red hair indicated. Kind-hearted to a fault, she was of great assistance to Aunt Sarah, although she preferred any other work to that of cooking or baking. She kept the kitchen as well as other parts of the house, to quote Aunt Sarah, "neat as a pin," and did not object to any work, however hard or laborious, as long as she was not expected to do the thinking and planning. She was greatly attached to both Aunt Sarah and Mary, but stood rather in awe of John Landis, who had never spoken a cross word to her in the three years she had lived at the farm.

Sarah Landis, knowing Sibylla to be an honest, industrious girl, appreciated her good qualities, thought almost as much of Sibylla as if she had been her daughter, and treated her in like manner, and for this reason, if for no other, she received willing service from the girl.

Sibylla, a swift worker at all times, never finished work so quickly as on Wednesday and Saturday evenings, when she "kept company" with Jake Crouthamel. "Chake," as Sibylla called him, was a sturdy, red-faced young farmer, all legs and arms. He appeared to be put together loosely at the joints, like a jumping-jack, and never appeared at ease in his ill-fitting "store clothes." He usually wore gray corduroy trousers and big cowhide boots, a pink and white striped shirt and red necktie.

Sibylla did not notice his imperfections, and thought him handsome as a Greek god.

Jake, an honest, industrious young fellow, worked on a near-by farm, owned his own carriage, and had the privilege of using one of the farm horses when he wished, so he and Sibylla frequently took "choy rides," as Sibylla called them.

Jake Crouthamel was usually called "Boller-Yockel," this name having been accorded him on account of his having delivered to a purchaser a load of hay largely composed of rag-weed. The man called him an old "Boller-Yockel," and the name had clung to Jake for years.

CHAPTER XI.

"NEW COLONIAL" RAG RUGS.

Several days had elapsed since that on which Mary's Aunt had planned to use the contents of her trunk to such good advantage, when Mary, coming into the room where her Aunt was busily engaged sewing, exclaimed: "Don't forget, Auntie, you promised to teach me to crochet rag rugs!"

A "HIT-AND-MISS" RUG

"Indeed, I've not forgotten, and will make my promise good at once," said Aunt Sarah. "We shall need quantities of carpet rags cut about one-half inch in width, the same as those used for making rag carpet. Of course, you are aware, Mary, that heavier materials should be cut in narrower strips than those of thinner materials. You will also require a long, wooden crochet needle, about as thick as an ordinary wooden lead pencil, having a hook at one end, similar to a common bone crochet needle, only larger. For a circular rug, crochet about twelve stitches (single crochet) over one end of a piece of candle wick or cable cord; or, lacking either of these, use a carpet rag of firm material; then draw the crocheted strip into as small a circle as possible, fasten and crochet round and round continuously until finished. The centre of a circular or oblong rug may be a plain color, with border of colored light and dark rags, sewed together promiscuously, called 'Hit and Miss.'

A BROWN AND TAN RUG

"Or you might have a design similar to a 'Pin-wheel' in centre of the circular rug, with alternate stripes, composed of dark and light-colored rags."

"I'd like one made in that manner from different shades that harmonize, browns and tans, for instance," said Mary.

"You may easily have a rug of that description," continued her Aunt. "With a package of brown dye, we can quickly transform some light, woolen carpet rags I possess into pretty shades of browns and tans."

RUG

"For a circular rug, with design in centre resembling a pin-wheel, commence crocheting the rug same as preceding one. Crochet three rows of one color, then mark the rug off into four parts, placing a pin to mark each section or quarter of the rug. At each of four points crochet one stitch of a contrasting shade. Crochet once around the circle, using a shade similar to that of the centre of rug for design, filling in between with the other shade. For the following row, crochet two stitches beneath the one stitch (not directly underneath the stitch, but one stitch beyond), filling in between with the other color. The third row, add three stitches beneath the two stitches in same manner as preceding row, and continue, until design in centre is as large as desired, then crochet 'Hit or Miss' or stripes. Do not cut off the carpet rags at each of the four points after crocheting stitches, but allow each one to remain and crochet over them, then pick up on needle and crochet every time you require stitches of contrasting shade. Then crochet several rows around the rug with different shades until rug is the required size. The under side should be finished off as neatly as the right, or upper side. Mary, when not making a design, sew the rags together as if for weaving carpet. When crocheting circular rugs, occasionally stretch the outside row to prevent the rug from curling up at edges when finished, as it would be apt to do if too tightly crocheted. If necessary, occasionally add an extra stitch. Avoid also crocheting it too loosely, as it would then appear like a ruffle. The advantage of crocheting over a heavy cord is that the work may be easily drawn up more tightly if too lose."

CHAPTER XII.

MARY IMITATES NAVAJO BLANKETS.

On her return from an afternoon spent at Professor Schmidt's, Mary remarked to Aunt Sarah, "For the first time in my life I have an original idea!"

"Do tell me child, what it is!"

"The 'New Colonial' rag rugs we have lately finished are fine, but I'd just love to have a Navajo blanket like those owned by Professor Schmidt; and I intend to make a rag rug in imitation of his Navajo blanket."

"Yes," answered her Aunt, "I have always greatly admired them myself, especially the large gray one which covers the Professor's own chair in the library. The Professor brought them with him when he returned from 'Cutler's Ranch' at Rociada, near Las Vegas, New Mexico, where he visited his nephew, poor Raymond, or rather, I should say, fortunate Raymond, an only child of the Professor's sister. A quiet, studious boy, he graduated at the head of his class at an early age, but he inherited the weak lungs of his father, who died of consumption. Raymond was a lovable boy, with a fund of dry humor and wit—the idol of his mother, who, taking the advice of a specialist, accompanied her boy, as a last resort, to New Mexico, where, partly owing to his determination to get well, proper food and daily rides on the mesa, on the back of his little pinto pony, he regained perfect health, and today is well, happily married and living in Pasadena, California, so I have been told by Frau Schmidt, who dearly loves the boy."

"But Mary, forgive an old woman for rambling away from the subject in which you are interested—Navajo blankets. Ever since we planned to make a rug with a swastika in the centre, I have been trying to evolve from my brain (and your Uncle John says my bump of inventiveness is abnormally large) a Navajo rag rug for the floor of the room you intend to furnish as Ralph's den, in the home you are planning. Well, my dear, a wooden crochet hook in your deft fingers will be the magic wand which will perform a miracle and transform into Navajo blankets such very commonplace articles as your discarded gray eiderdown kimona, and a pair of your Uncle's old gray trousers, which have already been washed and ripped by Sibylla, to be used for making carpet rags. These, combined with the gray skirt I heard you say had outlived its day of usefulness, will furnish the background of the rug. The six triangles in the centre of the rug, also lighter stripes at each end of the rug, we will make of that old linen chair-cover and your faded linen skirt, which you said I might use for carpet rags; and, should more material be needed, I have some old, gray woolen underwear in my patch bag, a gray-white, similar to the real Navajo. The rows of black with which we shall outline the triangles may be made from those old, black, silk-lisle hose you gave me, by cutting them round and round in one continuous strip. Heavy cloth should be cut in very narrow strips. Sibylla will do that nicely; her hands are more used to handling large, heavy shears than are yours. The linen-lawn skirt you may cut in strips about three-fourths of an inch in width, as that material is quite thin. I would sew rags of one color together like carpet rags, not lapping the ends more than necessary to hold them together. The rug will be reversible, both sides being exactly alike when finished. I should make the rug about fifty-three stitches across. This will require about six and one-fourth yards of carpet rags, when sewed together, to crochet once across. I think it would be wise to cut all rags of different weight materials before commencing to crochet the rug, so they may be well mixed through. I will assist you with the work at odd moments, and in a short time the rug will be finished."

The rug, when finished, was truly a work of art, and represented many hours of labor and thought. But Mary considered it very fascinating work, and was delighted with the result of her labor—a rug the exact imitation of one of the Professor's genuine Indian Navajo blankets, the work of her own hands, and without the expenditure of a penny.

Mary remarked: "I do not think all the triangles in my rug are the exact size of the paper pattern you made me, Aunt Sarah. The two in the centre appear larger than the others."

"Well," remarked her Aunt, "if you examine closely the blankets owned by Professor Schmidt, you will find the on the ones woven by Navajo Indians are not of an equal size."

'Tis said Navajo blankets and Serapes will become scarce and higher in price in the future, on account of the numerous young Indians who have been educated and who prefer other occupations to that of weaving blankets, as did their forefathers; and the present disturbance in Mexico will certainly interfere with the continuance of this industry for a time.

IMITATION OF NAVAJO BLANKET

RUG WITH DESIGN

"Mary, while you have been planning your Navajo rug, I have been thinking how we may make a very attractive as well as useful rug. You remember, we could not decide what use to make of your old, tan cravenette stormcoat? I have been thinking we might use this, when cut into carpet rags, for the principal part of the rug, and that old, garnet merino blouse waist might be cut and used for the four corners of a rug, and we might have gay stripes in the centre of the rug to form a sort of design, and also put gay stripes at each end of the rug.

"And you might crochet a rug, plain 'Hit or Miss,' of rather bright-colored rags."

"Yes," said Mary, "I think I will crochet a swastika in the centre of a rug, as you suggest, of bright orange, outlined with black, and a stripe of orange edged with black at each end of the rug to match the centre. Don't you think that would be pretty, Aunt Sarah?"

"HIT-OR-MISS" RUG WITH SWASTIKA CENTRE

"Yes indeed, but Mary, don't you think the swastika would show more distinctly on a rug with a plain background?"

"Perhaps it would," replied Mary, "but I think I'll crochet one of very gayly-colored rags, with a swastika in the centre."

A "PRAYER RUG" OF SILK SCRAPS.

"Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "do tell me how that pretty little rug composed of silk scraps is made."

"Oh, that silk rug; 'twas given me by Aunt Cornelia, who finished it while here on a visit from New York. I never saw another like it, and it has been greatly admired. Although possessed of an ordinary amount of patience, I don't think I'll ever make one for myself. I don't admire knitted rugs of any description, neither do I care for braided rugs. I think the crocheted ones prettier. But, Mary, this small silk rug is easily made should you care to have one. I will commence knitting one for you at once. You will then find a use for the box of bright-colored silks you possess, many of which are quite too small to be used in any other manner. Professor Schmidt calls this a 'Prayer Rug.' He said: 'This rug, fashioned of various bright-hued silks of orange, purple and crimson, a bright maze of rich colors, without any recognizable figure or design, reminds me of the description of the 'Prayer Carpet' or rugs of the Mohammedans. They are composed of rich-hued silks of purple, ruby and amber. 'Tis said their delicacy of shade is marvelous and was suggested by the meadows of variegated flowers.' But this is a digression; you wished directions for making the rug.

"Use tiny scraps of various bright-hued silks, velvets and satins, cut about 3½ inches long and about one-half inch in width. Ends should always be cut slanting or bias; never straight. All you will require besides the silk scraps, will be a ball of common cord or twine, or save all cord which comes tied around packages, as I do, and use that and two ordinary steel knitting needles. When making her rug, Aunt Cornelia knitted several strips a couple of inches in width and the length she wished the finished rug to be. The strips when finished she sewed together with strong linen thread on the wrong side of the rug. She commenced the rug by knitting two rows of the twine or cord. (When I was a girl we called this common knitting 'garter stitch.') Then, when commencing to knit third row, slip off first stitch onto your other needle; knit one stitch, then lay one of the tiny scraps of silk across or between the two needles; knit one stitch with the cord. This holds the silk in position. Then fold or turn one end of silk back on the other piece of silk and knit one stitch of cord to hold them in place, always keeping silk on one side, on the top of rug, as this rug is not reversible. Continue in this manner until one row is finished. Then knit once across plain with cord, and for next row lay silk scraps in and knit as before. Always knit one row of the cord across plain after knitting in scraps of silk, as doing this holds them firmly in position. Of course, Mary, you will use judgment and taste in combining light and dark, bright and dull colors. Also, do not use several scraps of velvet together. Use velvet, silk and satin alternately. Should any scraps of silk be longer than others after knitting, trim off evenly so all will be of uniform size. When her rug was finished, Aunt Cornelia spread it, wrong side uppermost, on an unused table, covered it with a thick boiled paste, composed of flour and water, allowed it to dry thoroughly, then lined the rug with a heavy piece of denim. This was done to prevent the rug from curling up at edges, and caused it to lie flat on floor; but I think I should prefer just a firm lining or foundation of heavy burlap or denim."

"Thank you, Aunt Sarah, for your explicit directions. I cannot fail to know just how to knit a silk rug, should I ever care to do so. I think the work would be simply fascinating."

CHAPTER XIII.

THE GIRLS' CAMPFIRE, ORGANIZED BY MARY.

One day in early June, when all nature seemed aglow with happiness, we find Mary earnestly discussing with Elizabeth Schmidt the prosaic, humdrum life of many of the country girls, daughters of well-to-do farmers in the vicinity.

"I wish," said Mary, wrinkling her forehead thoughtfully, "I could think of some new interest to introduce into their lives; some way of broadening their outlook; anything to bring more happiness into their commonplace daily toil; something good and helpful for them to think about."

All at once Mary, who was not usually demonstrative, clapped her hands, laughed gleefully and said: "I have it, Elizabeth. The very thing! Suppose we start a 'girls' campfire,' right here in the country? I don't think we shall have any trouble to organize."

"And you, because you understand all about it, will be the Guardian," said Elizabeth.

At first Mary demurred, but, overcome by Elizabeth's pleading, finally gave a reluctant consent. They then made out a list of the girls they thought might be willing to join, Mary promising to write at once for a handbook. They separated, Elizabeth to call to see the girls, and Mary to interview their parents. Their efforts were rewarded with surprisingly gratifying results, for many of the girls had read about the "Campfire Girls" and were anxious to become members.

One afternoon, several weeks later, had you gone into the old apple orchard, at the farm, you would have seen thirteen eager young girls, ranging in age from fourteen to sixteen, listening intently to Mary, who was telling them about the "Campfire Girls." What she told them was something like this:

"Now girls, we are going to have a good time. Some of our good times will be play and some work. When you join, you will become a 'Wood Gatherer,' and after three months' successful work, if you have met certain qualifications, you will be promoted to the rank of 'Fire Maker.' Later on, when you come to realize what it means to be a 'Torch Bearer,' you will be put in that rank. The first law which you learn to follow is one which you must apply to your daily life. It is: Seek beauty, give service, pursue knowledge, be trustworthy, hold on to health, glorify work, be happy. 'The Camp Fire' has meant so much to girls I have known, for their betterment, and has been so helpful in many ways, you surely will never regret becoming a member of the organization, or be anything but happy if you keep their laws. There will be no dues, except what is collected for good times, and no expense except the cost of your ceremonial costume, epaulettes and honor beads. The latter are quite inexpensive. The honors are divided into several classes, and for each honor a bead is given as a symbol of your work. A special colored bead is given for each class. We shall meet about once every week. The monthly meeting is called the 'Council Fire.' I will tell you later about the 'Wohelo' ceremony. By the way, girls, 'Wohelo' stands for work, health and love. You see, the word is composed of the first two letters of each word."

The girls appeared to be greatly interested, and Mary felt very much encouraged. Some of the girls left to talk it over with the homefolks, while others, wishing to learn more of the organisation, plied Mary with numerous questions. Finally, in desperation, she said: "Girls, I will read you the following from the 'Camp Fire Girls' Handbook, which I received this morning:"

'The purpose of this organization is to show that the common things of daily life are the chief means of beauty, romance and adventure; to aid in the forming of habits making for health and vigor, the out-of-door habit and the out-of-door spirit; to devise ways of measuring and creating standards to woman's work, and to give girls the opportunity to learn how to "keep step," to learn team work, through doing it; to help girls and women serve the community, the larger home, in the same way they have always served the individual home; to give status and social recognition to the knowledge of the mother, and thus restore the intimate relationship of mothers and daughters to each other.'

"Well, girls," said Mary, as she laid aside the book, "I think you all understand what a benefit this will be to you, and I will do all in my power to help you girls, while I am at the farm this summer. It is too late to tell you any more today. The information I have given you will suffice for the present. Three cheers for our Camp Fire! which will be under way in two months, I trust."

The members of "Shawnee" Camp Fire held their first Council Fire, or Ceremonial Meeting, the second week in July. The girls, all deeply interested, worked hard to secure honors which were awarded for engaging in domestic duties well known to the home, for studying and observing the rules of hygiene and sanitation, and for learning and achievements in various ways. They held weekly meetings and studied diligently to win the rank of Fire Maker.

A girl, when she joins, becomes a Wood Gatherer; she then receives a silver ring.

The weeks pass swiftly by, and it is time for another Camp Fire. The girls selected as their meeting place for this occasion farmer Druckenmuller's peach orchard, to which they walked, a distance of about three miles from the home of Elizabeth Schmidt. They left about two o'clock in the afternoon, intending to return home before nightfall, a good time being anticipated, as they took with them lunch and materials for a corn-roast.

The peach orchard in question, covering many acres, was situated at the foot of a low hill. Between the two flowed an enchanting, fairy-like stream, the cultivated peach orchard on one side, and on the opposite side the forest-like hill, covered with an abundance of wild flowers.

When the afternoon set for the Council Fire arrived, had you happened to meet the fifteen merry, chattering girls, accompanied by two older girls, Mary and Lucy Robbins (the country school teacher), as chaperones, wending their way to the orchard, you, without a doubt, would have smiled and a question might naturally have arisen regarding their sanity. They certainly possessed intelligent faces, but why those queer-shaped Indian dresses? And such an awkward length for a young girl's dress! And why was their hair all worn hanging in one braid over each shoulder, with a band over the forehead? Why so many strings of gaudy beads around their necks? These questions may all be answered in one single sentence: The girls are dressed in Ceremonial Costume.

ELIZABETH SCHMIDT "LAUGHING WATER"

A great many delays along the way were caused by girls asking the names of the different wild flowers and weeds they noticed in passing. One of the girls stopped to examine a prickly-looking plant about two feet high, with little, blue flowers growing along the stem, and asked if any one knew the name of it. They were about to look it up in a small "Flower Guide" owned by one of the girls, when some one said: "Why, that is a weed called 'Vipers Bougloss,'" They also found cardinal flower, thorn apple, monkey flower and jewel-weed in abundance, wild sunflower, ginseng, early golden rod, "Joe-pie-weed," marshallow, black cohosh and purple loose-trifle. The girls also noticed various birds.

On a tall tree one of the girls espied a rose-breasted Grosbeak, rare in this part of Bucks County. They all stopped and watched for a short time a white-bellied Nut-hatch. The girls were startled as a Scarlet Tanger flew past to join his mate, and they at last reached their rendezvous, the orchard.

By half-past three they were all seated in a circle waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Mary Midleton, their Guardian, stepped to the front, saying: "Sunflower, light the fire." Sunflower, through several months of daily attainment, had become a Fire-maker and was very proud of the Fire-maker's bracelet she was entitled to wear. Sunflower was given that name because she always looked on the bright side of everything; she looked like a sunflower, too, with her tanned face and light, curly hair.

All the girls had symbolical names given them. "Lark" was so named because of her sweet voice and because she loved to sing; "Sweet Tooth," on account of her love for candy; "Quick Silver," because she was quick, bright and witty; "Great Buffalo," a girl who was very strong; Elizabeth Schmidt, "Laughing Water," so named because she laughed and giggled at everybody and everything; "Babbling Brook," because it seemed an utter impossibility for her to stop talking; "Burr," because she sticks to ideas and friends; "Faith," quiet and reserved; "Comet," comes suddenly and brings a lot of light; "Black Hawk," always eager at first, but inclined to let her eagerness wear off: "Pocahontas," because she never can hurry; "Ginger Foot," a fiery temper, "Gypsy," so named on account of her black hair; "Bright Eyes," for her bright, blue eyes; "Rainbow," for her many ways, and because she is pretty.

