Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled During Her Visit Among the "Pennsylvania Germans"

A great many delays along the way were caused by girls asking the names of the different wild flowers and weeds they noticed in passing. One of the girls stopped to examine a prickly-looking plant about two feet high, with little, blue flowers growing along the stem, and asked if any one knew the name of it. They were about to look it up in a small "Flower Guide" owned by one of the girls, when some one said: "Why, that is a weed called 'Vipers Bougloss,'" They also found cardinal flower, thorn apple, monkey flower and jewel-weed in abundance, wild sunflower, ginseng, early golden rod, "Joe-pie-weed," marshallow, black cohosh and purple loose-trifle. The girls also noticed various birds.

On a tall tree one of the girls espied a rose-breasted Grosbeak, rare in this part of Bucks County. They all stopped and watched for a short time a white-bellied Nut-hatch. The girls were startled as a Scarlet Tanger flew past to join his mate, and they at last reached their rendezvous, the orchard.

By half-past three they were all seated in a circle waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Mary Midleton, their Guardian, stepped to the front, saying: "Sunflower, light the fire." Sunflower, through several months of daily attainment, had become a Fire-maker and was very proud of the Fire-maker's bracelet she was entitled to wear. Sunflower was given that name because she always looked on the bright side of everything; she looked like a sunflower, too, with her tanned face and light, curly hair.

All the girls had symbolical names given them. "Lark" was so named because of her sweet voice and because she loved to sing; "Sweet Tooth," on account of her love for candy; "Quick Silver," because she was quick, bright and witty; "Great Buffalo," a girl who was very strong; Elizabeth Schmidt, "Laughing Water," so named because she laughed and giggled at everybody and everything; "Babbling Brook," because it seemed an utter impossibility for her to stop talking; "Burr," because she sticks to ideas and friends; "Faith," quiet and reserved; "Comet," comes suddenly and brings a lot of light; "Black Hawk," always eager at first, but inclined to let her eagerness wear off: "Pocahontas," because she never can hurry; "Ginger Foot," a fiery temper, "Gypsy," so named on account of her black hair; "Bright Eyes," for her bright, blue eyes; "Rainbow," for her many ways, and because she is pretty.

"Oh, Fire! Long years ago, when our fathers fought with great beasts, you were their protector. From the cruel cold of winter you saved. When they needed food, you changed the flesh of beasts into savory meat for them. Through all ages your mysterious flame has been a symbol of the Great Spirit to them. Tonight we light this fire in remembrance of the Great Spirit Who gave you to us."

Then the girls sang the chant or chanted:

Then they recited the Wood-gatherer's Desire:

"It is my desire to be a Campfire Girl and keep the law of the Camp Fire, which is 'To Seek Beauty, Give Service, Pursue Knowledge, Be Trustworthy, Hold onto Health, Glorify Work, Be Happy,'"

None had yet attained the highest rank, that of Torch Bearer, won by still greater achievement, the Camp having been organized so recently. Their motto was "The light which has been given to me, I desire to pass undimmed to others."

"Gypsy," the secretary, then read the "Count" for the last meeting and called the roll, and the girls handed in the list of honors they had won in the last month. Some amused themselves playing games, while others gathered more wood.

Noticing the sun slowly sinking in the West, they quickly gathered together their belongings and started homeward singing, "My Country, 'tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty."

Thus broke up the second Council Fire, and in the heart of each girl was the thought of how much the Campfire was helping them to love God and His works.

MARY MAKES "VIOLET" AND "ROSE LEAF" BEADS.

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary one day, "you promised to tell me exactly how you made those 'Rose Beads' you have."

