Mary at the Farm | Page 4

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