As "Sunflower" took the matches and knelt by the pile of wood and lighted the fire, she recited the Ode to the Fire:

"Oh, Fire! Long years ago, when our fathers fought with great beasts, you were their protector. From the cruel cold of winter you saved. When they needed food, you changed the flesh of beasts into savory meat for them. Through all ages your mysterious flame has been a symbol of the Great Spirit to them. Tonight we light this fire in remembrance of the Great Spirit Who gave you to us."

Then the girls sang the chant or chanted:

Wohelo for aye,
Wohelo for aye,
Wohelo for aye,
Wohelo for work,
Wohelo for health,
Wohelo,
Wohelo for love.

Then they recited the Wood-gatherer's Desire:

"It is my desire to be a Campfire Girl and keep the law of the Camp Fire, which is 'To Seek Beauty, Give Service, Pursue Knowledge, Be Trustworthy, Hold onto Health, Glorify Work, Be Happy,'"

None had yet attained the highest rank, that of Torch Bearer, won by still greater achievement, the Camp having been organized so recently. Their motto was "The light which has been given to me, I desire to pass undimmed to others."

"Gypsy," the secretary, then read the "Count" for the last meeting and called the roll, and the girls handed in the list of honors they had won in the last month. Some amused themselves playing games, while others gathered more wood.

At five o'clock the corn and white and sweet potatoes were in the fire roasting. A jolly circle of girls around the fire were busily engaged toasting "Weiners" for the feast, which was finally pronounced ready to be partaken of. The hungry girls "fell to" and everything eatable disappeared as if by magic; and last, but not least, was the toasting of marshmallows, speared on the points of long, two-pronged sticks (broken from near-by trees), which were held over the fire until the marshmallows turned a delicate color. When everything had been eaten, with the exception of several cardboard boxes, corn cobs and husks, the girls quickly cleared up. Then, seated around the fire, told what they knew of Indian legends and folklore.

Noticing the sun slowly sinking in the West, they quickly gathered together their belongings and started homeward singing, "My Country, 'tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty."

Thus broke up the second Council Fire, and in the heart of each girl was the thought of how much the Campfire was helping them to love God and His works.

CHAPTER XIV.

MARY MAKES "VIOLET" AND "ROSE LEAF" BEADS.

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary one day, "you promised to tell me exactly how you made those 'Rose Beads' you have."

"Yes, my dear, and you must make the beads before the June roses are gone. The process is very simple. If you would have them very sweet, get the petals of the most fragrant roses. I used petals of the old-fashioned, pink 'hundred leaf' and 'blush roses.' Gather a quantity, for you will need them all. Grind them to a pulp in the food chopper, repeat several times and place the pulp and juice into an iron kettle or pan. This turns the pulp black, which nothing but an iron kettle will do; cook, and when the consistency of dough it is ready to mold into beads. Take a bit of the dough, again as large as the size you wish your beads to be when finished, as they shrink in size when dried, and make them of uniform size, or larger ones for the centre of the necklace, as you prefer. Roll in the palms of your hands, until perfectly round, stick a pin through each bead, then stick the pins into a bake board. Be careful the bead does not touch the board, as that would spoil its shape. Allow the beads to remain until perfectly dry. If they are to have a dull finish, leave as they are. If you wish to polish them, take a tiny piece of vaseline on the palm of the hand and rub them between the palms until the vaseline is absorbed. Then string them on a linen thread. Keep in a closed box to preserve their fragrance. Those I showed you, Mary, I made many years ago, and the scent of the roses clings 'round them still.'"

"Did you know, Mary, that beads may be made from the petals of the common wild blue violet in exactly the same manner as they are made from rose leaves?"

"No, indeed, but I don't think the making of beads from the petals of roses and violets as wonderful as the beads which you raise in the garden. Those shiny, pearl-like seeds or beads of silvery-gray, called 'Job's Tears,' which grow on a stalk resembling growing corn; and to think Professor Schmidt raised those which Elizabeth strung on linen thread, alternately with beads, for a portiere in their sitting-room."

"Yes, my dear, the beads must be pierced before they become hard; later they should be polished. Did you ever see them grow, Mary? The beads or 'tears' grow on a stalk about fifteen inches high and from the bead or 'tear' grows a tiny, green spear resembling oats. They are odd and with very little care may he grown in a small garden."

"They certainly are a curiosity," said Mary.

CHAPTER XV.

MARY AND ELIZABETH VISIT SADIE SINGMASTER.

Farmer Landis, happening to mention at the breakfast table his intention of driving over to the "Ax Handle Factory" to obtain wood ashes to use as a fertilizer, his wife remarked, "Why not take Mary with you, John? She can stop at Singmaster's with a basket of carpet rags for Sadie. I've been wanting to send them over for some time." Turning to Mary, she said: "Poor little, crippled Sadie! On account of a fall, which injured her spine, when a small child, she has been unable to walk for years. She cuts and sews carpet rags, given her by friends and neighbors, and from their sale to a carpet weaver in a near-by town, helps her widowed mother eke out her small income."

"I'd love to go see her," said Mary. Elizabeth Schmidt also expressed her willingness to go, when asked, saying: "I am positive mother will add her contribution to the carpet rags for Sadie, I do pity her so very much."

"Yes," said Mary's Aunt, "she is poor and proud. She will not accept charity, so we persuade her to take carpet rags, as we have more than we can possibly use."

On reaching the Singmaster cottage, the girls alighted with their well-filled baskets, Mary's Uncle driving on to the "Ax Handle Factory," promising to call for the girls on his return. The sad, brown eyes of Sadie, too large for her pinched, sallow face, shone with pleasure at sight of the two young girls so near her own age, and she smiled her delight on examining the numerous bright-colored patches brought by them. Thinking the pleasure she so plainly showed might appear childish to the two girls, she explained: "I do get so dreadfully tired sewing together so many dull homely rags. I shall enjoy making balls of these pretty, bright colors."

"Sadie," Mary inquired, "will you think me inquisitive should I ask what the carpet weaver pays you for the rags when you have sewed and wound them into balls?"

"Certainly not," replied Sadie. "Four cents a pound is what he pays me. It takes two of these balls to make a pound," and she held up a ball she had just finished winding.

"Is that all you get?" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Have you ever made rag rugs?" inquired Mary.

"No, I have never even seen one. Are they anything like braided mats?"

"Yes, they are somewhat similar to them, but I crochet mine and think them prettier. I have made several, with Aunt Sarah's assistance. I'll come over and teach you to make them one of these days, should you care to learn, and I'm positive you will find ready sale for them. In fact, I've several friends in the city who have admired the ones I have, and would like to buy rugs for the Colonial rooms they are furnishing. Sadie, can you crochet?"

"Oh, yes. I can do the plain stitch very well."

"That is all that will be necessary. You will become very much interested in inventing new designs, it is very fascinating work, and it will be more remunerative than sewing carpet rags. Aunt Sarah will send you more carpet rags if you require them, and should you wish dull colors of blue or pink, a small package of dye will transform white or light-colored rags into any desired shade, to match the furnishings of different rooms. I think the crocheted rugs much prettier than the braided ones, which are so popular in the 'Nutting' pictures, and the same pretty shades may be used when rugs are crocheted."

When Farmer Landis came for the girls, he found them too busily engaged talking to hear his knock at the door. During the drive home Mary could think and talk of nothing but Sadie Singmaster, and the rugs she had promised to teach her to make at an early day. Elizabeth, scarcely less enthusiastic, said: "I've a lot of old things I'll give her to cut up for carpet rags."

Reaching home, Mary could scarcely wait an opportunity to tell Aunt Sarah all her plans for Sadie's betterment. When she finally did tell her Aunt, she smiled and said: "Mary, I'm not surprised. You are always planning to do a kind act for some one. You remind me of the lines, 'If I Can Live,' by Helen Hunt Jackson." And she repeated the following for Mary:

IF I CAN LIVE.

If I can live
To make some pale face brighter and to give
A second luster to some tear-dimmed eye,
Or e'en impart
One throb of comfort to an aching heart,
Or cheer some wayworn soul in passing by;

If I can lend
A strong hand to the fallen, or defend
The right against a single envious strain,
My life, though bare,
Perhaps, of much that seemeth dear and fair
To us of earth, will not have been in vain.

The purest joy,
Most near to heaven, far from earth's alloy,
Is bidding cloud give way to sun and shine;
And 'twill be well
If on that day of days the angels tell
Of me, she did her best for one of Thine.

CHAPTER XVI.

OLD PARLOR MADE BEAUTIFUL (MODERNIZED).

When John Landis came into possession of "Clear Spring" Farm, where his mother had lived during her lifetime, she having inherited it from her father, the rooms of the old farm house were filled with quaint, old-fashioned furniture of every description. "Aunt Sarah," on coming to the farm to live, had given a personal touch and cheery, homelike look to every room in the house, with one exception, the large, gloomy, old-fashioned parlor, which was cold, cheerless and damp. She confessed to Mary she always felt as if John's dead-and-gone ancestors' ghostly presences inhabited the silent room. The windows were seldom opened to allow a ray of sunlight to penetrate the dusk with which the room was always enveloped, except when the regular weekly sweeping day arrived; when, after being carefully swept and dusted, it was promptly closed. A room every one avoided, Aunt Sarah was very particular about always having fresh air and sunlight in every other part of the house but his one room. The old fireplace had been boarded up many years before Aunt Sarah's advent to the farm, so it could not be used. One day Mary noticed, while dusting the room (after it had been given a thorough sweeping by Sibylla, Aunt Sarah's one maid servant), that the small, many-paned windows facing the East, at one end of the parlor, when opened, let in a flood of sunshine; and in the evening those at the opposite end of the long room gave one a lovely view of the setting sun—a finer picture than any painted by the hand of a master. Mary easily persuaded her Aunt to make some changes in the unlivable room. She suggested that they consult her Uncle about repapering and painting the room and surprise him with the result when finished.

Aunt Sarah, who never did things by halves, said: "Mary, I have long intended 'doing over' this room, but thought it such a great undertaking. Now, with your assistance, I shall make a sweep of these old, antiquated heirlooms of a past generation. This green carpet, with its gorgeous bouquets of roses, we shall have combined with one of brown and tan in the attic. Your Uncle shall take them with him when he drives to town and have them woven into pretty, serviceable rugs for the floor."

"And, oh! Aunt Sarah," cried Mary, "do let's have an open fireplace. It makes a room so cheery and 'comfy' when the weather gets colder, on long winter evenings, to have a fire in the grate. I saw some lovely, old brass andirons and fender in the attic, and some brass candlesticks there also, which will do nicely for the mantel shelf over the fireplace. I'll shine 'em up, and instead of this hideously-ugly old wall paper with gay-colored scrawley figures, Aunt Sarah, suppose we get an inexpensive, plain, tan felt paper for drop ceiling and separate it from the paper on the side wall, which should be a warm, yellow-brown, with a narrow chestnut wood molding. Then this dull, dark, gray-blue painted woodwork; could any one imagine anything more hideously ugly? It gives me the 'blues' simply to look at it. Could we not have it painted to imitate chestnut wood? And don't you think we might paint the floor around the edges of the rug to imitate the woodwork? Just think of those centre panels of the door painted a contrasting shade of pale pink. The painter who did this work certainly was an artist. A friend of mine in the city, wishing to use rugs instead of carpets on her floors, and not caring to go to the expense of laying hardwood floors, gave the old floors a couple of coats of light lemon, or straw-colored paint, then stained and grained them a perfect imitation of chestnut, at small expense. The floors were greatly admired when finished, and having been allowed to dry thoroughly after being varnished, proved quite durable. I will write to my friend at once and ask her exactly how her floors were treated."

"Now, Mary, about this old-style furniture. The old grandfather clock standing in the corner, at the upper end of the room, I should like to have remain. It is one hundred and fifty years old and belonged to my folks, and, although old-fashioned, is highly valued by me."

"Of course," said Mary, "we'll certainly leave that in the room."

"Also," said Aunt Sarah, "allow the old cottage organ and large, old-fashioned bookcase belonging to your Uncle to remain. He has frequently spoken of moving his bookcase into the next room, when he was obliged to come in here for books, of which he has quite a valuable collection."

A-24 Seed Wreath
A-25 Wax Fruit
A-26 Old Parlor Mantel
A-27 Old Clock
A-28 Boquet of Hair Flowers

"Oh," said Mary, "no need of that. We will move Uncle John in here, near the bookcase, when we get our room fixed up. Aunt Sarah, we will leave that old-fashioned table, also, with one leaf up against the wall, and this quaint, little, rush-bottomed rocker, which I just dote on."

"Why, dear," exclaimed Aunt Sarah, "there are several chairs to match it in the attic, which you may have when you start housekeeping for your very own. And," laughingly, said her Aunt, "there is another old, oval, marble-topped table in the attic, containing a large glass case covering a basket of wax fruit, which you may have."

"No, Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "I don't believe I want the fruit, but I will accept your offer of the table. Well, Aunt Sarah, I know you won't have this old, black what-not standing in the corner of the room. I do believe it is made of spools, strung on wire, as supports for the shelves; then all painted black, imitation of ebony, I suppose. It must have been made in the Black Age, at the same time the old corner cupboard was painted, as Uncle John told me he scraped off three different layers of paint before doing it over, and one was black. It was originally made of cherry. It certainly looks fine now, with those new brass hinges and pretty, old-fashioned glass knobs."

"Yes, Mary," replied her Aunt, "and there is an old corner cupboard in the attic which belonged to my father, that you may have, and, with a very little labor and expense, Ralph can make it look as well as mine. It has only one door and mine possesses two."

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary, "you are a dear! How will I ever repay you for all your kindness to me?"

"By passing it on to some one else when you find some one needing help," said Aunt Sarah.

"Such a collection of odd things, Aunt Sarah, as are on this what-not I never saw. Old ambrotypes and daguerreotypes of gone and forgotten members of the 'freinshoft,' as you sometimes say. I don't believe you know any of them."

"Yes, the red plush frame on the mantel shelf contains a picture of John's Uncle, a fine-looking man, but he possessed 'Wanderlust' and has lived in California for many years.

"Oh, you mean the picture on the mantel standing near those twin gilded china vases, gay with red and blue paint?"

"Yes; and that small china and gilt stand with little bowl and pitcher was given me when a small child."

"Suppose I bring a basket and we will fill it with articles from the mantel and what-not," said Mary, "and carry them all to the attic, until you have a rummage sale some day. We'll burn these 'everlasting' and 'straw' flowers, and pampas grass, and this large apple stuck full of cloves. Here is a small china dog and a little china basket with a plaited china handle decorated with gilt, and tiny, pink-tinted china roses. And these large, glass marbles containing little silver eagles inside; also this small, spun-glass ship and blue-and-pink-striped glass pipe. Aunt Sarah, some of your ancestors must have attended a glass blowers' exhibition in years past."

"This branch of white coral, these large snail shells (when a child I remember holding them to my ear to hear a noise resembling the roar of the ocean), and this small basket, fashioned of twigs and tendrils of grape vine, then dipped in red sealing wax, certainly is a good imitation of coral, and this plate, containing a miniature ship composed of green postage stamps, we will place in your corner cupboard."

"And, Aunt Sarah, I suppose this deep, glass-covered picture frame containing a bouquet of hair flowers, most wonderfully and fearfully made, was considered a work of art in days past and gone, as was also the crescent in a frame on the opposite side of the room, composed of flowers made of various seeds of grain and garden vegetables. Those daisies, made of cucumber seeds with grains of red corn for centres, and those made of tiny grains of popcorn with a watermelon seed in centre, are cute. The latter look like breastpins with a circle of pearls around the edge. And this glass case on the table, containing a white cross, covered with wax tube roses, ivy leaves and fuchsias drooping from the arms of the cross, sparkling with diamond dust! The band of green chenille around its base matches the mat underneath, composed of green zephyr of different shades, knitted, then raveled to imitate moss, I suppose; and, no doubt, this marble-topped table has stood here for fifty years, in this same spot, for the express purpose of holding this beautiful (?) work of art."

"The hair flowers and the seed wreath were made by John's sister," replied Aunt Sarah.

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary, "I've an original idea. This oval, marble-topped table has such strong, solid legs of black walnut, suppose we remove the marble slab and have a large, circular top made of wood at the planing mill? Wait; I'll get my tape measure. About thirty-two inches in diameter will do. The new top we shall stain to match the walnut frame, and it could be easily fastened to the table with a couple of screws; and, after the marble top has been well scoured, we'll use it in the kitchen as a bake board on which to roll out pie crust."

Her Aunt as usual acquiesced to all Mary's suggestions.

"You're a dear, Aunt Sarah!" exclaimed Mary, as she gave her a hug, "and I'll embroider big, yellow daisies with brown centres of French knots on gray linen for a new table cover. Won't they look just sweet?"

"Yes, Mary, and I'll buy a large, new lamp with a pretty shade, as I feel sure your Uncle will like to sit here evenings to read his papers and farm journals."

"And don't forget the Shriners' little magazine, The Crescent, which amuses him so greatly. Aunt Sarah, I do wish those stiff, starchy-looking, blue-white Nottingham lace curtains at the windows had grown yellow with age. They would be ever so much prettier and softer looking, and they are such a pretty, neat design, too."

"Oh!" replied her Aunt, "that may be easily remedied. I'll just dip them into a little weak liquid coffee and that will give them a creamy tint, and take out the stiffness."

"Now," said Mary, "what shall we do with these stiff, ugly, haircloth-covered chairs and sofa?"

"Why," replied Aunt Sarah, "we shall buy cretonne or art cloth, in pretty shades of brown and tan or green, to harmonize with the wall paper, and make slip covers for them all. We could never think of dispensing with the sofa. It is a very important article of furniture in German households. The hostess usually gives the person of greatest distinction among her guests the place of honor beside her on the sofa."

"These chairs have such strong, well-made, mahogany frames it would be a pity not to use them. Now," continued Mary, "about the pictures on the wall. Can't we consign them all to the attic? We might use some of the frames. I'll contribute unframed copies of 'The Angelus' and 'The Gleaners,' by Millet; and I think they would fit into these plain mahogany frames which contain the very old-fashioned set of pictures named respectively 'The Lovers,' 'The Declaration,' 'The Lovers' Quarrel' and 'The Marriage.' They constitute a regular art gallery. I'll use a couple of the frames for some small Colonial and apple blossom pictures I have, that I just love, by Wallace Nutting. Mine are all unframed; 'Maiden Reveries,' 'A Canopied Roof' and a 'Ton of Bloom,' I think are sweet. Those branches of apple trees, covered with a mass of natural-looking pink blossoms, are exquisite."

"Yes," remarked Aunt Sarah, "they look exactly like our old Baldwin, Winesap and Cider apple trees in the old, south meadow in the Spring. And, Mary, we'll discard those two chromos, popular a half century ago, of two beautiful cherubs called respectively, 'Wide Awake' and 'Fast Asleep,' given as premiums to a popular magazine. I don't remember if the magazine was 'Godey's,' 'Peterson's' or 'Home Queen'; they have good, plain, mahogany frames which we can use."

"And, Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "we can cut out the partition in this large, black-walnut frame, containing lithograph pictures of General George Washington, 'the Father of his Country' (we are informed in small letters at the bottom of the picture), and of General Andrew Jackson, 'the hero of New Orleans.' Both men are pictured on horseback, on gayly-caparisoned, prancing white steeds, with scarlet saddle cloth, edged with gold bullion fringe. The Generals are pictured clad in blue velvet coats with white facings of cloth or satin vest and tight-fitting knee breeches, also white and long boots reaching to the knee. Gold epaulettes are on their shoulders, and both are in the act of lifting their old-fashioned Continental hats, the advancing army showing faintly in the background. How gorgeously they are arrayed! We will use this frame for the excellent, large copy you have of 'The Doctor' and the pictured faces of the German composers—Beethoven, Wagner, Mendelssohn, Haydn, Schubert and Mozart, which I have on a card with a shaded brown background, will exactly fit into this plain frame of narrow molding, from which I have just removed the old cardboard motto, 'No place like home,' done with green-shaded zephyr in cross-stitch."

