school had gone. Elvira became better acquainted with her pupils, with
the Sapp family, and, through them, with the news and gossip of the
neighborhood. One evening she found Mary, who was a young woman grown
and older than herself, standing outside the back door, crying bitterly,
while her mother stood by, talking to her with the air of one who could
be liberal in some views and yield many points, but who felt that a firm
stand must be made somewhere. On explanation, it appeared that Mary
wanted to go to the nearest station on the railroad and ride to the next
station east, a distance of thirteen miles, for the purpose of making a
visit; but Mrs. Sapp was not willing that she should do so, giving as
her objection that there was so much danger in riding on the cars,
adding that if Mary would wait till corn-planting was over, her father
would take her through in a wagon. She had never been on the cars
herself, and could not give her consent for one of her family to enter
upon such risks. So Mary, with much disappointment, had to give up her
proposed visit for the time.
When Friday evening came, Elvira walked home to Hill's Station, feeling
that she had made a good beginning in her new work, and related to her
grandmother all the incidents of the week. On Saturday she went about
among the neighbors, who were most of them farmers, to see if she could
hire a horse for the summer. All the good horses, however, were in
constant use, and could not be spared by their owners. At last, one
farmer said that he had a horse which wasn't worth much at its best, and
just now had a sore head, so that he had put it out to pasture for the
summer on a farm several miles distant. She could have it to use, and be
welcome, if she would provide pasturage for it and give it now and then
a few ears of corn. Elvira accepted the offer gratefully, and he
promised to have it at Hill's Station for her by another Saturday. She
boarded at Sapp's another week, and after that rode from home every
morning and back every night. Her steed did not seem to have an arch or
curve in its whole body, but to be made up of straight lines and angles.
It reminded her of the corn-stalk horses she used to make when a little
girl. Its favorite gait was a slow walk, with its head in a drooping
dejected attitude, and sometimes it came to an entire stand-still, as if
it had reached its journey's end. When she was about to meet some one,
or heard wheels coming behind her, she tried to urge it into a spirited
trot, and to rein it in so that its neck would have some slight
appearance of a curve; but it only threw its nose into the air,
presenting a longer straight line than before, and, after trotting a
little way, it came to a sudden pause about the time the people passed
or met her. More than once she heard them laugh and felt her face burn.
If she had not known better days, she had at least known better horses,
and was aware that her steed presented a sorry appearance. The only time
it displayed any life was in the morning, when she came to catch and
saddle it. Then it trotted repeatedly around the pasture-lot,
occasionally sticking its head over the top rails, as if it had a notion
to jump the fence and run away. During the day it fed on the grass in
the school-house yard, and every day at noon she took it over to Sapp's,
drew water from their well, and gave it as many bucketfuls as it would
drink. Elvira carried her dinner, consisting generally of bread and
butter, cold meat, and pie, in a little basket hung on the horn of the
saddle, and sometimes, when she had been trotting, found on reaching
school that part of it had fallen out on the way.
The road over which she passed every morning and evening grew familiar
to her, even to the individual trees, the mossy old stumps, the
fence-corners over-grown with wild vines. The life of the farm-houses,
as daily presented to her, furnished perpetual entertainment. She came
to know every member of every family by sight, and to associate certain
traits of character with them. Some two-story white houses stood back
from the road in the retirement of fruit- and shade-trees, and seemed
reserved and dignified; other smaller houses were only a few steps
removed, and had their wood-piles on the side of the road. One little
new cabin in the corner of a strip of woods especially interested
Elvira. It was the home of a lately-married pair, young folks full of
energy and ambition. The husband chopped down trees, ploughed, or
ditched his land, as if he were working for a wager, and the wife was
equally active and industrious. Her bright tin milk-pans were out
sunning early every morning, her churning and ironing were done in the
cool part of the forenoons, her front yard was always neatly swept, and
the borders were bright with balsams, petunias, and other flowers.
Then the world of nature unfolded every day something fresh to the
solitary rider,--the blue depths of summer sky in which great masses of
dazzling white clouds were heaped, the thick beech woods, where it was
always cool and pleasant, the swamps, with their spicy fragrance, their
variety of growth, and their slow-running streams of clear brown water.
