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."