A-29 An Old Sampler
A-30 Old Woven Basket
A-31 Wax Cross
A-32 Old Spinning Wheel

"Now, Mary, with the couple of comfortable rockers which I intend purchasing, I think we have about finished planning our room."

"If you are willing, Aunt Sarah, I should like to make some pretty green and brown cretonne slips to cover those square sofa pillows in place of the ones made of small pieces of puffed silk and the one of colored pieces of cashmere in log cabin design, I do admire big, fat, plain, comfortable pillows, for use instead of show. And we must have a waste paper basket near the table beside Uncle John's chair. I shall contribute green satin ribbon for an immense bow on the side of the basket. Oh! Aunt Sarah! You've forgotten all about this odd, woven basket, beside the what-not, filled with sea shells. I don't care for the shells, but the basket would make a lovely sewing basket."

"You may have the basket, Mary, if you like it. It came from Panama, or perhaps it was bought at Aspinwall by John's Uncle, many years ago, when he came home on a visit from California, by way of the Isthmus, to visit old friends and relatives. John's Mother always kept it standing on the floor in one corner of the room beside the what-not."

"Aunt Sarah, why was straw ever put under this carpet?"

"The straw was put there, my dear, to save the carpet, should the boards on the floor be uneven. My Mother was always particular about having cut rye straw, because it was softer and finer than any other. It was always used in those days instead of the carpet linings we now have. I remember sometimes, when the carpet had been newly laid, in our home, immediately after house cleaning time, the surface of the floor looked very odd; full of bumps and raised places in spots, until frequent walking over it flattened down the straw. This room happens to have a particularly good, even floor, as this part of the house was built many years later than the original, old farm house, else it would not do to have it painted."

"Aunt Sarah, may I have the old spinning wheel in the attic? I'd love to furnish an old Colonial bedroom when I have a home of my very own. I'll use the rag carpet you made me for the floor, the old-fashioned, high-post bed Uncle John said I might have, and the 'New Colonial' rugs you taught me to make.

"Yes, my dear, and there is another old grandfather's clock in the attic which you may have; and a high-boy also, for which I have no particular use."

"Aunt Sarah, we shall not put away this really beautiful old sampler worked in silk by Uncle John's grandmother when a girl of nine years. It is beautifully done, and is wonderful, I think. And what is this small frame containing a yellowed piece of paper cut in intricate designs, presumably with scissors?"

"Look on the back of the picture and see what is written there, my dear," said her Aunt.

Mary slowly read: "'This is the only picture I owned before my marriage. I earned the money to buy it by gathering wheat heads.'"

"It belonged to my grandmother," said Aunt Sarah. "In old times, after the reapers had left the field, the children were allowed to gather up the wheat remaining, and, I suppose, grandmother bought this picture with the money she earned herself, and considered it quite a work of art in her day. It is over one hundred years old."

CHAPTER XVII.

AN OLD SONG EVENING.

Aunt Sarah and Mary spent few idle moments while carrying out their plans for "doing over" the old parlor. Finally, 'twas finished. Mary breathed a sigh of satisfaction as the last picture was hung on the wall. She turned to her Aunt, saying, "Don't you think the room looks bright, cheery and livable?"

"Yes," replied her Aunt, "and what is more essential, homey, I have read somewhere, 'A woman's house should be as personal a matter as a spider's web or a snail's shell; and all the thought, toil and love she puts into it should be preserved a part of its comeliness and homelikeness forever, and be her monument to the generations.'"

"Well, Aunt Sarah," replied Mary, "I guess we've earned our monument. The air that blows over the fields, wafted in from the open window, is sweet with the scent of grain and clover, and certainly is refreshing. I'm dreadfully tired, but so delighted with the result of our labors. Now we will go and 'make ready,' as Sibylla says, before the arrival of Ralph from the city. I do hope the ice cream will be frozen hard. The Sunshine Sponge Cake, which I baked from a recipe the Professor's wife gave me, is light as a feather. 'Tis Ralph's favorite cake. Let's see; besides Ralph there are coming all the Schmidts, Lucy Robbins, the school teacher, and Sibylla entertains her Jake in the kitchen. I promised to treat him to ice cream; Sibylla was so good about helping me crack the ice to use for freezing the cream. We shall have an 'Old Song Evening' that will amuse every one."

Quite early, as is the custom in the country, the guests for the evening arrived; and both Mary and Aunt Sarah felt fully repaid for their hard work of the past weeks by the pleasure John Landis evinced at the changed appearance of the room.

The Professor's wife said, "It scarcely seems possible to have changed the old room so completely."

Aunt Sarah replied, "Paint and paper do wonders when combined with good taste, furnished by Mary."

During the evening one might have been forgiven for thinking Professor Schmidt disloyal to the Mother Country (he having been born and educated in Heidelberg) had you overheard him speaking to Ralph on his favorite subject, the "Pennsylvania German." During a lull in the general conversation in the room Mary heard the Professor remark to Ralph: "The Pennsylvania Germans are a thrifty, honest and industrious class of people, many of whom have held high offices. The first Germans to come to America as colonists in Pennsylvania were, as a rule, well to do. Experts, when examining old documents of Colonial days, after counting thousands of signatures, found the New York 'Dutch' and the Pennsylvania 'Germans' were above the average in education in those days. Their dialect, the so-called 'Pennsylvania German' or 'Dutch,' as it is erroneously called by many, is a dialect which we find from the Tauber Grund to Frankfurt, A.M. As the German language preponderated among the early settlers, the language of different elements, becoming amalgamated, formed a class of people frequently called 'Pennsylvania Dutch'."

Professor Harbaugh, D.D., has written some beautiful poems in Pennsylvania German which an eminent authority, Professor Kluge, a member of the Freiburg University, Germany, has thought worthy to be included among the classics. They are almost identical with the poems written by Nadler in Heidelberger Mundart, or dialect.

Mary, who had been listening intently to the Professor, said, when he finished talking to Ralph: "Oh, please, do repeat one of Professor Harbaugh's poems for us."

He replied, "I think I can recall several stanzas of 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick.' Another of Professor Harbaugh's poems, and I think one of the sweetest I have ever read, is 'Heemweeh.' Both poems are published in his book entitled 'Harbaugh's Harfe,' in Pennsylvania German dialect, and possess additional interest from the fact that the translations of these poems, in the latter part of the same book, were made by the author himself."

"Oh, do repeat all that you remember of both the poems," begged Mary.

The Professor consented, saying: "As neither you nor Mr. Jackson understand the Pennsylvania German dialect, I shall translate them for you, after repeating what I remember. 'Heemweeh' means Homesickness, but first I shall give you 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick'."

[^[A]]DAS ALT SCHULHAUS AN DER KRICK.

Heit is 's 'xactly zwansig Johr,
Dass ich bin owwe naus;
Nau bin ich widder lewig z'rick
Un schteh am Schulhaus an d'r Krick,
Juscht neekscht an's Dady's Haus.

Ich bin in hunnert Heiser g'west,
Vun Marbelstee' un Brick,
Un alles was sie hen, die Leit,
Dhet ich verschwappe eenig Zeit
For's Schulhaus an der Krick.

* * * * * * *

Der Weisseech schteht noch an der Dhier—
Macht Schatte iwwer's Dach:
Die Drauwerank is ah noch grie'—
Un's Amschel-Nescht—guk juscht mol hi'—
O was is dess en Sach!

* * * * * * *

Do bin ich gange in die Schul,
Wo ich noch war gans klee';
Dort war der Meeschter in seim Schtuhl,
Dort war sei' Wip, un dort sei' Ruhl,—
Ich kann's noch Alles sch'.

Die lange Desks rings an der Wand—
Die grose Schieler drum;
Uf eener Seit die grose Mad,
Un dort die Buwe net so bleed—
Guk, wie sie piepe rum!

* * * * * * *

Oh horcht, ihr Leit, wu nooch mir lebt,
Ich schreib eich noch des Schtick:
Ich warn eich, droll eich, gebt doch Acht,
Un memmt uf immer gut enacht,
Des Schulhaus an der Krick!

[A]

From "Harbaugh's Harfe." Published by the Publication and Sunday School Board of the Reformed Church, Philadelphia, Pa. Used by permission.

THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE AT THE CREEK.

Today it is just twenty years,
Since I began to roam;
Now, safely back, I stand once more,
Before the quaint old school-house door,
Close by my father's home.

I've been in many houses since,
Of marble built, and brick;
Though grander far, their aim they miss,
To lure heart's old love from this
Old school-house at the creek.

* * * * * * *

The white-oak stands before the door,
And shades the roof at noon;
The grape-vine, too, is fresh and green;
The robin's nest!—Ah, hark!—I ween
That is the same old tune!

* * * * * * *

'Twas here I first attended school,
When I was very small;
There was the Master on his stool,
There was his whip and there his rule—
I seem to see it all.

The long desks ranged along the walls,
With books and inkstands crowned;
Here on this side the large girls sat,
And there the tricky boys on that—
See! how they peep around!

* * * * * * *

Ye, who shall live when I am dead—
Write down my wishes quick—
Protect it, love it, let it stand,
A way-mark in this changing land—
That school-house at the creek.

HEEMWEH.

Ich wees net was die Ursach is—
Wees net, warum ich's dhu:
'N jedes Johr mach ich der Weg
Der alte Heemet zu;
Hab weiter nix zu suche dort—
Kee' Erbschaft un kee' Geld;
Un doch treibt mich des Heemgefiehl
So schtark wie alle Welt;
Nor'd schtart ich ewe ab un geh,
Wie owe schun gemeldt.

Wie nacher dass ich kumm zum Ziel,
Wie schtarker will ich geh,
For eppes in mei'm Herz werd letz
Un dhut m'r kreislich weh.
Der letschte Hiwel schpring ich nuf;
Un ep ich drowe bin,
Schtreck ich mich uf so hoch ich kann
Un guk mit Luschte hin;
Ich seh's alt Schtee'haus dorch die Beem,
Un wott ich war schunm drin.

* * * * * * *

Wie gleich ich selle Babble Beem,
Sie schtehn wie Brieder dar;
Un uf'm Gippel—g'wiss ich leb!
Hockt alleweil 'n Schtaar!
'S Gippel biegt sich—guk, wie's gaunscht—
'R hebt sich awer fescht;
Ich seh sei' rothe Fliegle plehn,
Wann er sei' Feddere wescht;
Will wette, dass sei' Fraale hot
Uf sellem Baam 'n Nescht!

* * * * * * *

Guk! werklich, ich bin schier am Haus!—
Wie schnell geht doch die Zeit!
Wann m'r so in Gedanke geht.
So wees m'r net wie weit.
Dort is d'r Schhap, die Walschkornkrip,
Die Seiderpress dort draus;
Dort is die Scheier, un dort die Schpring—
Frisch quellt des Wasser raus;
Un guk! die sehm alt Klapbord-Fens,
Un's Dheerle vor'm Haus.

* * * * * * *

Zwee Blatz sin do uf dare Bortsch,
Die halt ich hoch in Acht,
Bis meines Lebens Sonn versinkt
In schtiller Dodtes-Nacht!
Wo ich vum alte Vaterhaus
'S erscht mol bin gange fort.
Schtand mei' Mammi weinend da,
An sellem Rigel dort:
Un nix is mir so heilig nau
Als grade seller Ort.

* * * * * * *

Was macht's dass ich so dort hi' guk,
An sell End vun der Bank!
Weescht du's? Mei' Herz is noch net dodt,
Ich wees es, Got sei Dank!
Wie manchmal sass mai Dady dort,
Am Summer-Nochmiddag,
Die Hande uf der Schoos gekreizt,
Sei Schtock bei Seite lag.
Was hot er dort im Schtille g'denkt?
Wer mecht es wisse—sag?

HOME-SICK NESS.

I know not what the reason is:
Where'er I dwell or roam,
I make a pilgrimage each year,
To my old childhood home.
Have nothing there to give or get—
No legacy, no gold—
Yet by some home-attracting power
I'm evermore controlled;
This is the way the homesick do,
I often have been told.

* * * * * * *

As nearer to the spot I come
More sweetly am I drawn;
And something in my heart begins
To urge me faster on.
Ere quite I've reached the last hilltop—
You'll smile at me, I ween!—
I stretch myself high as I can,
To catch the view serene—
The dear old stone house through the trees
With shutters painted green!

* * * * * * *

How do I love those poplar trees;
What tall and stalely things!
See! on the top of one just now
A starling sits and sings.
He'll fall!—the twig bends with his weight!
He likes that danger best.
I see the red upon his wings,—
Dark shining is the rest.
I ween his little wife has built
On that same tree her nest.

* * * * * * *

See! really I am near the house;
How short the distance seems!
There is no sense of time when one
Goes musing in his dreams.
There is the shop—the corn-crib, too—
The cider-press—just see!
The barn—the spring with drinking cup
Hung up against the tree.
The yard-fence—and the little gate
Just where it used to be.

* * * * * * *

Two spots on this old friendly porch
I love, nor can forget,
Till dimly in the night of death
My life's last sun shall set!
When first I left my father's house,
One summer morning bright,
My mother at that railing wept
Till I was out of sight!
Now like a holy star that spot
Shines in this world's dull night.

* * * * * * *

What draws my eye to yonder spot—
That bench against the wall?
What holy mem'ries cluster there,
My heart still knows them all!
How often sat my father there
On summer afternoon;
Hands meekly crossed upon his lap,
He looked so lost and lone,
As if he saw an empty world,
And hoped to leave it soon.

At the conclusion of his recital, Mary heartily thanked the Professor, and, at his request, obediently seated herself at the old, but still sweet-toned cottage organ, and expressed her willingness to play any old-time songs or hymns requested, and saying, "I know Aunt Sarah's favorite," commenced playing, "My Latest Sun is Sinking Fast," followed by "This Old-Time Religion," "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," "One of the Sweet Old Chapters," "Silver Threads Among the Gold" and the sweet old hymn, "In the Summer Land of Song," by Fanny Crosby.

At John Landis' request, she played and sang "Auld Lang Syne." "When You and I Were Young, Maggie," "Old Folks at Home" and "Old Black Joe."

Lucy Robbins, when asked for her favorites, replied; "In the Gloaming," "The Old, Old Home'" "The Lost Chord" and "Better Bide a Wee."

The Professor then asked his daughter Elizabeth to give them the music of a song from German Volkslied, or Folk Song, with the words of which all except Mary and Ralph were familiar. Professor Schmidt sang in his high, cracked voice to Elizabeth's accompaniment the words of the German song, beginning:

Du, Du liegest mir in Herzen
Du, Du liegst mir in Sinn
Du, Du machst mir viel Schmerzen
Weist nicht wie gut ich Dir binn
Ja, ja, ja, ja, Du weist nicht wie gut ich Dir bin.

The young folks all joined in the chorus. Fritz Schmidt asked Elizabeth to play "Polly Wolly Doodle" for little Pollykins, which Frit sang with gusto. Fritz then sang the rollicking German song, "Lauderbach," to an accompaniment played by Mary, and followed by singing "Johnny Schmoker," with appropriate gestures in the chorus commencing "My Pilly, Willy Wink, das is mein fifa," etc., ending with "My fal, lal, lal, my whach, whach, das ist mein doodle soch," which he emphasised by shrugging his shoulders, to the no small enjoyment of the young folks, who thought the silly, old German song no end of fun. This was followed by a favorite college song, "Mandalay," by Fritz.

Then Elizabeth Schmidt played and sang a pretty little German song called "Meuhlen Rad," meaning The Mill Wheel, taught her by her mother.

MEUHLEN RAD.

In einen kuhlen grunde
Da steht ein meuhlen rad;
Mein libste ist versch wunden,
Die dort gewhoned hat;
Sie sat mir treu versprochen,
Gab ihr ein ring dabei;
Sie hat die treu gebrochen,
Das ringlein sprang entzwei.

She translated it for the benefit of Ralph and Mary: "In a cool, pleasant spot, stands a mill. My loved one, who lived there, has disappeared. She promised to be true to me, and I gave her a ring. She broke her promise and the ring broke in two."

Fritz then caught his little sister Pauline around the waist and waltzed her to one end of the long room, saying: "Mary, play the piece, 'Put On Your Old Gray Bonnet,' and Pollykins and I will do the cakewalk for you."

Polly, who had become quite a proficient little dancer under her sister's teaching, was very willing to do her share in the evening's entertainment, and it was pronounced a decided success.

Mary then said, "I'll play my favorite schottische, composed by our old friend, the Professor. I have not yet procured a copy of his latest piece of music, 'The Passing of the Dahlias.' I think it is still with the publishers."

Mary, after playing "Rock of Ages," left the room to see about serving refreshments, when Elizabeth Schmidt took her place at the instrument. After playing "The Rosary," she turned to Ralph, who had been greatly amused by the German songs on the program, all of which were quite new to him, and said: "What shall I play for you?"

He replied, "'My Little Irish Rose'—no, I mean 'The River Shannon.'"

"Don't you mean 'That Grand Old Name Called Mary?'" mischievously inquired Fritz Schmidt, who could not refrain from teasing Ralph, which caused a laugh at his expense, as all present were aware of his love for Mary. Elizabeth, to cover Ralph's confusion, quickly replied: "I'll play my favorite, 'The End of a Perfect Day.'"

The party was pronounced a success, and broke up at a late hour for country folks. Before leaving, Mary's Uncle said: "Now, let's sing 'Home, Sweet Home,' and then all join in singing that grand old hymn, 'My Country, 'Tis of Thee,' to the new tune by our friend, the Bucks County Editor."

PALASADES OR NARROWS OF NOCKAMIXON

CHAPTER XVIII.

A VISIT TO THE "PENNSYLVANIA PALISADES," AS THE "NARROWS" OF THE DELAWARE RIVER ARE CALLED.

All hailed with delight Aunt Sarah's proposal that the Schmidt and Landis families, on the Fourth of July, drive over to the Narrows, visit Aunt Sarah's old home at Nockamixon, and see the "Ringing Rocks" and "High Falls," situated a short distance from the rocks, near which place picnics were frequently held. John Landis readily agreed to the proposed plan, saying, "The meadow hay and clover are cut, and I'll not cut the wheat until the fifth day of July."

The third of July was a busy day at both farm houses, preparing savory food of every description with which to fill hampers for the next day's outing. Small Polly Schmidt was so perfectly happy, at the thought of a proposed picnic, she could scarcely contain herself, and as her sister Elizabeth said, "did nothing but get in every one's way." Little Polly, being easily offended, trudged over to the Landis farm to see Mary, with whom she knew she was a great favorite.

The morning of the Fourth dawned bright and clear. Quite early, while the earth was still enveloped in a silvery mist, and on the lattice work of filmy cobwebs, spun over weeds and grass, dewdrops, like tiny diamonds, sparkled and glistened, until dissolved by the sun's warm rays, the gay party left home, for the "Palisades" were quite a distance from the farm, to drive being the only way of reaching the place, unless one boarded the gasoline motorcar, called the "Cornfield Express" by farmers living in the vicinity of Schuggenhaus Township.