The blossoming blue-flags of May gave way in June to the fragrant wild
roses, and these were followed in July and August by ripe raspberries
and blackberries, which grew plentifully along the fence-corners and
could be had for the picking.
Toward the latter part of the term, Elvira was frequently invited by her
pupils to go home with them on Friday night and spend Saturday at their
house, now one girl, now another, saying, "Miss Hill, mother said ask
you to come home with us to-night." And when she went, she found that
the farmer's wife had prepared something extra for supper in expectation
of her coming,--fried chicken, and honey, and other home luxuries,--and
seemed glad of the little break in the monotony of farm-life which the
school-ma'am's visit afforded. The faded family photographs and old
daguerreotypes were brought out for her entertainment, and she was told
that "This is Aunt Lizzie Barnwell: she lives in Grant County, and this
is her husband, and these are her children. This is Grandpa and Grandma
Brown, and this is grandma's brother, ma's uncle. For a long time he
thought that was a cancer on his nose, but it turned out to be only a
wart. And this is Mr. and Mrs. Holmes: they used to live neighbors to
us, but now they have moved to Kansas. And this is Johnnie and Sarah and
Nelson Holmes. Nelson used to be real mean: he pulled our hair at
school, and threw clods of dirt at us when we were coming home of
nights, and we always thought he stole our watermelons, and we were glad
when he moved away; but we liked Sarah and Johnnie." And so on through
the list of relatives and acquaintances. On these visits Elvira
generally slept on a high feather bed in the best room, or in a little
bedroom opening from the parlor,--for not all the homes were as humble
as Sapp's,--and the oldest daughter of the family slept with her. On
Saturday forenoon she often went berry-picking with the children,
crossing the corn-fields in the hot sun, climbing fences, and so gaining
the thickets or woods where the blackberry-vines grew wild, with gallons
of ripe berries ready for nimble finders. "Look out for snakes!" the
children used to call to each other when deep in the bushes, but they
never saw anything more than a harmless garter-snake, or perhaps a
water-snake in the swamp. Saturday afternoons she sat and talked with
the farmer's wife, assisting in the sewing or quilting or whatever work
of this kind was on hand; and when she rode home in the cool of the
evening it was always with some little delicacy in her basket for her
grandmother,--a glass tumbler of honey, a cake, some pickles or
preserves, or a quart bottle of maple syrup, which her hostess had given
her at parting.
Near the end of the term, Maggie Loper invited Elvira to go home with
her Friday night and spend Saturday. "Mother says for you to come. We're
going to thrash, Saturday, and we'll have a big dinner and lots of fun."
She meant that they were to thresh wheat, and it was the stir and
excitement of this event which she called fun. Elvira accepted the
invitation, and went home with Maggie at the time appointed. She felt at
home among these farm festivals, and enjoyed them, the work included,
for she had as yet acted only as assistant, and had not felt the
responsibility of "cookin' for thrashers" which weighs so heavily on
housewives. It is not alone the fact that they must provide dinner and
supper for fifteen or twenty hungry men, but the knowledge that their
viands will be compared, favorably or unfavorably, with those of other
women in the neighborhood. So they exert themselves to provide a
variety, and load their tables with rich food, insomuch that "goin' with
the thrashers" means to farm-workers in this section a round of
sumptuous living. The Loper family rose Saturday morning while the east
was red, and did the milking and despatched breakfast earlier than
usual. The threshers were coming at eight o'clock, and they hoped to get
the engine and threshing-machine in order and be well under way at nine.
Two neighbor women came over to help Mrs. Loper, and Elvira assisted
Maggie in all her tasks. Together they cleaned and scraped a tub half
full of potatoes, plucked the feathers of two fat hens, gathered a lot
of beets and summer squashes, and sliced cucumbers and tomatoes into
dishes of vinegar, adding pepper and salt; they brought eggs from the
barn, rousing a protesting cackle among the hens by scaring some of them
off their nests, and milk and butter from the spring-house.