"Yes, my dear, and you must make the beads before the June roses are gone. The process is very simple. If you would have them very sweet, get the petals of the most fragrant roses. I used petals of the old-fashioned, pink 'hundred leaf' and 'blush roses.' Gather a quantity, for you will need them all. Grind them to a pulp in the food chopper, repeat several times and place the pulp and juice into an iron kettle or pan. This turns the pulp black, which nothing but an iron kettle will do; cook, and when the consistency of dough it is ready to mold into beads. Take a bit of the dough, again as large as the size you wish your beads to be when finished, as they shrink in size when dried, and make them of uniform size, or larger ones for the centre of the necklace, as you prefer. Roll in the palms of your hands, until perfectly round, stick a pin through each bead, then stick the pins into a bake board. Be careful the bead does not touch the board, as that would spoil its shape. Allow the beads to remain until perfectly dry. If they are to have a dull finish, leave as they are. If you wish to polish them, take a tiny piece of vaseline on the palm of the hand and rub them between the palms until the vaseline is absorbed. Then string them on a linen thread. Keep in a closed box to preserve their fragrance. Those I showed you, Mary, I made many years ago, and the scent of the roses clings 'round them still.'"

"Did you know, Mary, that beads may be made from the petals of the common wild blue violet in exactly the same manner as they are made from rose leaves?"

"Yes, my dear, the beads must be pierced before they become hard; later they should be polished. Did you ever see them grow, Mary? The beads or 'tears' grow on a stalk about fifteen inches high and from the bead or 'tear' grows a tiny, green spear resembling oats. They are odd and with very little care may he grown in a small garden."

"They certainly are a curiosity," said Mary.

MARY AND ELIZABETH VISIT SADIE SINGMASTER.

Farmer Landis, happening to mention at the breakfast table his intention of driving over to the "Ax Handle Factory" to obtain wood ashes to use as a fertilizer, his wife remarked, "Why not take Mary with you, John? She can stop at Singmaster's with a basket of carpet rags for Sadie. I've been wanting to send them over for some time." Turning to Mary, she said: "Poor little, crippled Sadie! On account of a fall, which injured her spine, when a small child, she has been unable to walk for years. She cuts and sews carpet rags, given her by friends and neighbors, and from their sale to a carpet weaver in a near-by town, helps her widowed mother eke out her small income."

"I'd love to go see her," said Mary. Elizabeth Schmidt also expressed her willingness to go, when asked, saying: "I am positive mother will add her contribution to the carpet rags for Sadie, I do pity her so very much."

"Yes," said Mary's Aunt, "she is poor and proud. She will not accept charity, so we persuade her to take carpet rags, as we have more than we can possibly use."

On reaching the Singmaster cottage, the girls alighted with their well-filled baskets, Mary's Uncle driving on to the "Ax Handle Factory," promising to call for the girls on his return. The sad, brown eyes of Sadie, too large for her pinched, sallow face, shone with pleasure at sight of the two young girls so near her own age, and she smiled her delight on examining the numerous bright-colored patches brought by them. Thinking the pleasure she so plainly showed might appear childish to the two girls, she explained: "I do get so dreadfully tired sewing together so many dull homely rags. I shall enjoy making balls of these pretty, bright colors."

"Sadie," Mary inquired, "will you think me inquisitive should I ask what the carpet weaver pays you for the rags when you have sewed and wound them into balls?"

"Is that all you get?" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Have you ever made rag rugs?" inquired Mary.

"No, I have never even seen one. Are they anything like braided mats?"

"Yes, they are somewhat similar to them, but I crochet mine and think them prettier. I have made several, with Aunt Sarah's assistance. I'll come over and teach you to make them one of these days, should you care to learn, and I'm positive you will find ready sale for them. In fact, I've several friends in the city who have admired the ones I have, and would like to buy rugs for the Colonial rooms they are furnishing. Sadie, can you crochet?"

"Oh, yes. I can do the plain stitch very well."

"That is all that will be necessary. You will become very much interested in inventing new designs, it is very fascinating work, and it will be more remunerative than sewing carpet rags. Aunt Sarah will send you more carpet rags if you require them, and should you wish dull colors of blue or pink, a small package of dye will transform white or light-colored rags into any desired shade, to match the furnishings of different rooms. I think the crocheted rugs much prettier than the braided ones, which are so popular in the 'Nutting' pictures, and the same pretty shades may be used when rugs are crocheted."