There is something indescribably exhilarating about starting for an early drive in the country before sunrise on a bright, clear morning in midsummer, when "the earth is awaking, the sky and the ocean, the river and forest, the mountain and plain." Who has not felt the sweet freshness of early morning before "the sunshine is all on the wing" or the birds awaken and begin to chatter and to sing? There is a hush over everything; later is heard the lowing of cattle, the twitter of birds and hum of insect life, proclaiming the birth of the new day. Passing an uncultivated field, overgrown with burdock, wild carrots, mullein, thistle and milk weed, Mary alighted and gathered some of the pods of the latter, inclosing imitation of softest down, which she used later for filling sofa pillows.

"Look at those pretty wild canaries!" exclaimed Aunt Sarah, "yellow as gold, swinging on the stem of a tall weed."

"Professor Schmidt, can you tell me the name of that weed?" questioned Mary. "I have always admired the plant, with its large leaves and long, drooping racemes of crimson seeds.

"That," replied the Professor, "is a foreign plant, a weed called Equisetum from 'Equi,' a horse, and 'Setum'—tail. The country folk hereabout call it 'Horsetail.' It belongs to the Crptogamous or flowerless plants. There are only four specimens of this plant in America. I, too, have always greatly admired the plant."

The Professor was quite a noted botanist. There were few flowers, plants or weeds of which he was ignorant of the name or medicinal value. Another bird lazily picked seeds from the thistle blossoms. "See," exclaimed Aunt Sarah, "one bird has a spear of grass in its mouth!"

"Yellow star grass," said the Professor, "with which to make a nest. They never mate until the last of June, or first part of July. The tiny, little robbers ate up nearly all my sunflower seeds in the garden last summer."

"Well," replied Mary, "you know, Professor, the birds must have food. They are the farmer's best friend. I hope you don't begrudge them a few sunflower seeds, I love birds. I particularly admire the 'Baltimore Oriole,' with their brilliant, orange-colored plumage; they usually make their appearance simultaneously with the blossoms in the orchard in the south meadow; or so Aunt Sarah tells me. I love to watch them lazily swinging on the high branches of tall trees. On the limb of a pear tree in the orchard one day, I saw firmly fastened, a long, pouch-like nest, woven with rare skill. Securely fastened to the nest by various colored pieces of twine and thread was one of smaller size, like a lean-to added to a house, as if the original nest had been found too small to accommodate the family of young birds when hatched. The oriole possesses a peculiar, sweet, high-whistled trill, similar to this—'La-la-la-la,' which always ends with the rising inflection."

Fritz Schmidt, who had been listening intently to Mary, gravely remarked, "An oriole built a nest on a tall tree outside my bedroom window, and early every morning, before the family arise, I hear it sing over and over again what sounds exactly like 'Lais Die Beevil!' which translated means 'Read your Bible'."

"Even the birds are 'Dutch,' I believe, in Bucks County," said Fritz. "I think these must be German Mennonites, there being quite a settlement of these honest, God-fearing people living on farms at no great distance from our place."

THE CANAL AT THE NARROWS

As they drove along the country road, parallel with the Delaware River, just before reaching the Narrows. Mary was greatly attracted by the large quantities of yellow-white "sweet clover," a weed-like plant found along the Delaware River, growing luxuriantly, with tall, waving stems two to four feet high. The clover-like flowers, in long, loose racemes, terminating the branches, were so fragrant that, like the yellow evening primrose, the scent was noticeable long before one perceived the flowers. And, strange to tell, sweet clover was never known to grow in this locality until the seed was washed up on the bank of the river some ten or twelve years previous to the date of my story, when the Delaware River was higher than it was ever before known to be.

"The first place we shall visit," said Aunt Sarah, "will be my grandmother's old home, or rather, the ruins of the old home. It passed out of our family many years ago; doors and windows are missing and walls ready to tumble down. You see that old locust tree against one side the ruined wall of the house?" and with difficulty she broke a branch from the tree saying, "Look, see the sharp, needle-shaped thorns growing on the branch! They were used by me when a child to pin my dolls' dresses together. In those days, pins were too costly to use; and look at that large, flat rock not far distant from the house! At the foot of that rock, when a child of ten, I buried the 'Schild Krote Family' dolls, made from punk (when told I was too big a girl to play with dolls). I shed bitter tears, I remember. Alas! The sorrows of childhood are sometimes deeper than we of maturer years realize."

"Why did you give your family of dolls such an odd name, Aunt Sarah?" questioned Mary.

"I do not remember," replied her Aunt. "Schild Krote is the German name for turtle. I presume the name pleased my childish fancy."

"Suppose we visit my great-great-grandfather's grave in the near-by woods. I think I can locate it, although so many years have passed since I last visited it."

Passing through fields overgrown with high grass, wild flowers and clover, they came to the woods. Surprising to say, scarcely any underbrush was seen, but trees everywhere—stately Lebanon cedars, spruce and spreading hemlock, pin oaks, juniper trees which later would be covered with spicy, aromatic berries; also beech trees. Witch hazel and hazel nut bushes grew in profusion. John Landis cut a large branch from a sassafras tree to make a new spindle on which to wind flax, for Aunt Sarah's old spinning wheel (hers having been broken), remarking as he did so, "My mother always used a branch of sassafras wood, having five, prong-like branches for this purpose, when I was a boy, and she always placed a piece of sassafras root with her dried fruit."

The Professor's wife gathered an armful of yarrow, saying, "This is an excellent tonic and should always be gathered before the flowers bloom. I wonder if there is any boneset growing anywhere around here."

Boneset, a white, flowering, bitter herb, dearly beloved and used by the Professor's wife as one of the commonest home remedies in case of sickness, and equally detested by both Fritz and Pauline.

THE NARROWS OR PENNSYLVANIA PALISADES

Mary gathered a bouquet of wild carrot, or "Queen Anne's Lace," with its exquisitely fine, lace-like flowers with pale green-tinted centres. Mary's Uncle could not agree with her in praise of the dainty wild blossoms. He said: "Mary, I consider it the most detested weed with which I am obliged to contend on the farm."

TOP ROCK

After quite a long, tiresome walk in the hot sun, they discovered the lonely grave, covered with a slab of granite surrounded by a small iron railing and read the almost illegible date—"Seventeen Hundred and Forty." Ralph said, "If he ever sighed for a home in some vast wilderness, his wish is granted." It certainly was a lonely grave in the deep woods, and gave all the members of the party a sad and eerie feeling as they wended their way out into the sunlight again, to the waiting carriages, and were soon driving swiftly along the Narrows, as they have been called from time immemorial by the inhabitants, although I prefer the name of Pennsylvania Palisades, as they are sometimes called.

Said Professor Schmidt: "Numerous tourists visit the Narrows every year. The Narrows are said to resemble somewhat the Palisades on the Hudson. I have seen, the latter and think these greatly resemble them and are quite as interesting and picturesque."

"The name Narrows is derived from the fact that at this place the Delaware River has forced itself through the rocky barrier," continued the Professor, "hedged in on one side by cliffs of perpendicular rock, three hundred feet high, extending some distance along the river, leaving scarcely room at some places for the river and the canal. Some quite rare plants grow here, said to be found in few other localities in the United States. You see the highest flat rock along the Narrows? It is called 'Top Rock' and rises to a height of more than three hundred feet. We shall drive around within a short distance of it; then, after passing a small house, we are obliged to walk across a field of ploughed ground; follow the well-beaten path between trees and undergrowth, and 'Top Rock' is before us. Stepping upon the high ledge of rock projecting out over the road beneath, we discover it may also be reached by following a precipitous path and clinging to bushes and trees, but none of the party venture. Recently the body of a man who had been searching for rare birds' eggs on the side of this self-same rock was found dead on the path below the rocks. What caused his fall is not known. No wonder Aunt Sarah says it makes her dizzy when you boys skip stones across the river while standing on the rock."

The beautiful view of the Delaware River and the scenery on the opposite side was something long to be remembered. While the party were going into raptures over the beautiful sight, Professor Schmidt turned to Mary and remarked: "In those rocks which rise in perpendicular bluffs, several hundred feet above the level of the river, are evidence that prehistoric man may have inhabited the caves in these same walls of rock along the Delaware. From implements and weapons found, it does not require any great effort of imagination to believe the 'Cave Man' dwelt here many centuries ago."

Fritz Schmidt was much interested in his father's conversation, and from that time on called Ralph Jackson Mary's "Cave Man."

Leaving Top Rock, the party wended their way back to the waiting carriages in the road, and drove to the "Ringing or Musical Rocks." They had been informed that their nearest approach to the rocks was to drive into the woods to reach them. Passing a small shanty at the roadside, where a sign informed the passerby that soft drinks were to be obtained, the party dismounted and found, to their surprise, a small pavilion had been erected with bench, table and numerous seats composed of boards laid across logs, where camp meetings had formerly been held. As the large trees furnished shade, and a spring of fresh water was near by, they decided to "strike" camp and have lunch before going farther into the woods.

Aunt Sarah and the Professor's wife spread a snowy cloth over the rough wooden table, quickly unpacked the hampers, and both were soon busily engaged preparing sandwiches of bread, thinly sliced, pink cold ham and ground peanuts, fried chicken and beef omelette; opening jars of home-made pickles, raspberry jam and orange marmalade.

"Oh!" said Pauline, "I'm so hungry for a piece of chocolate cake. Let me help shell the eggs, so we can soon have dinner."

"Here's your fresh spring water," called Fritz, as he joined the party, a tin pail in his hand, "We had such an early breakfast, I'm as hungry as a bear."

The party certainly did full justice to the good things provided with a lavish hand by Frau Schmidt and Aunt Sarah. All were in high spirits. The Professor quoted from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam—

Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough.
A flask of wine, a book of verse and thou,
Beside me singing in the wilderness,
And wilderness is Paradise enow.

Ralph cast a look at Marry, unnoticed by any one else, as much as to say, "The old tentmaker voiced my sentiments."

RINGING ROCKS OF BRIDGTON TOWNSHIP BUCKS COUNTY. PA.

HIGH FALLS

After the hampers had been repacked and stowed away in the carriages, they with the horses were left in the shade while the party walked to "High Falls," at no great distance from the camp. "High Falls," a beautiful waterfall about thirty feet high and fifty feet wide, is situated several hundred feet east of the Ringing Rocks. The water, before dashing below, passes over a large, solid, level floor of rock. After gazing at the Falls and picturesque surroundings, they searched through the woods for the Ringing Rocks, a peculiar formation of rocks of irregular shape and size, branching out from a common centre in four directions. The rocks vary in size from a few pounds to several tons in weight. Arriving there, Aunt Sarah said: "Ralph, you will now find use for the hammer which I asked you to bring." Ralph struck different rocks with the hammer, and Fritz Schmidt struck rocks with other pieces of rock, and all gave a peculiar metallic sound, the tones of each being different. The rocks are piled upon each other to an unknown depth, not a particle of earth being found between them, and not a bush or spear of grass to be seen. They occupy a space of about four and a half acres and are a natural curiosity well worth seeing. The young folks scrambled over the rocks for a time, and, having made them ring to their hearts' content, were satisfied to return to camp and supper.

BIG ROCK AT ROCKY DALE

"Not far distant from High Falls," said John Landis, when all were comfortably seated near the table, with a sandwich in hand, "is a place called Roaring Rocks, also a freak of nature. I remember, when a boy, I always went there in the fall of the year, after the first hard frost, to pick persimmons. The water could he distinctly heard running underneath the rocks at a considerable depth."

Ralph Jackson remarked to Aunt Sarah: "I never imagined there were so many interesting, natural features right here in Bucks County."

"Oh, yes," exclaimed the impressible Fritz Schmidt, "we have a few things besides pigs and potatoes."

"Yes, Ralph," said the Professor, "there are still several places of interest you will like to see. 'Stony Garden' is another very interesting freak of nature. It is about two and a half miles from the small town of 'Snitzbachsville,' as Fritz calls the hamlet, and 'tis a wild spot. About an acre is covered with trap rock. The stones are of odd shapes and sizes and appear as if thrown into the forest in the wildest confusion. No earth or vegetation is found about them. 'Tis said the rocks are similar to those found at Fingal's Cave, Ireland, and also at the Palisades on the Hudson, and are not found anywhere else in this section of the country."

"And Ralph," said Fritz, "I want to show you 'Big Rock,' at Avondale, where a party of us boys camped one summer for two weeks. Oh! but I remember the good pies given us by a farmer's wife who sold us milk and eggs, and who lived just across the fields from our camp."

"I think," said John Landis, "it is time we began hitching up our horses and starting for home. We have a long drive before us, and, therefore, must make an early start. Sarah, get the rest of the party together and pack up your traps."

At that moment the Professor came in sight with an armful of ferns, the rich loam adhering to their roots, and said: "I'm sure these will grow." Later he planted them on a shady side of the old farm house at "Five Oaks," where they are growing today. Professor Schmidt, after a diligent search, had found clinging to a rock a fine specimen of "Seedum Rhodiola," which he explained had never been found growing in any locality in the United States except Maine. Little Pauline, with a handful of flowers and weeds, came trotting after Mary, who carried an armful of creeping evergreen called partridge berry, which bears numerous small, bright, scarlet berries later in the season. Ralph walked by her side with a basket filled to overflowing with quantities of small ferns and rock moss, with which to border the edge of the waiter on which Mary intended planting ferns; tree moss or lichens, hepaticas, wild violets, pipsissewa or false wintergreen, with dark green, waxy leaves veined with a lighter shade of green; and wild pink geraniums, the foliage of which is prettier than the pink blossoms seen later, and they grow readily when transplanted.

Aunt Sarah had taught Mary how to make a beautiful little home-made fernery. By planting these all on a large waiter, banking moss around the edges to keep them moist and by planting them early, they would be growing finely when taken by her to the city in the fall of the year—a pleasant reminder of her trip to the "Narrows" of the Delaware River. Frau Schmidt brought up the rear, carrying huge bunches of mint, pennyroyal and the useful herb called "Quaker Bonnet."

THE OLD TOWPATH AT THE NARROWS

Driving home at the close of the day, the twinkling lights in farm house windows they swiftly passed, were hailed with delight by the tired but happy party, knowing that each one brought them nearer home than the one before. To enliven the drowsy members of the party, Fritz Schmidt sang the following to the tune of "My Old Kentucky Home," improvising as he sang:

The moon shines bright on our "old Bucks County home,"
The meadows with daisies are gay,
The song of the whipporwill is borne on the breeze,
With the scent of the new mown hay.
Oh! the Narrows are great with their high granite peaks,
And Ringing Rocks for ages the same;
But when daylight fades and we're tired and cold,
There's no place like "hame, clear alt hame."

The last lingering rays of the sun idealized the surrounding fields and woods with that wonderful afterglow seen only at the close of day. The saffron moon appeared to rise slowly from behind the distant tree-tops, and rolled on parallel with them, and then ahead, as if to guide them on their way, and the stars twinkled one by one from out the mantle of darkness which slowly enveloped the earth. The trees they swiftly passed, when the moonbeams touched them, assumed gigantic, grotesque shapes in the darkness. Mary quoted from a favorite poem, "The Huskers," by Whittier:

'Till broad and red as when he rose, the sun
Sank down at last,
And, like a merry guest's farewell, the day
In brightness passed.

And lo! as through the western pines,
On meadow, stream and pond,
Flamed the red radiance of a sky,
Set all afire beyond.

Slowly o'er the eastern sea bluffs,
A milder glory shone,
And the sunset and the moon-rise
Were mingled into one!

As thus into the quiet night,
The twilight lapsed away,
And deeper in the brightening moon
The tranquil shadows lay.

From many a brown, old farm house
And hamlet without name,
Their milking and their home tasks done,
The merry huskers came.

"You mean 'The Merry Picknickers Came,'" said Fritz Schmidt, as Mary finished, "and here we are at home. Good night, all."

CHAPTER XIX.

MARY IS TAUGHT TO MAKE PASTRY, PATTIES AND "ROSEN KUCHEN."

Mary's Aunt taught her to make light, flaky pastry and pies of every description. In this part of Bucks County a young girl's education was considered incomplete without a knowledge of pie-making. Some of the commonest varieties of pies made at the farm were "Rivel Kuchen," a pie crust covered with a mixture of sugar, butter and flour crumbled together; "Snitz Pie," composed of either stewed dried apples or peaches, finely mashed through a colander, sweetened, spread over a crust and this covered with a lattice-work of narrow strips of pastry laid diamond-wise over the top of the pie; "Crumb" pies, very popular when served for breakfast, made with the addition of molasses or without it; Cheese pies, made of "Smier Kase;" Egg Custard, Pumpkin and Molasses pie.

Pies were made of all the different fruits and berries which grew on the farm. When fresh fruits were not obtainable, dried fruits and berries were used. Pie made from dried, sour cherries was an especial favorite of Farmer Landis, and raisin or "Rosina" pie, as it was usually called at the farm, also known as "Funeral" pie, was a standby at all seasons of the year, as it was invariably served at funerals, where, in old times, sumptuous feasts were provided for relatives and friends, a regular custom for years among the "Pennsylvania Germans," and I have heard Aunt Sarah say, "In old times, the wives of the grave-diggers were always expected to assist with the extra baking at the house where a funeral was to be held."

It would seem as if Bucks County German housewives did not like a dessert without a crust surrounding it.

The Pennsylvania German farmers' wives, with few exceptions, serve the greatest variety of pies at a meal of any class of people I know; not alone as a dessert at twelve o'clock dinner, but frequently serve several different varieties of pie at breakfast and at each meal during the day. No ill effects following the frequent eating of pie I attribute to their active life, the greater part of which, during the day, was usually spent in the open air, and some credit may he due the housewife for having acquired the knack of making good pie crust, which was neither very rich nor indigestible, if such a thing be possible.

The combination of fruit and pastry called pie is thought to be of American invention. Material for pies at a trifling cost were furnished the early settlers in Bucks County by the large supply of fruit and vegetables which their fertile farms produced, and these were utilized by the thrifty German housewives, noted for their wise management and economy.

The Professor's wife taught Mary to make superior pastry, so flaky and tender as to fairly melt in one's mouth; but Mary never could learn from her the knack of making a dainty, crimped edge to her pies with thumb and forefinger, although it looked so very simple when she watched "Frau Schmidt" deftly roll over a tiny edge as a finish to the pie.

Mary laughingly told the Professor's wife (when speaking of pies) of the brilliant remark she made about lard, on first coming to the farm. Her Aunt Sarah, when baking pies one day, said to her, "Look, Mary, see this can of snowy lard, rendered from pork, obtained from our fat pigs last winter!"

"Why, Aunt Sarah!" exclaimed Mary, "is lard made from pork fat? I always thought lard was made from milk and butter was made from cream."

The Professor's wife possessed, besides a liking for pies, the German's fondness for anything pertaining to fritters. She used a set of "wafer and cup irons" for making "Rosen Kuchen," as she called the flat, saucer-like wafer; and the cup used for serving creamed vegetables, salads, etc., was similar to pattie cases.

"The 'Wafer and Cup Irons,'" said Frau Schmidt, "were invented by a friend of mine, also a teacher and an excellent cook, besides; she gave me several of her original recipes, all to be served on wafers or in patties. You shall have a set of the irons when you start housekeeping. Mary. You will be surprised at the many uses you will find for them. They are somewhat similar to Rosette Irons, but I think them an improvement. They are pieces of fluted steel fastened to a long handle and one is cup-shaped. This latter is particularly fine for making patties. Then the cup may be filled and served on saucer-like wafers, which I call 'Rosen Kuchen,' or the 'Rosen Kuchen' may be simply dusted with a mixture consisting of one cup of sugar, one teaspoonful of cinnamon and a quarter teaspoonful of powdered cardamon seed, and served on a plate, as dainty cakes or wafers."