In the mean time Mrs. Loper and her two assistants, warm and red, but
sustained by the importance of the occasion, were at work in the
kitchen, beating eggs and stirring sugar and butter together for cakes,
making pies, and roasting, baking, boiling, and stewing. When their
other tasks were done, Maggie and Elvira were deputed to set the table.
Two long tables were placed end to end in the shade of some maple-trees
which stood near the house, and covered with white cloths, then the
plates, knives and forks, and drinking-glasses were placed in order. The
Loper supply of dishes was not sufficient, but there were two large
basketfuls which had been borrowed from neighbors for the occasion, and,
by having recourse to these, the tables were furnished. Chairs were
brought from kitchen and parlor and every room in the house, but even
then two were lacking. "Never mind," said Maggie: "Joe and Will can sit
on nail-kegs," referring to two of her brothers.
The men and machinery and wagons had come early in the day, the engine
drawn by two oxen, the threshing-machine by four horses. The oxen swayed
hither and thither as they were driven through the gates and into the
barn-lot, and the driver cracked his whip and cried, "You Buck! You
Berry! Gee! Haw! Whoa!" till one was ready to wonder that the bewildered
animals did anything right. At last the engine was in the desired
position, and the oxen were released from their yoke, to stand with
panting sides in the shade of the barn. Then the threshing-machine was
stationed in its place, and the broad band put on which connected it
with the engine. In the mean time, those whose duty it was to haul water
from the creek had brought three or four barrelfuls to the boiler, fire
had been built in the engine, and the engineer "got up steam." Two
wagons were off to the field, where the wheat still stood in shocks, and
as soon as they returned, piled high with yellow sheaves, the work began
in earnest. Two men--cutters and feeders, as they were called--received
the sheaves tossed to them from the wagons, cut the withes of straw
which bound them, and pushed them evenly into the thresher. Farmer Loper
himself and one of his sons stood at the place where the grain ran out,
and as fast as one bushel-measure was filled another one was set in its
place and the wheat poured into a sack. When a sack was full it was tied
up and set back out of the way. Other laborers stood at the back part of
the thresher, where the straw came out, and, with pitch-forks in hand,
tossed it about until the foundation for a stack was formed. Then they
stood on the stack, rising higher as it rose, trampling the straw and
pitching it into place. The chaff and dust flew upon them until their
faces, their hat-brims, and the shoulders of their colored shirts were
covered, and the perspiration streamed from every pore. No wonder that
the wives and mothers of these farmers dreaded the wash-days after a
week of threshing. There was noise and excitement enough in connection
with the dust and work,--the puffing of the engine, the whir and shake
and rattle of the threshing-machine, and the raised voices of the men
calling to each other or giving orders. The engineer and the feeders and
cutters were conceded to have the most responsible positions, but the
duties of the other workers were also important. There must be water for
the boiler, and the wheat must be brought from the field fast enough to
keep a constant supply on hand, the straw must be stacked well, and the
grain accurately measured. At exactly twelve o'clock the engineer blew a
long loud whistle, the band was thrown off, the wheels of the thresher
ceased to revolve, and the work came to a stand-still. Comments were
exchanged on the progress made during the forenoon and the quality of
the wheat, then the tired horses were unharnessed and fed, and Farmer
Loper led the way toward the house. Here on a bench by the well were all
the wash-pans and wash-bowls the house afforded, and clean towels hung
on the roller and on nails outside the door. The men washed their hands
and faces, and, by the aid of a small looking-glass hung by the towels,
and a comb attached to a string, combed their hair. To the women it was
the most exciting moment of the day. They were dishing up the dinner and
putting the finishing-touches to the table. Finally all was ready. Mrs.
Loper spoke to her husband, and he said, "Come, men, dinner's ready,"
and led the way to the table. He took the chair at one end, his oldest
son that at the other, and the others ranged themselves at will between.
