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.