Aunt Sarah, when cooking fritters, always used two-thirds lard and one-third suet for deep frying, but "Frau Schmidt" taught Mary to use a good brand of oil for this purpose, as she thought food fried in oil more digestible and wholesome than when fried in lard. The patties or wafers were easily made. "Frau Schmidt" placed the long-handled iron in hot fat, the right temperature for frying fritters. When the iron was heated she quickly and carefully wiped off any surplus fat, then at once dipped the hot wafer iron into a bowl containing the batter she had prepared (the recipe for which she gave Mary), then dipped the iron into the hot fat; when the batter had lightly browned she gently dropped it from the iron onto brown paper, to absorb any fat which might remain. These are quickly and easily prepared and, after a few trials, one acquires proficiency. Pattie cases or cup-shapes are made in a similar manner. They are not expensive and may be kept several weeks in a cool, dry place. When wanted for table use, place in a hot oven a few minutes to reheat. They make a dainty addition to a luncheon by simply dusting the "Rosen Kuchen" with pulverised sugar. Creamed vegetables of any variety may be served on them by placing a spoon of cream dressing on top of each, over which grate yolk of hard boiled egg; or use as a foundation on which to serve salads; or serve fruit on them with whipped cream. The patties or cups may be used to serve creamed chicken, oysters, or sweetbreads if no sugar be used in the batter. These pattie cases are exactly like those sold at delicatessen counters, in city stores, and are considered quite an addition to a dainty luncheon. They are rather expensive to buy, and we country housewives cannot always procure them when wanted, and they may be made at home with a small amount of labor and less expense.

"The Germans make fritters of almost everything imaginable," continued the Professor's wife. "One day in early Spring I saw a German neighbor gathering elderberry blossoms, of which she said she intended making fritters. I asked her how they were made, being curious, I will confess. She sent me a plate of the fritters and they were delicious. I will give you her recipe should you care for it. Mary, have you ever eaten a small, sweet wafer called 'Zimmet Waffle?' My mother made them at Christmas time, in Germany. Should I be able to procure a small 'waffle,' or I should call it wafer, iron, in the city, I will teach you how they are made. I think them excellent. My mother made a cake dough similar to that of pound cake. To one portion she added cinnamon, to the other chocolate, and the last portion was flavored with vanilla. A piece of dough the size of a small marble was placed in the wafer iron, which was then pressed together and held over the fire in the range, by a long handle, until the wafer was crisp and brown. They are delicious and will keep indefinitely."

The Professor's wife finished speaking to Mary, and turned to her daughter Elizabeth, saying, "It is time I mix the dough if we are to have 'Boova Shenkel' for dinner today. I see the potatoes have steamed tender."

"Oh, goody!" said Pauline, "I just love 'Boova Shenkel!'"

"Then," said her Mother, "run down into the cellar and get me three eggs for them, and Mary, I'll write off the recipe for you, if you wish it, as I feel sure you'll like them as well as Pauline. And Elizabeth, dust powdered sugar over this plate of 'Rosen Kuchen,' and you, Mary and Pauline, leave this hot kitchen and have lunch out in the 'Espalier,' as your Father calls it."

"I think," said Mary to Elizabeth, after they were seated in the shade, prepared to enjoy the "Rosen Kuchen," "this little, natural, home-grown summer-house is the oddest and prettiest little place I've ever seen."

"Yes," assented Elizabeth, "Father said he made it as nearly like as possible to a large one at Weisbaden, no great distance from his old home in Germany. He says the 'Frauer Esche,' meaning Weeping Ash, at Weisbaden, had tables and benches placed beneath spreading branches of the tree, and picnics were frequently held there. This one was made by the larger branches of the Weeping Ash, turning downward, fastened by pieces of leather to a framework nailed to the top of posts in the ground, about two yards apart, surrounding the tree. The posts, you notice, are just a little higher than an ordinary man, and when the leaves thickly cover the tops and sides, protecting one from the sun's rays, it is an ideal Summer-house. We frequently sit here evenings and afternoons; Mother brings her sewing and Pauline her doll family, which, you know, is quite numerous."

"I never saw a Summer-house at all like it," said Mary.

The Professor's wife not only taught Mary the making of superior pastry and the cooking of German dishes, but what was of still greater importance, taught her the value of different foods; that cereals of every description, flour and potatoes, are starchy foods; that cream, butter, oil, etc., are fat foods; that all fruits and vegetables contain mineral matter; and that lean meat, eggs, beans, peas and milk are muscle-forming foods. These are things every young housekeeper should have a knowledge of to be able to plan nourishing, wholesome, well-balanced meals for her family. And not to serve at one time a dish of rice, cheese and macaroni, baked beans and potatoes. Serve instead with one of these dishes fruit, a vegetable or salad. She said, "beans have a large percentage of nutriment and should be more commonly used." She also said graham and corn bread are much more nutritious than bread made from fine white flour, which lacks the nutritious elements. Indian corn is said to contain the largest amount of fat of any cereal. It is one of our most important cereal foods and should be more commonly used by housewives; especially should it be used by working men whose occupation requires a great amount of physical exercise. Particularly in cold weather should it be frequently served, being both cheap and wholesome.

The Professor's wife laughingly remarked to Mary, "When I fry fritters or 'Fast Nacht' cakes, Fritz and Pauline usually assist such a large number of them in disappearing before I have finished baking, I am reminded of 'Doughnutting Time,' by J.W. Foley. Have you never read the poem? I sometimes feel that it must have been written by me."

[^[A]]"DOUGHNUTTING TIME."

Wunst w'en our girl wuz makin' pies an' doughnuts—'ist a Lot—
We stood around with great, big eyes, 'cuz we boys like 'em hot;
And w'en she dropped 'em in the lard, they sizzled 'ist like fun,
And w'en she takes 'em out, it's hard to keep from takin' one.

And 'en she says: "You boys'll get all spattered up with grease."
And by-um-by she says she'll let us have 'ist one apiece;
So I took one for me, and one for little James McBride,
The widow's only orfunt son, 'ats waitin' there outside.

An' Henry, he took one 'ist for himself an' Nellie Flynn,
'At's waitin' at the kitchen door and dassent to come in,
Becuz her Mother told her not; and Johnny, he took two,
'Cus Amey Brennan likes 'em hot, 'ist like we chinnern do.

'En Henry happened 'ist to think he didn't get a one
For little Ebenezer Brink, the carpet beater's son,
Who never gets 'em home, becuz he says, he ain't quite sure,
But thinks perhaps the reason wuz, his folkeses are too poor.

An 'en I give my own away to little Willie Biggs
'At fell down his stairs one day, an' give him crooked legs,
'Cuz Willie always seems to know w'en our girl's goin' to bake.
He wouldn't ast for none. Oh, no! But, my! he's fond of cake.

So I went back an' 'en I got another one for me,
Right out the kittle smokin' hot, an' brown as it could be;
An' John he got one, too, becuz he give his own to Clare,
An' w'en our girl she looked, there wuz 'ist two small doughnuts
there.

My! she wuz angry w'en she looked an' saw 'ist them two there,
An' says she knew 'at she had cooked a crock full an' to spare;
She says it's awful 'scouragin' to bake and fret an' fuss,
An' w'en she thinks she's got 'em in the crock, they're all in us.

[A]

The poem "Doughnutting Time," from "Boys and Girls," published by E.P. Dutton, by permission of the author, James W. Foley.

The Professor's wife gave Mary what she called her most useful recipe. She said, "Mary, this recipe was almost invaluable to me when I was a young housekeeper and the strictest economy was necessary. Sift into a bowl, one cup of flour, one even teaspoonful of baking powder (I use other baking powders occasionally, but prefer 'Royal'), then cut through the flour either one tablespoonful of butter or lard, add a pinch of salt, and mix into a soft dough with about one-half cup of sweet milk. Mix dough quickly and lightly, handling as little as possible. Drop large spoonfuls of the batter in muffin pans and bake in a quick oven for tea biscuits; or, sift flour thickly over the bread board, turn out the dough, roll several times in the flour, give one quick turn with the rolling-pin to flatten out dough, and cut out with small cake cutter, (I prefer using a small, empty tin, ½ pound baking powder can, to cut out cakes.) Place close together in an agate pan and bake, or bake in one cake in a pie tin and for shortcake; or place spoonfuls of the dough over veal or beef stew and potatoes or stewed chicken, and cook, closely covered, about fifteen minutes. Of course, you will have sufficient water in the stew pan to prevent its boiling away before the pot-pie dumplings are cooked, and, of course, you know, Mary, the meat and potatoes must be almost ready to serve when this dough is added. Then I frequently add one teaspoonful of sugar to the batter and place spoonfuls over either freshly stewed or canned sour cherries, plums, rhubarb or apples. In fact, any tart fruit may be used, and steam, closely covered, or place large tablespoonful of any fruit, either canned or stewed, in small custard cups, place tablespoonfuls of batter on top and steam or bake, and serve with either some of the stewed fruit and fruit juice, sugar and cream, or any sauce preferred."

"The varieties of puddings which may be evolved from this one formula," continued the Professor's wife, "are endless, and, Mary, I should advise you to make a note of it. This quantity of flour will make enough to serve two at a meal, and the proportions may be easily doubled if you wish to serve a large family."

"Then, Mary, I have a recipe taken from the 'Farmers' Bulletin' for dumplings, which I think fine. You must try it some time. Your Aunt Sarah thinks them 'dreadfully extravagant.' They call for four teaspoonfuls of baking powder to two cups of flour, but they are perfect puff balls, and this is such a fast age, why not use more baking powder if an advantage? I am always ready to try anything new I hear about."

"Yes," replied Mary, "I just love to try new recipes, I will experiment with the dumplings one of these days. Aunt Sarah says I will never use half the recipes I have; but so many of them have been given me by excellent and reliable old Bucks County cooks, I intend to copy them all in a book, and keep for reference after I leave the farm."

CHAPTER XX.

OLD POTTERIES AND DECORATED DISHES.

One day, looking through the old corner cupboard, Mary exclaimed, "Aunt Sarah, you certainly possess the finest collection of quaint old china dishes I have ever seen. I just love those small saucers and cups without handles; yes, and you have plates to match decorated with pinkish, lavender peacock feathers, and those dear little cups and saucers, decorated inside with pink and outside with green flowers, are certainly odd; and this queerly-shaped cream jug, sugar bowl and teapot, with pale green figures, and those homely plates, with dabs of bright red and green, they surely must be very old!"

Old Earthenware Dish

"Yes, dear, they all belonged to either John's mother or mine. All except this one large, blue plate, which is greatly valued by me, as it was given me many years ago by a dear old friend, Mary Butler, a descendant of one of the oldest families in Wyoming Valley, whose, forefathers date back to the time of the 'Wyoming Massacre,' about which so much has been written in song and story.

"The very oddest plates in your collection are those two large earthenware dishes, especially that large circular dish, with sloping sides and flat base, decorated with tulips."

SGRAFFITO PLATE Manufactured by One of the Oldest Pennsylvania German Potterers in 1786

"Yes, Mary, and it is the one I value most highly. It is called sgraffito ware. A tulip decoration surrounds a large red star in the centre of the plate. This belonged to my mother, who said it came from the Headman pottery at Rockhill Township, about the year 1808. I know of only two others in existence at the present time; one is in a museum in the city of Philadelphia and the other one is in the Bucks County Historical Society at Doylestown, Pa. The other earthenware plate you admire, containing marginal inscription in German which when translated is 'This plate is made of earth, when it breaks the potter laughs,' is the very oldest in my collection, the date on it, you see, is 1786. Those curved, shallow earthenware pie plates, or 'Poi Schissel,' as they are frequently called in this part of Bucks County, I value, even if they are quite plain and without decoration, as they were always used by my mother when baking pies, and I never thought pies baked in any other shaped dish tasted equally as good as hers. These pie plates were manufactured at one of the old potteries near her home. All the old potters have passed away, and the buildings have crumbled to the ground. Years ago, your mother and I, when visiting the old farm where the earlier years of our childhood were passed, stopped with one of our old-time friends, who lived directly opposite the old Herstine pottery, which was then in a very dilapidated condition; it had formerly been operated by Cornelius Herstine (we always called him 'Neal' Herstine)."

OLD PLATES FOUND IN AUNT SARAH'S CORNER CUPBOARD

"Together we crossed the road, forced our way through tangled vines and underbrush, and, peering through windows guiltless of glass, we saw partly-finished work of the old potters crumbling on the ground. The sight was a sad one. We realized the hand of time had crumbled to dust both the potter and his clay. Still nearer my old home was the McEntee pottery. From earliest childhood our families were friends. We all attended the 'Crossroads' School, where years later a more modern brick structure was built, under the hill; not far distant from 'The Narrows' and the 'Ringing Rocks.' Yes, Mary, my memory goes back to the time when the McEntee pottery was a flourishing industry, operated by three brothers, John, Patrick and Michael. When last I visited them but few landmarks remained."

"Was there a pottery on your father's farm, Aunt Sarah?" inquired Mary.

"No. The nearest one was the McEntee pottery, but the grandson of the old man who purchased our old farm at my father's death had a limekiln for the purpose of burning lime, and several miles distant, at the home of my uncle, was found clay suitable for the manufacture of bricks. Only a few years ago this plant was still in operation. My father's farm was situated in the upper part of Bucks County, in what was then known as the Nockamixon Swamp, and at one time there were in that neighborhood no less than seven potteries within two miles of each other."

"Why," exclaimed Mary, "were there so many potteries in that locality?"

"'Twas due, no doubt, to the large deposits of clay found there, well suited to the manufacture of earthenware. The soil is a clayey loam, underlaid with potter's clay. The old German potters, on coming to this country, settled mostly in Eastern Pennsylvania, in the counties of Bucks and Montgomery. The numerous small potteries erected by the early settlers were for the manufacture of earthenware dishes, also pots of graded sizes. These were called nests, and were used principally on the farm for holding milk, cream and apple-butter. Jugs and pie plates were also manufactured. The plates were visually quite plain, but they produced occasionally plates decorated with conventionalized tulips, and some, more elaborate, contained besides figures of animals, birds and flowers. Marginal inscriptions in English and German decorate many of the old plates, from which may be learned many interesting facts concerning the life and habits of the early settlers. I think, judging from the inscriptions I have seen on some old plates, it must have taxed the ingenuity of the old German potters to think up odd, original inscriptions for their plates."

"Aunt Sarah, how was sgraffito ware made? Is it the same as slip-decorated pottery?"

"No, my dear, the two are quite different. The large plate you so greatly admired is called sgraffito or scratched work, sometimes called slip engraving. It usually consists of dark designs on a cream-colored ground. After the plates had been shaped over the mold by the potter, the upper surface was covered by a coating of white slip, and designs were cut through this slip to show the earthenware underneath. This decoration was more commonly used by the old potters than slip decorating, which consisted in mixing white clay and water until the consistency of cream. The liquid clay was then allowed to run slowly through a quill attached to a small cup, over the earthenware (before burning it in a kiln) to produce different designs. The process is similar to that used when icing a cake, when you allow the icing to run slowly from a pastry tube to form fanciful designs. I have watched the old potters at their work many a time when a child. The process employed in the manufacture of earthenware is almost the same today as it was a century ago, but the appliances of the present day workmen are not so primitive as were those of the old German potters. Mary, a new pottery works has been started quite lately in the exact locality where, over one hundred years ago, were situated the Dichl and Headman potteries, where my highly-prized, old sgraffito plate was manufactured. I hear the new pottery has improved machinery for the manufacture of vases, flower pots, tiles, etc. They intend manufacturing principally 'Spanish tiles' from the many acres of fine clay found at that place. The clay, it is said, burns a beautiful dark, creamy red. As you are so much interested in this subject, Mary, we shall visit this new pottery some day in the near future, in company with your Uncle John. It is no great distance from the farm. Quite an interesting story I have heard in connection with a pottery owned by a very worthy Quaker in a near-by town may interest you, as your father was a Philadelphia Quaker and Ralph's parents were Quakers also."

A-38 Schmutz Amschel
A-39 Antiquated Tin Lantern
A-40 Schmutz Amschel
A-41 Fluid Lamp
A-42 Candle Mould

"Yes, indeed, Aunt Sarah! I'd love to hear the story."

"This Quaker sympathized with the colored race, or negroes, in the South. This was, of course, before slavery was abolished. You don't remember that time, Mary, You are too young. It is only history to you, but I lived it, and when the slaves ran away from their owners and came North to Philadelphia they were sent from there, by sympathizers, to this Quaker, who kept an underground station. The slaves were then placed, under his direction, in a high 'pot wagon,' covered with layers or nests of earthenware pots of graduated sizes. I heard the driver of one of these pot wagons remark one time that when going down a steep hill, he put on the brake and always held his breath until the bottom of the hill was reached, fearing the pots might all be broken. The wagon-load containing earthenware and slaves was driven to Stroudsburg, where the pots were delivered to a wholesale customer. Here the runaways were released from their cramped quarters and turned over to sympathizing friends, who assisted them in reaching Canada and safety. I have frequently met the fine-looking, courtly old gentleman who owned the pottery, and old Zacariah Mast, the skilled German potter whom he employed. They were for many years familiar figures in the little Quaker town, not many miles distant. Both passed away many years ago."

Mary, who still continued her explorations of the corner cupboard, exclaimed: "Oh! Aunt Sarah! Here is another odd, old plate, way back on the top shelf, out of sight."

"Yes, dear, that belonged to your Uncle John's mother. It has never been used and was manufactured over one hundred years ago at an old pottery in Bedminister Township, Bucks County. Some of those other quaint, old-fashioned plates also belonged to John's mother. Your Uncle loves old dishes and especially old furniture; he was so anxious to possess his grandfather's old 'Solliday' clock. In the centre of the face of the clock a hand indicated the day of the month and pictures of two large, round moons on the upper part of the clock's face (resembling nothing so much as large, ripe peaches) represented the different phases of the moon. If new moon, or the first or last quarter, it appeared, then disappeared from sight. It was valued highly, being the last clock made by the old clockmaker; but John never came into possession of it, as it was claimed by an elder sister. I value the old clock which stands in the parlor because 'twas my mother's, although it is very plain. This old cherry, corner cupboard was made for my grandmother by her father, a cabinetmaker, as a wedding gift, and was given me by my mother. Did you notice the strong, substantial manner in which it is made? It resembles mission furniture."

"Do tell me, Aunt, what this small iron boat, on the top shelf, was ever used for? It must be of value, else 'twould not occupy a place in the cupboard with all your pretty dishes."

"Yes, dearie, 'twas my grandmother's lamp, called in old times a 'Schmutz Amschel' which, translated, means a grease robin, or bird. I have two of them. I remember seeing my grandmother many a time, when the 'Amschel' was partly filled with melted lard or liquid fat, light a piece of lamp wick hanging over the little pointed end or snout of the lamp. The lamp was usually suspended from a chain fastened to either side. A spike on the chain was stuck into the wall, which was composed of logs. This light, by the way, was not particularly brilliant, even when one sat close beside it, and could not be compared with the gas and electric lights of our present day and generation. That was a very primitive manner of illumination used by our forefathers.

"Mary, did you notice the gayly-decorated, old-fashioned coffee pot and tea caddy in the corner cupboard? They belonged to my grandmother; also that old-fashioned fluid lamp, used before coal-oil or kerosene came into use; and that old, perforated tin lantern also is very ancient.

"Mary, have you ever read the poem, The Potter and the Clay?' No? Then read it to me, dear, I like it well; 'tis a particular favorite of mine, I do not remember by whom it was written."

THE POTTER AND THE CLAY.

(Jeremiah xviii 2-6.)

The potter wrought a work in clay, upon his wheel;
He moulded it and fashioned it, and made it feel,
In every part, his forming hand, his magic skill,
Until it grew in beauty fair beneath his will.