Mrs. Loper poured out coffee in the kitchen, the neighbor women carried
the cups and saucers, Maggie waited on the table, passing the bread
around first, and Elvira stood with a bunch of peacock's feathers in her
hand and kept off the flies. A boiled ham was at the head of the table,
a pair of roast fowls at the foot; between stood a long row of
vegetables,--potatoes, string-beans, squash, beets, and others,--and
near the large tureens were smaller dishes,--cold-slaw, tomatoes,
cucumbers, pickles and preserves of various kinds. A large cake stood on
a glass cake-stand in the middle of the table, flanked on one side by a
deep glass dish full of canned peaches, on the other by a similar one of
floating island, while all the available remaining space was occupied by
pies,--apple-pies, custard, berry-pies, cream-pies. To have a variety of
pies on a festal occasion was the ambition of every housewife, seven
different kinds of pies and three kinds of cake being not uncommon. If a
map of the region where pie prevails is ever drawn up and printed, this
section of the country will be shaded unusually dark. To have company to
dinner and not set pie before them would be considered a breach of an
ancient and well-grounded custom: the best of puddings or other forms of
dessert would be regarded only as an evasion. Pie was not out of place
at supper; and the instance of one family comes to mind where steamed
mince-pie for breakfast was eaten, and considered both appropriate and
delicious.
At Farmer Loper's harvest-table sweet milk and fresh buttermilk were
among the drinks, but most of the men preferred coffee, and drank it hot
out of the saucers. Some sets of dishes included tiny cup-plates, in
which to set the coffee-cups that they might not stain the table-cloth;
but Mrs. Loper had none, and the men scraped their cups on the edge of
the saucers before placing them on the clean white cloth. One man drank
six cups of coffee, then said he guessed he wouldn't take any more,
adding, "It's best to be moderate." At this all the men burst into a
roar of laughter, except one, who grew red in the face and ate his
dinner in silence. It seemed that while hauling that day one of his
horses had balked, and in his anger he had lifted one foot to kick it,
but missed it, lost his balance, and fell. He arose from the fall
somewhat ashamed, and remarked, "It's best to be moderate." This
incident had amused the others very much, and any allusion to it caused
laughter.
The women waited on the table, not in the sense of changing plates and
bringing fresh courses, for all the dinner was before them, but
replenishing cups and glasses when they were empty, refilling the
vegetable-tureens and bread-plates, cutting the pies and cake and
passing them around, and serving out the canned peaches and the custard
in small dishes. They were also careful to see that the pickles and
preserves were passed to every one.
With most of the men present Elvira was acquainted: they were the
patrons of her school, and found time in the midst of eating and general
conversation to ask how Johnnie was a-comin' on in his spellin', or if
Annie was gettin' along well in her 'rithmetic, adding, "I'll be wantin'
her to calkilate interest for me by and by." Bert Mowrer's father
inquired about his boy, then added cheerfully, "If he don't behave, lick
him,--lick him: that's what I tell every teacher."
Farmer Loper and the engineer fell to discussing how many bushels of
wheat to the acre the neighboring farms had produced, and how many this
would probably produce, with various comments on the weather and the
soil. A little farther down the table a young farmer was telling of the
speed made by his brown mare Kitty,--how she passed every team on the
road, and that he wouldn't take a hundred and fifty dollars for her; and
farther still, two or three were discussing the affairs of an absent
neighbor,--how he had bought the Caldwell place, but, not being able to
pay for it, had given a mortgage, and hadn't managed the farm very well,
had let the interest run behind, they had heard, so there was a prospect
of his losing it.
"I guess he won't have to give it up," said one: "the woman that raised
his wife has got plenty of money, and if he can't make it, she'll pay
for the place and let them live on it. She's helped them several times
already. If he wasn't so lazy and shiftless he might have everything in
good shape."
But a conversation which was going on at the lower end of the table
interested Elvira most of all. It was about birds, including some of
her favorites of the woods and fields which she had noticed a great deal
in her solitary rides that summer. The principal speaker was a young
farmer whom she had never seen before. He seemed to be acquainted with
the names and habits of all the birds which lived in that section,
besides many which merely passed through it on their way northward every
spring and southward every fall.