When Farmer Landis came for the girls, he found them too busily engaged talking to hear his knock at the door. During the drive home Mary could think and talk of nothing but Sadie Singmaster, and the rugs she had promised to teach her to make at an early day. Elizabeth, scarcely less enthusiastic, said: "I've a lot of old things I'll give her to cut up for carpet rags."

Reaching home, Mary could scarcely wait an opportunity to tell Aunt Sarah all her plans for Sadie's betterment. When she finally did tell her Aunt, she smiled and said: "Mary, I'm not surprised. You are always planning to do a kind act for some one. You remind me of the lines, 'If I Can Live,' by Helen Hunt Jackson." And she repeated the following for Mary:

OLD PARLOR MADE BEAUTIFUL (MODERNIZED).

When John Landis came into possession of "Clear Spring" Farm, where his mother had lived during her lifetime, she having inherited it from her father, the rooms of the old farm house were filled with quaint, old-fashioned furniture of every description. "Aunt Sarah," on coming to the farm to live, had given a personal touch and cheery, homelike look to every room in the house, with one exception, the large, gloomy, old-fashioned parlor, which was cold, cheerless and damp. She confessed to Mary she always felt as if John's dead-and-gone ancestors' ghostly presences inhabited the silent room. The windows were seldom opened to allow a ray of sunlight to penetrate the dusk with which the room was always enveloped, except when the regular weekly sweeping day arrived; when, after being carefully swept and dusted, it was promptly closed. A room every one avoided, Aunt Sarah was very particular about always having fresh air and sunlight in every other part of the house but his one room. The old fireplace had been boarded up many years before Aunt Sarah's advent to the farm, so it could not be used. One day Mary noticed, while dusting the room (after it had been given a thorough sweeping by Sibylla, Aunt Sarah's one maid servant), that the small, many-paned windows facing the East, at one end of the parlor, when opened, let in a flood of sunshine; and in the evening those at the opposite end of the long room gave one a lovely view of the setting sun—a finer picture than any painted by the hand of a master. Mary easily persuaded her Aunt to make some changes in the unlivable room. She suggested that they consult her Uncle about repapering and painting the room and surprise him with the result when finished.

"And, oh! Aunt Sarah," cried Mary, "do let's have an open fireplace. It makes a room so cheery and 'comfy' when the weather gets colder, on long winter evenings, to have a fire in the grate. I saw some lovely, old brass andirons and fender in the attic, and some brass candlesticks there also, which will do nicely for the mantel shelf over the fireplace. I'll shine 'em up, and instead of this hideously-ugly old wall paper with gay-colored scrawley figures, Aunt Sarah, suppose we get an inexpensive, plain, tan felt paper for drop ceiling and separate it from the paper on the side wall, which should be a warm, yellow-brown, with a narrow chestnut wood molding. Then this dull, dark, gray-blue painted woodwork; could any one imagine anything more hideously ugly? It gives me the 'blues' simply to look at it. Could we not have it painted to imitate chestnut wood? And don't you think we might paint the floor around the edges of the rug to imitate the woodwork? Just think of those centre panels of the door painted a contrasting shade of pale pink. The painter who did this work certainly was an artist. A friend of mine in the city, wishing to use rugs instead of carpets on her floors, and not caring to go to the expense of laying hardwood floors, gave the old floors a couple of coats of light lemon, or straw-colored paint, then stained and grained them a perfect imitation of chestnut, at small expense. The floors were greatly admired when finished, and having been allowed to dry thoroughly after being varnished, proved quite durable. I will write to my friend at once and ask her exactly how her floors were treated."

"Now, Mary, about this old-style furniture. The old grandfather clock standing in the corner, at the upper end of the room, I should like to have remain. It is one hundred and fifty years old and belonged to my folks, and, although old-fashioned, is highly valued by me."

"Of course," said Mary, "we'll certainly leave that in the room."

A-24 Seed Wreath
A-25 Wax Fruit
A-26 Old Parlor Mantel
A-27 Old Clock
A-28 Boquet of Hair Flowers

"Oh," said Mary, "no need of that. We will move Uncle John in here, near the bookcase, when we get our room fixed up. Aunt Sarah, we will leave that old-fashioned table, also, with one leaf up against the wall, and this quaint, little, rush-bottomed rocker, which I just dote on."