When lo! through some defect, 'twas marred and broken lay,
Its fair proportions spoiled, and it but crumbling clay;
Oh, wondrous patience, care and love, what did he do?
He stooped and gathered up the parts and formed anew.

He might have chosen then a lump of other clay
On which to show his skill and care another day,
But no; he formed it o'er again, as seemed him good;
And who has yet his purpose scanned, his will withstood?

Learn thou from this a parable of God's great grace
Toward the house of Israel, His chosen race;
He formed them for His praise; they fell and grieved Him sore,
But He will yet restore and bless them evermore.

And what He'll do for Israel, He'll do for thee;
Oh soul, so marred and spoiled by sin, thou yet shall see
That He has power to restore, He will receive,
And thou shall know His saving grace, only believe.

Despair not, He will form anew thy scattered life,
And gather up the broken parts, make peace from strife;
Only submit thou to His will of perfect love,
And thou shall see His fair design in Heaven above.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE VALUE OF WHOLESOME, NUTRITIOUS FOOD.

"Yes, my dear," said Frau Schmidt (continuing a conversation which had occurred several days previously between herself and Mary), "we will have more healthful living when the young housewife of the present day possesses a knowledge of different food values (those food products from which a well-balanced meal may be prepared) for the different members of her household. She should endeavor to buy foods which are most nourishing and wholesome; these need not necessarily consist of the more expensive food products. Cheaper food, if properly cooked, may have as fine a flavor and be equally as nutritious as that of higher price.

"And, Mary, when you marry and have a house to manage, if possible, do your own marketing, and do not make the mistake common to so many young, inexperienced housewives, of buying more expensive food than, your income will allow. Some think economy in purchasing food detrimental to their dignity and to the well-being of their families; often the ones most extravagant in this respect are those least able to afford it. Frequently the cause of this is a lack of knowledge of the value of different foods. The housewife with a large family and limited means should purchase cheaper cuts of meat, which become tender and palatable by long simmering. Combine them with different vegetables, cooked in the broth, and serve as the principal dish at a meal, or occasionally serve dumplings composed of a mixture of flour and milk, cooked in the broth, to extend the meat flavor. Frequently serve a dish of rice, hominy, cornmeal and oatmeal, dried beans and peas. These are all nutritious, nourishing foods when properly cooked and attractively served. And remember, Mary, to always serve food well seasoned. Many a well-cooked meal owes its failure to please to a lack of proper seasoning. This is a lesson a young cook must learn. Neither go to the other extreme and salt food too liberally. Speaking of salt, my dear, have you read the poem, 'The King's Daughters,' by Margaret Vandegrift? If not, read it, and then copy it in your book of recipes."

"THE KING'S DAUGHTERS."

The King's three little daughters, 'neath the palace window straying,
Had fallen into earnest talk that put an end to playing;
And the weary King smiled once again to hear what they were saying;
"It is I who love our father best," the eldest daughter said;
"I am the oldest princess," and her pretty face grew red;
"What is there none can do without? I love him more than bread."
Then said the second princess, with her bright blue eyes aflame;
"Than bread, a common thing like bread! Thou hast not any shame!
Glad am I, it is I, not thou, called by our mother's name;
I love him with a better love than one so tame as thine,
More than—Oh! what then shall I say that is both bright and fine?
And is not common? Yes, I know. I love him more than wine."
Then the little youngest daughter, whose speech would sometimes halt,
For her dreamy way of thinking, said, "Nay, you are both in fault.
'Tis I who love our father best, I love him more than salt."
Shrill little shrieks of laughter greeted her latest word,
As the two joined hands exclaiming. "But this is most absurd!"
And the King, no longer smiling, was grieved that he had heard,
For the little youngest daughter, with her eyes of steadfast grey,
Could always move his tenderness, and charm his care away;
"She grows more like her mother dead," he whispered day by day,
"But she is very little and I will find no fault,
That while her sisters strive to see who most shall me exalt,
She holds me nothing dearer than a common thing like salt."

The portly cook was standing in the courtyard by the spring,
He winked and nodded to himself, "That little quiet thing
Knows more than both the others, as I will show the King."
That afternoon, at dinner, there was nothing fit to eat.
The King turned angrily away from soup and fish and meat,
And he found a cloying sweetness in the dishes that were sweet;
"And yet," he muttered, musing, "I cannot find the fault;
Not a thing has tasted like itself but this honest cup of malt."
Said the youngest princess, shyly: "Dear father, they want salt."

A sudden look of tenderness shone on the King's dark face,
As he sat his little daughter in the dead queen's vacant place,
And he thought: "She has her mother's heart; Ay, and her mother's grace;
Great love through channels will find its surest way.
It waits not state occasions, which may not come or may;
It comforts and it blesses, hour by hour, and day by day."

CHAPTER XXII.

A VARIETY OF CAKES EVOLVED FROM ONE

"Aunt Sarah," questioned Mary one day, "will you tell me how it is possible to evolve a number of cakes from one recipe?"

"Certainly I will, my dear," said her Aunt. "For instance, take the simple recipe from which I have for years baked layer cake. You may have other recipes given you, equally as good, but I feel positive none better. The cake made from this recipe is not rich enough to be unwholesome, but a good, reliable, inexpensive, easily-made cake, with which I have never had a failure.

"The recipe, as you know, consists of 1¼ cups of granulated sugar, ½ cup of a mixture of butter and sweet lard (or use all butter), ½ cup sweet milk, 2 cups flour and 2 teaspoonfuls baking powder. 3 eggs.

"The simplest manner of baking this cake is in two square cake pans. When baked, take from pans and ice each cake with a boiled chocolate icing and put together as a layer cake, or ice each cake with a plain, boiled white icing and, when this is cold, you may spread over top of each cake unsweetened chocolate, which has been melted over steam after being grated. When cake is to be served, cut in diamonds or squares. Or add to the batter 1 cup of chopped hickory nut meats, bake in 2 layers and cut in squares.

"For a chocolate loaf cake, add two generous tablespoonfuls of unsweetened melted chocolate to the batter just before baking. If you wish a chocolate layer cake, use the same batter as for the chocolate loaf cake, bake in two layer pans and put together with white boiled icing.

"Or, add to this same batter one scant teaspoonful of cinnamon, ginger, ½ teaspoonful of grated nutmeg and cloves, a cup of raisins or dried currants, and you have a small fruit cake.

"Or, add a small quantity of thinly-shaved citron to the original recipe, flavor with lemon, bake in a loaf and spread a white icing flavored with lemon extract over top of cake, and you have a lemon cake.

"Or, add chocolate and spices to one-half the batter (about one-half as much chocolate and spices as were used in batter for fruit cake) and place spoonfuls of the light and dark batter alternately in a cake pan, until all batter has been used, and you will have a cheap, old-fashioned Marble cake.

"Or, bake cake over original recipe, in two-layer pans, placing between layers either tart jelly, a creamy cornstarch filling, grated cocoanut, apple cream filling, or you might even use half the recipe given for the delicious icing or filling for Lady Baltimore cake.

"Lastly, bake small cakes from this same recipe. Mary, you should have small pans for baking these delicious little cakes, similar to those I possess, which I ordered made at the tinsmith's. I took for a pattern one Frau Schmidt loaned me. They are the exact size of one-quarter pound boxes of Royal baking powder. Cut the box in three pieces of equal height, and your cakes will be equally as large in diameter as the baking powder box, but only one-third as high. I think I improved on Frau Schmidt's cake tins, as hers were all separate, I ordered twelve tins, similar to hers, to be fastened to a piece of sheet iron. I had two of these iron sheets made, containing twenty-four little pans. I place a generous tablespoonful of the batter in each of the twenty-four small pans, and cakes rise to the top of pans. Usually I have batter remaining after these are filled. Ice all the cake except the top with a white boiled icing or chocolate icing. These small cakes keep exceedingly well, and are always liked by young folks and are particularly nice for children's parties".

"Speaking of cakes, Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "have you ever used Swansdown cake flour? I have a friend in the city who uses it for making the most delicious Angel cake, and she gave me a piece of Gold cake made over a recipe in 'Cake Secrets,' which comes with the flour, and it was fine. I'll get a package of the flour for you the first time I go to the city. The flour resembles a mixture of ordinary flour and cornstarch. It is not a prepared flour, to be used without baking powder, and you use it principally for baking cakes. I have the recipe for both the Gold and Angel cakes, with the instructions for baking same. They are as follows:"

ANGEL CAKE.

"For the Angel cake, use one even cupful of the whites of egg (whites of either eight large or nine small eggs); a pinch of salt, if added when beating eggs, hastens the work. One and one-quarter cups granulated sugar, 1 cup of Iglehart's Swansdown cake flour. Sift flour once, then measure and sift three times. Beat whites of eggs about half, add ½ teaspoonful of cream of tartar then beat whites of eggs until they will stand of their own weight. Add sugar, then flour, not by stirring, but by folding over and over, until thoroughly mixed. Flavor with ½ teaspoonful of vanilla or a few drops of almond extract. As much care should be taken in baking an Angel Food cake as in mixing. Bake in an ungreased patent pan. Place the cake in an oven that is just warm enough to know there is a fire inside the range. Let the oven stay just warm through until the batter has raised to the top of the cake pan, then increase the heat gradually until the cake is well browned over. If by pressing the top of the cake with the finger it will spring back without leaving the impression of the finger, the cake is done through. Great care should be taken that the oven is not too hot to begin with, as the cake will rise too fast and settle or fall in the baking. It should bake in from 35 to 40 minutes' time. When done, invert the pan and let stand until cold before removing it. Should you see cake browning before it rises to top of pan, throw your oven door open and let cold air rush in and cool your oven instantly. Be not afraid. The cold air will not hurt the cake. Two minutes will cool any oven. Watch cake closely. Don't be afraid to open oven door every three or four minutes. This is the only way to properly bake this cake. When cake has raised above top of pan, increase your heat and finish baking rapidly. Baking too long dries out the moisture, makes it tough and dry. When cake is done it begins to shrink. Let it shrink back to level of pan. Watch carefully at this stage and take out of oven and invert immediately. Rest on centre tube of pan. Let hang until perfectly cold, then take cake carefully from pan. When baking Angel cake always be sure the oven bakes good brown under bottom of cake. If cake does not crust under bottom it will fall out when inverted and shrink in the fall."

"I never invert my pans of Angel cake on taking them from oven," said Mary's Aunt, "as the cakes are liable to fall out even if the pan is not greased. I think it safer to allow the pans containing the cakes to stand on a rack and cool without inverting the pan.

"Suppose, Mary, we bake a Gold cake over the recipe from 'Cake Secrets,' as eggs are plentiful; but we haven't any Swansdown flour. I think we will wait until we get it from the city."

GOLD CAKE.

Yolks of 8 eggs; 1¼ cups granulated sugar, ¾ cup of butter, ¾ cup water, 2½ cups of Swansdown cake flour, 2 heaping teaspoonfuls of baking powder, ½ teaspoonful lemon extract. Sift flour once, then measure. Add baking powder and sift three times. Cream butter and sugar thoroughly; beat yolks to a stiff froth; add this to creamed butter and sugar, and stir thoroughly through. Add flavor, add water, then flour. Stir very hard. Place in a slow oven at once. Will bake in from 30 to 40 minutes. Invert pan immediately it is taken from oven.

Mary, this batter may also be baked in layers with any kind of filling desired. The Angel cake receipt is very similar to an original recipe Frau Schmidt gave me; she uses cornstarch instead of Swansdown flour and she measures the eggs in a cup instead of taking a certain number; she thinks it more exact.

"Aunt Sarah, did you know Frau Schmidt, instead of using flour alone when baking cakes, frequently uses a mixture of flour and cornstarch? She sifts together, several times, six cups of flour and one cup of cornstarch, and uses this instead of using flour alone.

"I dearly love the Professor's wife—she's been so very good to me," exclaimed Mary.

"Yes," replied her Aunt, "she has very many lovable qualities."

Mary's liking for bright, energetic Frau Schmidt was not greater than the affection bestowed on Mary by the Professor's wife, who frequently entertained Mary with tales of her life when a girl in Germany, to all of which Mary never tired listening. One Aunt, a most estimable woman, held the position of valued and respected housekeeper and cook for the Lord Mayor of the city wherein she resided. Another relative, known as "Schone Anna," for many years kept an inn named "The Four Seasons," noted for the excellent fare served by the fair chatelaine to her patrons. The inn was made famous by members of the King's household stopping there while in the town during the Summer months, which was certainly a compliment to her good cooking. One of the things in which she particularly excelled was potato cakes raised with yeast. Frau Schmidt had been given a number of these valuable recipes by her mother, all of which she offered to Mary. One recipe she particularly liked was "Fast Nacht Cakes," which the Professor's wife baked always without fail on Shrove Tuesday (or "Fast Nacht" day), the day before the beginning of Lent. This rule was as "unchangeable as the law of Medes and Persians," and it would have been a very important event, indeed, which would have prevented the baking of these toothsome delicacies on that day.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE OLD "TAUFSCHIEN."

BIRTH AND CHRISTENING CERTIFICATE

OLD TAUFSCHIEN

Aunt Sarah had long promised to show Mary her Grandmother's "Taufschien," and she reverently handled the large old family Bible, which contained between its sacred pages the yellowed paper, being the birth and christening certificate of her grandmother, whom we read was born in 1785, in Nockamixon Township, was confirmed in 1802, and was married in 1805 to the man who was later Aunt Sarah's grandfather. The old certificate was signed by a German Reformed minister named Wack, who history tells us was the first young man of that denomination to be ordained to the ministry in America. Folded with this "Taufschien" is another which has never been filled out. This is printed in German. Pictures of women, perhaps they are intended to represent angels, with golden wings, clothed in loose-flowing crimson drapery and holding harps in their hands; birds with gayly-colored plumage of bluish green, crimson and yellow, perched on branches of what presumably represent cherry trees, also decorate the page. Religious hymns printed on the "Taufschiens," encircled with gay stripes of light blue and yellow, dotted with green, further embellish them. On one we read:

"Infinite joy or endless woe,
Attend on every breath;
And yet, how unconcerned we go
Upon the brink of death."

"Mary, this old 'Taufschien' of my grandmother's is one of my most cherished possessions. Would you like to see your Uncle's old deed, which he came into possession of when he inherited the farm from his father?"

Carefully unfolding the stiff old parchment or pigskin deed, yellowed and brown spotted with age, Mary could faintly decipher the writing wherein, beautifully written, old-fashioned penmanship of two hundred years ago stated that a certain piece of land in Bucks County, Beginning at a Chestnut Oak, North to a post; then East to a large rock, and on the South unsettled land, which in later years was conveyed to John Landis.

"This deed," said Mary's Aunt, "was given in 1738, nearly two hundred years ago, by John, Thomas and Richard Penn, sons of William Penn by his second marriage, which occurred in America. His eldest son, John Penn, you have no doubt heard, was called 'The American,' he having been born in this country before William Penn's return to Europe, where he remained fifteen years, as you've no doubt heard."

At the bottom of the deed a blue ribbon has been slipped through cuts in the parchment, forming a diamond which incloses what is supposed to be the signature of Thomas Penn.

"Aunt Sarah, I am not surprised that you value this old deed of the farm and these 'Taufschiens' of your grandmother I should frame them, so they may be preserved by future generations."

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE OLD STORE ON THE RIDGE ROAD.

Aunt Sarah found in Mary a willing listener when talking of the time in years past when her grandfather kept a small "Country Store" on the Ridge Road in Bucks County. She also remembered, when a child of ten, accompanying her grandfather on one of his trips when he drove to Philadelphia to purchase goods for his store.

"They had no trolley cars in those days?" asked Mary.

"No, my dear, neither did they have steam cars between the different towns and cities as we have now."

"At grandfather's store could be bought both groceries and dry goods. The surrounding farmers' wives brought to the store weekly fresh print butter, eggs, pot cheese and hand-case, crocks of apple-butter, dried sweet corn, beans, cherries, peach and apple 'Snitz,' taking in exchange sugar, starch, coffee, molasses, etc. My father tapped his sugar maples and mother cooked down the syrup until thick, and we used that in place of molasses. They also took in exchange shaker flannel, nankeen, indigo blue and 'Simpson' gray calico, which mother considered superior to any other, both for its washing and wearing qualities. The farmers who came occasionally to the store to shop for different members of the family frequently bought whole pieces of calico of one pattern, and," affirmed Aunt Sarah, "I knew of one farmer who bought several whole pieces of one pattern with rather large figures on a dark wine ground, resembling somewhat the gay figures on an old paisley shawl. He said 'twas a good, serviceable color, and more economical to buy it all alike, and remarked: 'What's the difference, anyway? Calico is calico.' From the same piece of calico his wife made dresses, aprons and sunbonnets for herself and daughters, shirts for the farmer and his sons (the boys were young, fortunately), and patchwork quilts and comfortables from the remainder."

"Rather monotonous, I should think," said Mary. "I am surprised his wife did not make him wear coat and trousers made from the same piece of calico."

THE OLD STORE ON RIDGE ROAD

"The dry goods," continued Aunt Sarah, "retained the scent of coffee, cheese and dried fruits some time after being purchased but no one minded that in those days. I still remember how perfectly wonderful to me when a child appeared the large, wide-mouthed glass jars containing candy. There were red and white striped mint sticks, striped yellow and white lemon sticks and hoarhound and clear, wine-colored sticks striped with lines of white, flavored with anise-seed. One jar contained clear lemon-colored 'Sour Balls,' preferred by us children on account of their lasting qualities, as also were the jujubees, which resembled nothing so much as gutta percha, and possessed equally as fine flavor; also pink and yellow sugar-frosted gumdrops. In a case at one end of the counter were squares of thick white paper covered with rows of small pink, also white, 'peppermint buttons,' small sticks, two inches in length, of chewing gum in waxed paper, a white, tasteless, crystalline substance resembling paraffine. What longing eyes I frequently cast at the small scalloped cakes of maple sugar, prohibitive as regards cost. They sold for a nickel, am I was always inordinately fond of maple sugar, but the price was prohibitive. I seldom possessed more than a penny to spend in those days, and not always that. Father raised a large family, money was never plentiful, and we relished the plain, cheap candies usually sold in those days more than many children of the present day do the finest and most expensive cream chocolates, to many of whom in this extravagant age a dollar is not valued more highly than was a penny by us in years gone by. And 'Candy Secrets!' I don't believe you know what they are like. I've not seen any for years. They were small, square pieces of taffy-like candy, wrapped in squares of gilt or silver paper, inclosing a small strip of paper containing a couple of sentimental lines or jingle. Later came 'French Secrets.' They consisted of a small oblong piece of candy about an inch in length, wrapped in tissue paper of different colors, having fringed ends, twisted together at either end. These also inclosed a tiny strip of paper containing a line or two. Small, white candy hearts contained the words in pink letters, 'Little Sweetheart,' 'I Love You,' 'Name the Day,' etc. These were invariably distributed among the young folks at small parties and created no end of merriment."

"Mary, old as I am, I still remember the delight I experienced when a little, rosy-cheeked urchin surreptitiously passed me around the corner of my desk at the old 'Cross Roads School' a 'Secret,' with the words, 'Do you love me?' My grandmother always kept a supply of hoarhound and peppermint lozenges in her knitting basket to give us children should we complain of hoarseness. My, but 'twas astonishing to hear us all cough until grandmother's supply of mints was exhausted. I think. Mary, I must have had a 'sweet tooth' when a child, as my recollections seem to be principally about the candy kept in my grandfather's store. I suppose in those early days of my childhood candy appealed to me more than anything else, as never having had a surfeit of sweets, candy to me was a rare treat. I remember, Mary, when a little child, my thrifty mother, wishing to encourage me to learn to knit my own stockings, she, when winding the skein of German yarn into a ball, occasionally wound a penny in with the yarn. I was allowed to spend the penny only after I had knitted the yarn and the penny had fallen from the ball. What untold wealth that penny represented! And planning how to spend it was greater pleasure still. Many a pair of long old-fashioned, dark blue and red-striped stockings, were finished more quickly than otherwise would have been done without the promised reward. I became proficient in knitting at an early age," continued Aunt Sarah; "a truly feminine occupation, and as I one time heard a wise old physician remark, 'Soothing to the nerves,' which I know to be true, having knitted many a worry into the heel of a sock. I learned at an early age the value of money, and once having acquired the saving habit, it is not possible to be wasteful in later life."