"I have kept a record of the time of each arrival," he said, "and notes
of rare birds. The bluebird came first, and the humming-bird last. And I
discovered two birds that were new to me. One is a Northern bunting. A
flock stayed one day in our orchard on their way northward to their
summer home, and I succeeded in killing and stuffing a pair. The
feathers of the male were a beautiful pink-red. The other strange bird
seemed to come with the scarlet tanager, and is much like a pee-wee in
shape and size, with feathers of a greenish yellow."
"When do you find time to learn so much about birds?" asked George
Loper, who knew only a few of the more common ones,--blackbirds, crows,
jays, hawks, and robins,--and had no eyes for the variety of feathered
life around him.
"I keep my eyes open as I work and as I go along the road," answered
young Farmer Worth; "then I look up their names and read something about
them in a book on birds which I have. You've no idea how much enjoyment
there is in it. I have quite a collection of birds which I have stuffed,
and more than a hundred different kinds of eggs, besides my cabinet of
mineral specimens. I nailed two ladders together, and climbed thirty
feet above these and got a crow's nest; and this spring we found a
hawk's nest in a high tree. We tied a stout twine to a small stone,
which we threw over the forks of the tree, and with this drew a large
rope over. Then I sat in the noose of the rope, and three boys pulled me
up sixty feet to the nest. It was rather scary, I can tell you, and I
was glad to get down to the ground again; but I got the hawk's nest."
Then Elvira asked him if he could tell her the name of the bird with a
yellow head, but otherwise black plumage, which she had noticed not long
before in a flock of common blackbirds; and they were soon in an
animated conversation on the subject of birds in general. Elvira had
noticed many that summer which she could describe, but whose names she
did not know.
Soon the men began to leave the table, for it was not the custom to wait
till all had done eating, but for each one to go when he was ready.
George Loper went away grumbling that he couldn't see any use in
learning about birds: all he wanted was for the crows and blackbirds to
keep away from the corn when it was first planted. But Elvira and young
Worth talked ten minutes longer, finding more and more that they were
interested in the same subjects. Then the women began to clear away the
plates and cups and knives, and Elvira turned to assist them, while her
new acquaintance joined his companions, who were resting in the shade of
the trees. There he encountered some good-natured chaff from the younger
members, who began by asking him if he was struck with the school-ma'am.
The responsibility of the threshers' dinner being over, Mrs. Loper and
her assistants sat down to the table, to eat their own dinner at ease,
and exchange remarks with each other, complimenting or criticising their
cooking.
"This chicken-stuffin' is real good," said one of the neighbors to Mrs.
Loper.
"Well, I don't know," said Mrs. Loper, tasting some of it on the end of
her knife: "'pears to me I put a leetle too much sage in it. But the
gravy you made, Mirandy, that couldn't be better. Didn't you see how the
men kept askin' for it to be passed? And they've et up all the summer
squash and all the cream-pie. Taste some of these plum preserves, Mis'
Brown, and don't let me forget to send some to your little girls: I
remember how well they like 'em. This cake is real light and good, but I
was afraid it would fall. This float would 'a' been better if I'd had a
little lemon flavor to put in it. But I guess, on the whole, the dinner
went off middlin' well." Then, seeing Elvira and Maggie sitting on the
opposite side of the table, some deeper thoughts were stirred in her
motherly heart, and she began to talk of the daughter she had lost years
before: "If Lucy had lived, she'd 'a' been seventeen this spring,--just
your age; and you remind me of her sometimes. She always had such red
cheeks, and was never sick a day till she was taken down with the
diphtheria."
For a while the affairs of the present were forgotten, as the old and
never-wholly-healed wound was opened afresh and she dwelt upon her
bereavement; but soon the round of work must be taken up, the dishes
must be washed, the victuals set away, and supper for the threshers must
be planned and prepared. It was best so. "Time, the healer, and work,
the consoler," enable us to bear many things which in the first keen
freshness of grief seem unbearable.
The threshers thought they would be done by six o'clock, so they decided
not to stop for supper at five, as was the custom, but wait for their
evening meal till the work of the day was completed. Elvira started home
before this time, and good Mrs. Loper not only filled her own little
basket, but made her take a larger one packed with remains of the feast.