"Why, dear," exclaimed Aunt Sarah, "there are several chairs to match it in the attic, which you may have when you start housekeeping for your very own. And," laughingly, said her Aunt, "there is another old, oval, marble-topped table in the attic, containing a large glass case covering a basket of wax fruit, which you may have."

"No, Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "I don't believe I want the fruit, but I will accept your offer of the table. Well, Aunt Sarah, I know you won't have this old, black what-not standing in the corner of the room. I do believe it is made of spools, strung on wire, as supports for the shelves; then all painted black, imitation of ebony, I suppose. It must have been made in the Black Age, at the same time the old corner cupboard was painted, as Uncle John told me he scraped off three different layers of paint before doing it over, and one was black. It was originally made of cherry. It certainly looks fine now, with those new brass hinges and pretty, old-fashioned glass knobs."

"Yes, Mary," replied her Aunt, "and there is an old corner cupboard in the attic which belonged to my father, that you may have, and, with a very little labor and expense, Ralph can make it look as well as mine. It has only one door and mine possesses two."

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary, "you are a dear! How will I ever repay you for all your kindness to me?"

"By passing it on to some one else when you find some one needing help," said Aunt Sarah.

"Such a collection of odd things, Aunt Sarah, as are on this what-not I never saw. Old ambrotypes and daguerreotypes of gone and forgotten members of the 'freinshoft,' as you sometimes say. I don't believe you know any of them."

"Yes, the red plush frame on the mantel shelf contains a picture of John's Uncle, a fine-looking man, but he possessed 'Wanderlust' and has lived in California for many years.

"Yes; and that small china and gilt stand with little bowl and pitcher was given me when a small child."

"Suppose I bring a basket and we will fill it with articles from the mantel and what-not," said Mary, "and carry them all to the attic, until you have a rummage sale some day. We'll burn these 'everlasting' and 'straw' flowers, and pampas grass, and this large apple stuck full of cloves. Here is a small china dog and a little china basket with a plaited china handle decorated with gilt, and tiny, pink-tinted china roses. And these large, glass marbles containing little silver eagles inside; also this small, spun-glass ship and blue-and-pink-striped glass pipe. Aunt Sarah, some of your ancestors must have attended a glass blowers' exhibition in years past."

"This branch of white coral, these large snail shells (when a child I remember holding them to my ear to hear a noise resembling the roar of the ocean), and this small basket, fashioned of twigs and tendrils of grape vine, then dipped in red sealing wax, certainly is a good imitation of coral, and this plate, containing a miniature ship composed of green postage stamps, we will place in your corner cupboard."

"And, Aunt Sarah, I suppose this deep, glass-covered picture frame containing a bouquet of hair flowers, most wonderfully and fearfully made, was considered a work of art in days past and gone, as was also the crescent in a frame on the opposite side of the room, composed of flowers made of various seeds of grain and garden vegetables. Those daisies, made of cucumber seeds with grains of red corn for centres, and those made of tiny grains of popcorn with a watermelon seed in centre, are cute. The latter look like breastpins with a circle of pearls around the edge. And this glass case on the table, containing a white cross, covered with wax tube roses, ivy leaves and fuchsias drooping from the arms of the cross, sparkling with diamond dust! The band of green chenille around its base matches the mat underneath, composed of green zephyr of different shades, knitted, then raveled to imitate moss, I suppose; and, no doubt, this marble-topped table has stood here for fifty years, in this same spot, for the express purpose of holding this beautiful (?) work of art."

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary, "I've an original idea. This oval, marble-topped table has such strong, solid legs of black walnut, suppose we remove the marble slab and have a large, circular top made of wood at the planing mill? Wait; I'll get my tape measure. About thirty-two inches in diameter will do. The new top we shall stain to match the walnut frame, and it could be easily fastened to the table with a couple of screws; and, after the marble top has been well scoured, we'll use it in the kitchen as a bake board on which to roll out pie crust."

Her Aunt as usual acquiesced to all Mary's suggestions.