CHAPTER XXV.

AN ELBADRITCHEL HUNT.

Fritz Schmidt, like many another Bucks County boy, had frequently heard the rural tale of a mythical bird called the "Elbadritchel," supposed to be abroad, particularly on cold, dark, stormy nights, when the wind whistled and blew perfect gales around exposed corners of houses and barns. 'Twas a common saying among "Pennsylvania Germans," at such times, "'Tis a fine night to catch 'Elbadritchels.'"

CATCHING ELBADRITCHELS

For the information of those who may not even have heard of this remarkable creature, it is described as being a cross between a swallow, a goose and a lyre bird. Have you ever seen an "Elbadritchel?" No one has to my certain knowledge, so I cannot vouch for the truth of this description of it.

Fritz Schmidt had never taught to question the truth of the tale. So, when one cold, stormy night several boys from neighboring farms drove up to the Schmidt homestead and asked Fritz to join them in a hunt for "Elbadritchels," he unhesitatingly agreed to make one of the number, unaware that he had been selected as the victim of a practical joke, and, as usual, was one of the jolliest of the crowd. They drove through a blinding downpour of rain and dismounted on reaching a lonely hill about three miles distant. They gave Fritz a bag to hold. It was fashioned of burlap and barrel hoops, inside of which they placed a lighted candle, and Fritz was instructed how to hold it in order to attract the "Elbadritchel." They also gave him a club with which to strike the bird when it should appear.

The boys scampered off in different directions, ostensibly to chase up the birds, but in reality they clambered into the waiting wagon and were rapidly driven home, leaving Fritz alone awaiting the coming of the "Elbadritchel." When Fritz realized the trick played on him, his feelings may be better imagined than described. He trudged home, cold and tired, vowing vengeance on the boys, fully resolved to get even with them.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OLD SHANGHAI ROOSTER.

Much of Aunt Sarah's spare time was devoted to her chickens, which fully repaid her for the care given them. She was not particular about fancy stock, but had quite a variety—White Leghorns, Brown Leghorns, big, fat, motherly old Brahma hens that had raised a brood of as many as thirty-five little chicks at one time, a few snow-white, large Plymouth Rocks and some gray Barred one. The latter she liked particularly because she said they were much, more talkative than any of the others; they certainly did appear to chatter to her when she fed them. She gave them clean, comfortable quarters, warm bran mash on cold winter mornings, alternating with cracked corn and "scratch feed" composed of a mixture of cracked corn, wheat and buckwheat, scattered over a litter of dried leaves on the floor of the chicken house, so they were obliged to work hard for their food.

Old Egg Basket

A plentiful supply of fresh water was always at hand, as well as cracked oyster shell. She also fed the chickens all scraps from the table, cutting all meat scraps fine with an old pair of scissors hung conveniently in the kitchen.

She was very successful with the little chicks hatched out when she "set" a hen and the yield of eggs from her hens was usually greater and the eggs larger in size than those of any of her neighbors. This I attribute to her excellent care of them, generous diet, but principally to the fact of the elimination of all the roosters among the flock during the season between the "first of May and December first," with one exception. "Brigham," an immensely large, old, red Shanghai rooster, a most pompous and dignified old chap. A special pet of Aunt Sarah's, she having raised him from a valuable "setting" of eggs given her, and as the egg from which "Brigham," as he was called, emerged, was the only one of the lot which proved fertile, he was valued accordingly and given a longer lease of life than the other roosters, and was usually either confined or allowed to roam outside the chicken yard during the summer months; in the winter, being a swift runner, he usually gobbled up two shares of food before the hens arrived. That accounted for his great size. The old rooster was also noted for his loud crowing.

One day in early Spring, John Landis came into the house hurriedly, saying, "Sarah, your old Shanghai rooster is sick."

"Yes," answered his wife, "I missed hearing him crow this morning; he is usually as regular as an alarm clock."

She hurried to the barnyard, picked up poor Brigham, wrapped him carefully in a piece of blanket and laid him in a small shed. The next morning she was awakened by the lusty crowing of Brigham, who was apparently as well as ever. The next day the same thing happened. Aunt Sarah found him, as she supposed, in a dying condition, and the following morning he was fully recovered. It was quite puzzling until one day John Landis came into the kitchen laughing heartily and said, "Sarah, I am sorry to inform you of the intemperate habits of your pet, Brigham. He is a most disreputable old fellow, and has a liking for liquor. He has been eating some of the brandied cherries which were thrown into the barnyard when the jug containing them was accidentally broken at house cleaning time.

"Well, Sarah, old Brigham was not sick at all—only 'ingloriously' drunk." In the fall of the same year Aunt Sarah spied Brigham one day on top of one of the cider barrels in the shed busily engaged eating the pummace which issued from the bung-hole of the barrel. John Landis, on hearing of Brigham's last escapade, decided, as the rooster was large as an ordinary-turkey, to serve him roasted at Mary's wedding.

Fritz Schmidt remarked one day in the presence of Sibylla: "Chickens must possess some little intelligence; they know enough to go to bed early. Yes, and without an 'alarm clock,' too, Sibylla, eh?"

She walked away without a word to Fritz. The alarm clock was a sore subject with her, and one about which she had nothing to say. Sibylla had never quite forgiven Fritz for the prank played on her. He, happening to hear John Landis tell Sibylla a certain hour he thought a proper time for Jake Crouthamel to take his departure Sunday evenings, Fritz conceived the brilliant (?) idea of setting the alarm clock to "go off" quite early in the evening. He placed the clock at the head of the stairs, and in the midst of an interesting conversation between the lovers the alarm sounded with a loud, whizzing noise, which naturally made quick-tempered Sibylla very angry. She said on seeing Fritz the next morning: "It was not necessary to set the 'waker' to go off, as I know enough to send 'Chake' home when it's time."

Fritz, happening to tell the story to the editor of a small German Mennonite paper, edited in a near-by town, it was printed in that paper in German, which caused Sibylla, on hearing it, to be still more angry at the Professor's son.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"A POTATO PRETZEL."

In the early part of September Mary's Aunt suggested she try to win the prize offered at the Farmers' Picnic in a near-by town for the best "Raised Potato Cake." Aunt Sarah's rye bread invariably captured first prize, and she proposed sending both bread and cake with Sibylla and Jake, who never missed picnic or fair within a radius of one hundred miles.

"POTATO PRETZEL"

Mary set a sponge the evening of the day preceding that of the picnic, using recipe for "Perfection Potato Cake," which Aunt Sarah considered her best recipe for raised cakes, as 'twas one used by her mother for many years.

On the day of the picnic, Mary arose at five o'clock, and while her Aunt was busily engaged setting sponge for her loaf of rye bread, Mary kneaded down the "potato cake" sponge, set to rise the previous evening, now rounded over top of bowl and light as a feather.

She filled a couple of pans with buns, molded from the dough, and set them to rise. She then, under her Aunt's direction, fashioned the "Pretzel" as follows: She placed a piece of the raised dough on a large, well-floured bake board, rolled it over and over with both hands until a long, narrow roll or strip was formed about the width of two fingers in thickness and placed this strip carefully on the baking sheet, which was similar to the one on which Aunt Sarah baked rye bread; shaped the dough to form a figure eight (8) or pretzel, allowing about two inches of space on either side of baking sheet to allow for raising. She then cut a piece of dough into three portions, rolled each as thick as a finger, braided or plaited the three strips together and placed carefully on top of the figure eight, or pretzel, not meeting by a space of about two inches. This braided piece on the top should not be quite as thick as bottom or first piece of the pretzel. She then rolled three small pieces of dough into tiny strips or rolls the size of small lead pencils, wound them round and round and round into small scrolls, moistened the lower side with water to cause them to adhere, and placed them on the dividing line between the two halves of the figure eight. She placed an old china coffee cup without a handle, buttered on outside, in centre of each half of the figure eight, which kept the pretzel from spreading over the pan. With a small, new paint brush she brushed over the top of Pretzel and Buns, a mixture, consisting of one yolk of egg, an equal quantity of cream or milk (which should be lukewarm so as not to chill the raised dough) and one tablespoon of sugar. This causes the cakes, etc., to be a rich brown when baked, a result to be obtained in no other manner.

When the pretzel was raised and had doubled in size 'twas baked in a moderately hot oven.

Mary's surprise and delight may easily be imagined when Sibylla, on her return from the picnic, handed her the prize she had won, a two-pound box of chocolates, remarking, "Mary, you and Aunt Sarah both got a prize—her's is in the box what Jake's got."

The box on being opened by Aunt Sarah contained a very pretty, silver-plated soup ladle, the prize offered for the best loaf of rye bread.

"Aunt Sarah," inquired Mary one day, "do you think it pays a housekeeper to bake her own bread?"

LOAF OF RYE BREAD

"Certainly, it pays, my dear. From a barrel of flour may be baked three hundred or more one-pound loaves of bread; should you pay five cents a loaf, the bread which may be made from one barrel of flour if bought from a bake shop would cost you fifteen dollars. Now, you add to the cost of a barrel of flour a couple of dollars for yeast, salt, etc., which altogether would not possibly be more than ten dollars, and you see the housewife has saved five dollars. It is true it is extra work for the housewife, but good, wholesome bread is such an important item, especially in a large family, I should advise the thrifty housekeeper to bake her own bread and bake less pie and cake, or eliminate less important duties, to be able to find time to bake bread. From the bread sponge may be made such a number of good, plain cakes by the addition of currants or raisins, which are more wholesome and cheaper than richer cakes."

"I think what you say is true, Aunt Sarah," said Mary.

"Frau Schmidt always bakes her own bread, and she tells me she sets a sponge or batter for white bread, and by the addition of Graham flour, cornmeal or oatmeal, always has a variety on her table with a small expenditure of time and money."

A "BROD CORVEL" OR BREAD BASKET

CHAPTER XXVIII.

FAITHFUL SERVICE.

The home-making instinct was so strongly developed in Mary that her share in the labor of cooking and baking became a pleasure. Occasionally she had failures—what inexperienced cook has not?—yet they served only to spur her on to fresh efforts. She had several small scars on her wrist caused by her arm coming in contact with the hot oven when baking. She laughingly explained: "One bar on my arm represents that delicious 'Brod Torte' which Frau Schmidt taught me to bake; the other one I acquired when removing the sponge cake from the oven which Uncle John said 'equaled Aunt Sarah's' (which I consider highest praise), and the third bar I received when taking from the oven the 'Lemon Meringue,' Ralph's favorite pie, which he pronounced 'fine, almost too good to eat.'" Mary was as proud of her scars as a young, non-commissioned officer of the chevron on his sleeve, won by deeds of valor.

The lessons Mary learned that summer on the farm while filling her hope chest and preparing her mind for wifehood were of inestimable value to her in later years. She learned not only to bake, brew and keep house, but from constant association with her Aunt she acquired a self-poise, a calm, serene manner, the value of which is beyond price in this swift, restless age.

One day, while having a little heart-to-heart talk with Mary, her Aunt said: "My dear, never allow an opportunity to pass for doing a kind act. If ever so small, it may cheer some sad, lonely heart. Don't wait to do big things. The time may never come. If only a kind word, speak it at once. Kind words cost so little, and we should all be more prodigal with them; and to a tired, sad, discouraged soul, a kind word or act means so very much; and who is there that has not at some time in life known sorrow and felt the need of sympathy? Were our lives all sunshine we could not feel in touch with sorrowing friends. How natural it is for our hearts to go out in sympathy to the one who says 'I have suffered.' Give to your friend the warm hand-clasp and cheery greeting' which cost us nothing in the giving. 'Tis the little lifts which help us over stones in our pathway through life. We think our cross the heaviest when, did we but know the weight of others, we'd not willingly exchange; and remember Mary, 'there are no crown-bearers in Heaven that were not cross-bearers below.' Have you ever read the poem, 'The Changed Cross?' No? Well, I will give it to you to copy in your book of recipes. Should you ever, in future years, feel your cross too heavy to bear, read the poem. How many brave, cheery little women greet us with a smile as they pass. But little do we or any one realize that instead of a song in their hearts the smiles on their lips conceal troubles the world does not suspect, seeking to forget their own sorrows while doing kindly acts for others. They are the real heroes whom the world does not reward with medals for bravery, 'To stand with a smile upon your face against a stake from which you cannot get away, that, no doubt, is heroic; but the true glory is not resignation to the inevitable. To stand unchained, with perfect liberty to go away, held only by the higher claims of duty, and let the fire creep up to the heart, that is heroism.' Ah! how many good women have lived faithful to duty when 'twould have been far easier to have died!"

"FAITHFUL OVER A FEW THINGS."

Matt. xxv: 23.

It may seem to you but a trifle, which you have been called to do;
Just some humble household labor, away from the public view,
But the question is, are you faithful, and striving to do your best,
As in sight of the Blessed Master, while leaving to Him the rest?

It may be but a little corner, which you have been asked to fill;
What matters it, if you are in it, doing the Master's will?
Doing it well and faithfully, and doing it with your might;
Not for the praise it may bring you, but because the thing is right.

In the sight of man you may never win anything like success;
And the laurel crown of the victor may never your temples press;
If only you have God's approval, 'twill not matter what else you miss,
His blessing is Heaven beginning, His reward will be perfect bliss.

Be faithful in every service, obedient to every call;
Ever ready to do His bidding, whether in great things or small;
You may seem to accomplish little, you may win the praise of none;
But be sure you will win His favor, and the Master's great "Well Done."

And when at His blessed coming, you stand at His judgment seat;
He'll remember your faithful service and His smile will be Oh! so sweet!
He will bid you a loving welcome, He'll make you to reign for aye,
Over great things and o'er many, with Him, through eternal day.

"THE CHANGED CROSS."

It was a time of sadness, and my heart,
Although it knew and loved the better part,
Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife,
And all the needful discipline of life.

And while I thought on these as given to me,
My trial tests of faith and love to be,
It seemed as if I never could be sure
That faithful to the end I should endure.

And thus, no longer trusting to His might,
Who says, "We walk by faith and not by sight";
Doubting and almost yielding to despair,
The thought arose—My cross I cannot bear.

Far heavier its weight must surely be
Than those of others which I daily see;
Oh! if I might another burden choose,
Methinks I should not fear my crown to lose.

A solemn silence reigned on all around,
E'en nature's voices uttered not a sound;
The evening shadows seemed of peace to tell,
And sleep upon my weary spirit fell.

A moment's pause and then a heavenly light
Beamed full upon my wondering, raptured sight;
Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere,
And angels' music filled the balmy air.

Then One more fair than all the rest to see—
One to whom all the others bowed the knee—
Came gently to me as I trembling lay,
And, "Follow Me!" He said, "I am the Way."

Then speaking thus, He led me far above,
And there, beneath a canopy of love,
Crosses of divers shapes and sizes were seen,
Larger and smaller than my own had been.

And one there was, most beauteous to behold,
A little one, with jewels set in gold;
Ah! this methought, I can with comfort wear,
For it will be an easy one to bear.

And so, the little cross I quickly took,
But all at once, my frame beneath it shook;
The sparkling jewels fair were they to see,
But far too heavy was their weight for me.

"This may not be," I cried, and looked again
To see if there was any here could ease my pain;
But one by one I passed them slowly by,
Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.

Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,
And grace and beauty seemed in it combined;
Wondering, I gazed and still I wondered more,
To think so many should have passed it o'er.

But Oh! that form so beautiful to see,
Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me;
Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair;
Sorrowing, I said. "This cross I may not bear."

And so it was with each and all around,
Not one to suit my need could there be found;
Weeping, I laid each heavy burden down,
As my guide gently said: "No cross, no crown."

At length to him I raised my saddened heart,
He knew its sorrows, bid its doubts depart;
"Be not afraid," He said, "but trust in Me,
My perfect love shall now be shown to thee."

And then with lightened eyes and willing feet,
Again I turned my earthly cross to meet;
With forward footsteps, turning not aside
For fear some hidden evil might betide.

And there, in the prepared, appointed way,
Listening to hear, and ready to obey,
A cross I quickly found of plainest form,
With only words of love inscribed thereon.

With thankfulness, I raised it from the rest,
And joyfully acknowledged it the best;
The only one of all the many there
That I could feel was good for me to bear.

And while I thus my chosen one confessed,
I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest;
And as I bent my burden to sustain,
I recognized my own old cross again.

But, oh! how different did it seem to be!
Now I had learned its preciousness to see;
No longer could I unbelievingly say:
"Perhaps another is a better way."

Oh, no! henceforth my own desire shall be
That He who knows me best should choose for me,
And so whate'er His love sees good to send,
I'll trust its best, because He knows the end.

And when that happy time shall come
Of endless peace and rest,
We shall look back upon our path
And say: "It was the best."

CHAPTER XXIX.

MARY, RALPH, JAKE AND SIBYLLA VISIT THE ALLENTOWN FAIR.

Late in September Jake and Sibylla drove to the Allentown Fair. It was "Big Thursday" of Fair week. They started quite early, long before Ralph Jackson, who had come from the city the day previous, to take Mary to the Fair, had arisen.

SECOND CHURCH BUILDING
Sheltered Liberty Bell, 1777-78. Photographed from the print of an old wood cut used in a German newspaper in the year 1840

Mary, while appreciating Sibylla's good qualities, never failed to be amused at her broad "Pennsylvania German" dialect.

The morning of the "Fair," Mary arose earlier than usual to allow Sibylla and Jake to get an early start, as it was quite a distance from the farm to the Fair grounds. As they were about to drive away, Sibylla, alighting from the carriage, said, "I forgot my 'Schnupftuch.'" Returning with it in her hand, she called, as she climbed into Jake's buggy, "Gut-by, Mary, it looks fer rain."

"Yes" said Jake, "I think it gives rain before we get back yet. The cornfodder in the barn this morning was damp like it had water on it."

And said Mary, "The fragrance of the flowers was particularly noticeable early this morning." Jake, as it happened, was no false prophet. It did rain before evening.

Later in the day, Mary and Ralph drove to a near-by town, leaving horse and carriage at the hotel until their return in the evening, and boarded a train for Allentown. On arriving there, they decided to walk up Hamilton Street, and later take a car out to the Fair grounds. As they sauntered slowly up the main street, Mary noticed a small church built between two large department stores and stopped to read a tablet on the church, which informed the passerby that "this is to commemorate the concealment of the Liberty Bell during the Revolutionary War. This tablet was erected by the Liberty Bell Chapter of the Daughters of the Revolution."

The First Zion's Reformed Church was founded in 1762. In front of the Church a rough block of granite, erected to the memory of John Jacob Mickley, contained the following inscription: "In commemoration of the saving of the Liberty Bell from the British in 1777. Under cover of darkness and with his farm team, he, John Mickley, hauled the Liberty Bell from Independence Hall, Philadelphia, through the British lines, to Bethlehem, where the wagon broke down. The Bell was transferred to another wagon, brought to Allentown, placed beneath the floor of the Second Church building of Zion's Reformed Church, where it remained secreted nearly a year. This tablet was placed by the order of the Assembly of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, June 2nd, 1907, under the auspices of the Pennsylvania Daughters of the Revolution."

