Mary at the Farm | Page 3

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."
[Illustration: 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