This was all very interesting to a girl who had been born and reared in Philadelphia; one who in earliest childhood had been taught to love and venerate the "old Bell."

Ralph was quite as interested in reading about the old Bell as was Mary, and said; "Did you know that the City of Philadelphia purchased the State House property, which included the Bell, in 1818, in consideration of the sum of seventy thousand dollars? No building is ever to be erected on the ground inside the wall on the south side of the State House, but it is to remain a public green and walk forever?"

Liberty Bell Tablet

"No," replied Mary, "I did not know that. I don't think we will see anything of greater interest than this at the Fair."

"I understand," said Ralph, "this is the third church building built on this site, where the original church stood in which the Bell was secreted."

Mary, possessing a fair share of the curiosity usually attributed to the "female of the species," on noticing the church door standing ajar, asked Ralph to step inside with her, thinking to find the caretaker within; but no one was visible. A deep silence reigned in the cool, dim interior of the House of God.

One could almost feel the silence, 'twas so impressive. Slowly they walked up the wide church aisle and stood before the quaint baptismal font. A stray sunbeam glancing through one of the beautiful, variously-colored memorial windows, lighted up the pictured saint-like faces over the chancel, making them appear as if imbued with life. Mary softly whispered to Ralph, as if loath to profane the sacredness of the place by loud talking, "I seem to hear a voice saying, 'The Lord is in His holy temple.'" Quietly retracing their steps, they, without meeting any one, emerged into the bright sunlight and were soon in the midst of the turmoil and traffic incident to the principal business street of a city.

The young folks boarded a trolley and in a short time reached the Fair grounds, which offered many attractions to Ralph as well as Mary. The latter was interested in the fine display of needlework, fruits, flowers and vegetables of unusual size. Aunt Sarah's bread won a prize. A blue ribbon attached to Frau Schmidt's highly-prized, old-fashioned, patchwork quilt, showed it to be a winner. Ralph, being interested in the pens of fancy chickens, prize cattle, etc., Mary reluctantly left the woman's department of fancy work, and other interesting things, and accompanied him. On their way to the outlying cattle sheds they noticed two lovers sitting on a bench. Upon a second glance they were convinced that it was Jake and Sibylla. Jake, beaming with happiness, said, "Sibylla vos side by me yet?" They were busily engaged eating a lunch consisting of rolls with hot "weiners" between the two halves, or, as Jake called them, "Doggies," munching pretzels and peanuts between sips of strong coffee, both supremely happy. A yearly visit to the Allentown Fair on "Big Thursday," was the event in their dull, prosaic lives.

DURHAM CAVE

CHAPTER XXX.

FRITZ SCHMIDT EXPLORES DURHAM CAVE.

It appeared to be nothing new for Fritz Schmidt to get into trouble; rather the contrary. One day in early Fall, after the first frost, he, in company with a number of boys, drove to Durham, not many miles distant from his home, in search of persimmons, the crop of which, on account of the severity of the preceding winter, old farmers had predicted would be exceedingly heavy.

Fritz did not tell the boys of his intention to explore a cave which he had been told was in the neighborhood, thinking it would be a good joke to explore the cave first, then tell the boys later of his adventure.

The old gentleman from whom Fritz gained his information relative to the cave aroused the boy's curiosity by saying, "Very many years ago, a skeleton was found in Durham cave and one of the bones, on examination, proved to be the thigh bone of a human being. How he came there, or the manner of his death, was never known." A large room in the cave is known as "Queen Esther's Drawing Room," where, tradition has it "Queen Esther," or Catharine Montour, which was her rightful name, at one time inhabited this cave with some of her Indian followers.

Fritz accidentally stumbled upon the mouth of the cave. None of the other boys being in sight, Fritz quickly descended into the cave, which was dark as night. By lighting a second match as quickly as one was burned, he explored quite a distance, when, accidentally dropping his box of matches, the burning match in his hand, at the same moment, flickered faintly, then went out, leaving Fritz in darkness. Imagine the feelings of the boy, as he groped unsuccessfully on the floor of the cavern for the lost match box. Finally, he gave up in despair. Fritz was not a cowardly boy, but while searching for the matches, he, without thinking, had turned around several times, lost his bearings and knew not in which direction to go to reach the opening of the cave. He heard strange noises which he imagined were bats flopping their wings. There appeared to be something uncanny about the place, and Fritz devoutly wished himself out in the sunshine, when a quotation he had frequently heard his father use came into his mind: "More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of." So Fritz knelt down and prayed as he had been taught to pray at his mother's knee, but more earnestly than he had ever prayed before in his life, that God would help him find his way out of the cave, believing that his prayer would be answered. And who shall say it was not answered? For, stumbling onward in the darkness, not knowing if he were coming toward the cave's entrance or going in the opposite direction, he eventually hailed with joy a faint streak of light which he followed, and it soon brought him to the mouth of the cave. He was surprised on joining his companions to find they had not been alarmed at his absence. He had been in the cave only thirty minutes, but to him it had seemed hours. Fritz says to this day he has a horror of Durham Cave or "The Devil's Hole," as it was formerly called.

THE WOODLAND STREAM

CHAPTER XXXI.

MARY'S MARRIAGE.

His vacation ended, after a busy season at the farm, Ralph Jackson returned to his work in the city, strong and robust. He had acquired the coat of tan which Mary's Uncle had predicted. Physically strong as the "Cave Man" of old, he felt capable of moving mountains, and as was natural, he being only a human man, longed for the mate he felt God had intended should one day be his, as men have done since our first gardener, Adam, and will continue to do until the end of time.

When visiting the farm, an event which occurred about every two weeks, Ralph constantly importuned Mary to name an early day for their marriage.

Mary, with a young girl's impulsiveness, had given her heart unreservedly into the keeping of Ralph Jackson, her first sweetheart. Mary was not naturally cold or unresponsive, neither was she lacking in passion. She had had a healthy girlhood, and a wholesome home life. She had been taught the conventional ideals of the marriage relations that have kept the race strong throughout the centuries. Mary possessed great strength of character and fine moral courage. Frequently, not wishing to show her real feeling for the young man; too well poised to be carried off into the wrong channel, defended and excused by many over-sentimental and light-headed novelists of the day, she sometimes appeared almost indifferent to the impetuous youth with warm, red blood leaping in his veins, who desired so ardently to possess her.

Mary's Aunt had taught her the sanctity of parenthood, also that women are not always the weaker sex. There are times when they must show their superiority to "mere man" in being the stronger of the two, mentally if not physically, and Ralph Jackson knew when he called Mary "wife" she would endow him with all the wealth of her pure womanhood, sacredly kept for the clean-souled young man, whose devotion she finally rewarded by promising to marry him the second week in October.

Sibylla Linsabigler, a good but ignorant girl, accustomed to hearing her elder brothers speak slightingly regarding the sanctity of love and marriage, was greatly attached to Mary, whom she admired exceedingly, and looked up to almost as a superior being. She unconsciously imitated many of Mary's ways and mannerisms, and sought to adopt her higher ideals of life and standard of morals.

One Sunday, as Jake Crouthamel was spending the evening with Sibylla, as was his usual custom, he attempted some slight familiarity, which annoyed Sibylla greatly. Jake, noticing the young girl's displeasure at his action, remarked, "I think me Sibylla, you are stuck up yet" (a grave fault in the Bucks County farm hand's opinion).

"No, Chake," Sibylla replied, "I ain't, but Mary, she say a man gives a girl more respect what keeps herself to herself before she is married, and I lofe you Chake and want that you respect me if we marry."

Fritz and Elizabeth Schmidt, on hearing the news of Mary's approaching marriage, promptly begged the privilege of decorating the old farm house parlor for the expected ceremony. They scoured the surrounding woods and countryside for decorations; along old stone fences and among shrubbery by the roadside they gathered large branches of Bitter Sweet. Its racemes of orange-colored fruit, which later in the season becomes beautiful, when the orange gives place to a brilliant red, the outer covering of the berry turns back upon the stems, forming one of the prettiest pictures imaginable in late Autumn. They also gathered branches of feathery wild clematis, which, after the petals had fallen, resembled nothing so much as a cluster of apple seeds, each seed tipped with what appeared like a tiny osprey feather. From the woods near the farm they gathered quantities of trailing ground pine and rainbow-tinted leaves from the numerous brilliant scarlet and yellow maples, which appeared brighter in contrast to the sober-hued trees of shellbark, oak and chestnut.

POLLY SCHMIDT.

The wedding gifts sent to Mary were odd, useful and numerous. The Campfire Girls, to whom she became endeared, gave her a "Kitchen Shower," consisting of a clothes basket (woven by an old basketmaker from the willows growing not far distant), filled to overflowing with everything imaginable that could possibly be useful to a young housekeeper, from the half dozen neatly-hemmed linen, blue ribbon tied, dish clothes, to really handsome embroidered articles from the girls to whom she had given instructions in embroidery during the past summer.

Sibylla's wedding present to Mary was the work of her own strong, willing hands, and was as odd and original as useful. 'Twas a "door mat" made from corn husks, braided into a rope, then sewed round and round and formed into an oval mat. Mary laughingly told Sibylla she thought when 'twas placed on her kitchen doorstep she'd ask every one to please step over it, as it was too pretty to be trod on, which greatly pleased the young girl, who had spent many hours of loving thought and labor on the simple, inexpensive gift.

Mary received from Professor Schmidt a small but excellent copy of one of the world's most famous pictures, "The Night Watch," painted by Rembrandt, in 1642.

"My dear," said the old Professor, "I saw what was said to be the original of this painting, the property of Queen Wilhelmina of Holland, at the St. Louis Exposition in 1904. It was in a small, separate building. The size of the picture was fifteen feet by twenty feet. It is the largest and best known of Rembrandt's works. It acquired the wrong title of 'Night Watch' in a period when, owing to the numerous coats of varnish and the effect of smoke and dust, it had gotten so dark in appearance that only the most lucid parts could be discerned. Nowadays, nobody doubts that the light falling from the left on the boisterous company is that of the sun. The musketeers are remarching out of the high archway of their hall, crossing the street in front of it, and going up a bridge. The architecture of the building is a product of Rembrandt's imagination. The steps, also, which we see the men descending, were put there simply to make those at the back show out above those in the front ranks. The march out was to be above all a portrait group. Sixteen persons had each paid their contributions, a hundred guilders on the average, to have their likenesses transmitted to posterity, and every one of them was therefore to be fully visible."

"It is certainly a wonderful picture," said Mary, "and while I have seen few pictures painted by old masters, I think, even with my limited knowledge of art, I cannot fail to appreciate this excellent copy, and I thank you heartily. Professor, and shall always be reminded of you when I look at this copy of a great work."

Mary would not go empty-handed to Ralph at her marriage. Her "hope chest" in the attic was full to overflowing, and quite unique in itself, as it consisted of an old, in fact ancient, wooden dough-tray used in times past by Aunt Sarah's grandmother. Beside it stood a sewing table, consisting of three discarded broom handles supporting a cheese-box cover, with wooden cheese-box underneath for holding Mary's sewing; stained brown and cretonne lined. Mary valued it as the result of the combined labor of herself and Ralph Jackson. A roll of new, home-made rag carpet, patchwork quilts and "New Colonial" rugs, jars of fruit, dried sweet corn, home-made soap, crocks of apple butter, jellies, jams and canned vegetables all bore evidence of Mary's busy Summer at the farm.

The day of Mary's marriage, the twelfth of October, dawned clear and bright, sunshine warm as a day in June. In the centre of the gayly-decorated old farm house parlor, wearing a simple, little, inexpensive dress of soft, creamy muslin, we find Mary standing beside Ralph, who is looking supremely satisfied and happy, although a trifle pale and nervous, listening to the solemn words of the minister. Ralph's "I will" sounded clearly and distinctly through the long room. Mary, with a sweet, serious, faraway look in her blue eyes, repeated slowly after the minister, "I promise to love, honor and"—then a long pause. She glanced shyly up at the young man by her side as if to make sure he was worth it, then in a low, clear tone, added, "obey."

Ralph Jackson certainly deserved the appellation "Cave Man" given him by Fritz Schmidt. He was considerably more than six feet in height, with broad, square shoulders, good features, a clear brain and a sound body. He had never used intoxicants of any description. He sometimes appeared quite boyish in his ways, for on account of his matured look and great size he was frequently judged to be older than he really was.

Aunt Sarah had provided a bounteous repast for the few friends assembled, and while looking after the comfort of her guests tears dimmed the kindly, gray eyes at the thought of parting from Mary.

Small Polly Schmidt, as flower girl at the wedding, was so excited she scarcely knew if she should laugh or cry, and finally compromised by giving Mary what she called a "bear hug," much to Mary's amusement. Fritz gravely said: "Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Jackson," and turning to Mary, "I wish you a beautiful and happy life, Mrs. Jackson." Mary blushed becomingly on hearing her new name for the first time.

Bidding farewell to friends, Mary and Ralph, accompanied by her Uncle, were driven by "Chake" to the depot in a near-by town, where they boarded the train for the little, newly-furnished home in the suburbs of Philadelphia, the deed of which was Mary's wedding gift from her Uncle, in appreciation of her faithful service on the farm during the summer and for the brightness she had brought into his life and the lives of those with whom she had come in contact, as every one at the farm had felt the captivating charm and winning sweetness of the young girl.

As the train came in sight, the old gentleman, in a voice husky with emotion, bade the young couple, just starting the journey of life together, an affectionate farewell, and repeated solemnly, almost as a benediction, "Es Salamu Aleikum."

MARY'S COLLECTION OF RECIPES

SMALL ECONOMIES, "LEFT-OVERS" OR "IVERICH BLEIBST" AS AUNT SARAH CALLED THEM.

"The young housewife," said Aunt Sarah to Mary, in a little talk on small economies in the household, "should never throw away pieces of hard cheese. Grate them and keep in a cool, dry place until wanted, then spread lightly over the top of a dish of macaroni, before baking; or sprinkle over small pieces of dough remaining after baking pies, roll thin, cut in narrow strips like straws, and bake light brown in a hot oven, as 'Cheese Straws.'"

Wash and dry celery tips in oven, and when not wished for soup they may be used later for seasoning. The undesirable outer leaves of a head of lettuce, if fresh and green, may be used if cut fine with scissors, and a German salad dressing added. The heart of lettuce should, after washing carefully, be placed in a piece of damp cheese cloth and put on ice until wanted, then served at table "au natural," with olive oil and vinegar or mayonnaise dressing to suit individual taste. Should you have a large quantity of celery, trim and carefully wash the roots, cut them fine and add to soup as flavoring. Almost all vegetables may be, when well cooked, finely mashed, strained, and when added to stock, form a nourishing soup by the addition of previously-cooked rice or barley. Add small pieces of meat, well-washed bones cut from steaks or roasts, to the stock pot. Small pieces of ham or bacon (left-overs), also bacon or ham gravy not thickened with flour may be used occasionally, when making German salad dressing for dandelion, endive, lettuce or water cress, instead of frying fresh pieces of bacon.

AN OLD FASHIONED BUCKS COUNTY BAKE OVEN

It is a great convenience, also economical, to keep a good salad dressing on hand, and when the white of an egg is used, the yolk remaining may he added at once to the salad dressing (previously prepared). Mix thoroughly, cook a minute and stand away in a cool place. Young housekeepers will be surprised at the many vegetables, frequently left-overs, from which appetizing salads may be made by the addition of a couple tablespoonfuls of mayonnaise, besides nut meats, lettuce, watercress, celery and fruit, all of which may be used to advantage. A good potato salad is one of the cheapest and most easily prepared salads. A German dressing for dandelions, lettuce or potatoes may be prepared in a few minutes by adding a couple of tablespoonfuls of salad dressing (which the forehanded housewife will always keep on hand) to a little hot ham or bacon gravy. Stirring it while hot over the salad and serving at once.

A cup of mashed potatoes, left over from dinner, covered and set aside in a cool place, may be used the next day, with either milk or potato water, to set a sponge for "Dutch Cake," or cinnamon buns with equally good results as if they had been freshly boiled (if the potatoes be heated luke-warm and mashed through a sieve); besides the various other ways in which cold boiled potatoes may be used.

Fruit juices or a couple tablespoonfuls of tart jelly or preserved fruit may be added to mincemeat with advantage. Housewives should make an effort to give their family good, plain, nourishing, wholesome food. The health of the family depends so largely on the quality of food consumed. When not having time, strength or inclination to bake cake, pies or puddings, have instead good, sweet, home-made bread and fruit; if nothing else, serve stewed fruit or apple sauce. Omit meat occasionally from the bill of fare and serve instead a dish of macaroni and cheese and fruit instead of other dessert. Serve a large, rich, creamy rice pudding for the children's lunch. When eggs are cheap and plentiful make simple custards, old-fashioned cornmeal puddings, tapioca, bread puddings and gelatine with fruits. These are all good, wholesome, and not expensive, and in Summer may be prepared in the cool of the early morning with small outlay of time, labor or money. Plan your housework well the day before and have everything in readiness. The pudding may be placed in the oven and baked white preparing breakfast, economizing coal and the time required for other household duties.

Every wife and mother who does her own housework and cooking these days (and their number is legion) knows the satisfaction one experiences, especially in hot weather, in having dinner and luncheon planned and partly prepared early in the morning before leaving the kitchen to perform other household tasks.

Another small economy of Aunt Sarah's was the utilizing of cold mashed potatoes in an appetizing manner. The mashed potatoes remaining from a former meal were put through a small fruit press or ricer to make them light and flaky. To one heaped cup of mashed potatoes (measured before pressing them through fruit press) she added ¾ cup of soft, stale bread crumbs, ¼ cup of flour sifted with ¼ teaspoonful of baking powder. Mix in lightly with a fork yolk of one egg, then the stiffly beaten white, seasoned with salt and a little minced onion or parsley, or both. With well-floured hands she molded the mixture into balls the size of a shelled walnut, dropped into rapidly boiling water and cooked them uncovered from 15 to 20 minutes, then skimmed them from the water and browned in a pan with a little butter and served on platter with meat, a pot roast or beef preferred. From the above quantity of potatoes was made five potato balls.

THE MANY USES OF STALE BREAD

Never waste stale bread, as it may be used to advantage in many ways. The young housewife will be surprised at the many good, wholesome and appetizing dishes which may be made from stale bread, with the addition of eggs and milk.

Take a half dozen slices of stale bread of equal size and place in a hot oven a few minutes to become crisped on the outside so they may be quickly toasted over a hot fire, a delicate brown. Butter them and for breakfast serve with a poached egg on each slice.

A plate of hot, crisp, nicely-browned and buttered toast is always a welcome addition to the breakfast table.

Serve creamed asparagus tips on slices of toast for luncheon.

The economical housewife carefully inspects the contents of her bread box and refrigerator every morning before planning her meals for the day, and is particular to use scraps of bread and left-over meat and vegetables as quickly as possible. Especially is this necessary in hot weather. Never use any food unless perfectly sweet and fresh. If otherwise, it is unfit for use.

Loaves of bread which have become stale can be freshened if wrapped in a damp cloth for a few minutes, then remove and place in a hot oven until heated through.

For a change, toast slices of stale bread quite crisp and serve a plate of hot, plain toast at table, to be eaten broken in small pieces in individual bowls of cold milk. Still another way is to put the stiffly-beaten white of an egg on the centre of a hot, buttered slice of toast, carefully drop the yolk in the centre of the beaten white and place in hot oven a few minutes to cook. Serve with a bit of butter on top, season with pepper and salt. Serve at once.

Another way to use stale bread is to toast slices of bread, spread with butter, pour over 1 cup of hot milk, in which has been beaten 1 egg and a pinch of salt. Serve in a deep dish. Or a cup of hot milk may be poured over crisply-toasted slices of buttered bread, without the addition of an egg.