"You're a dear, Aunt Sarah!" exclaimed Mary, as she gave her a hug, "and I'll embroider big, yellow daisies with brown centres of French knots on gray linen for a new table cover. Won't they look just sweet?"

"Yes, Mary, and I'll buy a large, new lamp with a pretty shade, as I feel sure your Uncle will like to sit here evenings to read his papers and farm journals."

"And don't forget the Shriners' little magazine, The Crescent, which amuses him so greatly. Aunt Sarah, I do wish those stiff, starchy-looking, blue-white Nottingham lace curtains at the windows had grown yellow with age. They would be ever so much prettier and softer looking, and they are such a pretty, neat design, too."

"Oh!" replied her Aunt, "that may be easily remedied. I'll just dip them into a little weak liquid coffee and that will give them a creamy tint, and take out the stiffness."

"Now," said Mary, "what shall we do with these stiff, ugly, haircloth-covered chairs and sofa?"

"Why," replied Aunt Sarah, "we shall buy cretonne or art cloth, in pretty shades of brown and tan or green, to harmonize with the wall paper, and make slip covers for them all. We could never think of dispensing with the sofa. It is a very important article of furniture in German households. The hostess usually gives the person of greatest distinction among her guests the place of honor beside her on the sofa."

"Yes," remarked Aunt Sarah, "they look exactly like our old Baldwin, Winesap and Cider apple trees in the old, south meadow in the Spring. And, Mary, we'll discard those two chromos, popular a half century ago, of two beautiful cherubs called respectively, 'Wide Awake' and 'Fast Asleep,' given as premiums to a popular magazine. I don't remember if the magazine was 'Godey's,' 'Peterson's' or 'Home Queen'; they have good, plain, mahogany frames which we can use."

"And, Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "we can cut out the partition in this large, black-walnut frame, containing lithograph pictures of General George Washington, 'the Father of his Country' (we are informed in small letters at the bottom of the picture), and of General Andrew Jackson, 'the hero of New Orleans.' Both men are pictured on horseback, on gayly-caparisoned, prancing white steeds, with scarlet saddle cloth, edged with gold bullion fringe. The Generals are pictured clad in blue velvet coats with white facings of cloth or satin vest and tight-fitting knee breeches, also white and long boots reaching to the knee. Gold epaulettes are on their shoulders, and both are in the act of lifting their old-fashioned Continental hats, the advancing army showing faintly in the background. How gorgeously they are arrayed! We will use this frame for the excellent, large copy you have of 'The Doctor' and the pictured faces of the German composers—Beethoven, Wagner, Mendelssohn, Haydn, Schubert and Mozart, which I have on a card with a shaded brown background, will exactly fit into this plain frame of narrow molding, from which I have just removed the old cardboard motto, 'No place like home,' done with green-shaded zephyr in cross-stitch."

A-29 An Old Sampler
A-30 Old Woven Basket
A-31 Wax Cross
A-32 Old Spinning Wheel

"If you are willing, Aunt Sarah, I should like to make some pretty green and brown cretonne slips to cover those square sofa pillows in place of the ones made of small pieces of puffed silk and the one of colored pieces of cashmere in log cabin design, I do admire big, fat, plain, comfortable pillows, for use instead of show. And we must have a waste paper basket near the table beside Uncle John's chair. I shall contribute green satin ribbon for an immense bow on the side of the basket. Oh! Aunt Sarah! You've forgotten all about this odd, woven basket, beside the what-not, filled with sea shells. I don't care for the shells, but the basket would make a lovely sewing basket."

"You may have the basket, Mary, if you like it. It came from Panama, or perhaps it was bought at Aspinwall by John's Uncle, many years ago, when he came home on a visit from California, by way of the Isthmus, to visit old friends and relatives. John's Mother always kept it standing on the floor in one corner of the room beside the what-not."

"Aunt Sarah, why was straw ever put under this carpet?"

"The straw was put there, my dear, to save the carpet, should the boards on the floor be uneven. My Mother was always particular about having cut rye straw, because it was softer and finer than any other. It was always used in those days instead of the carpet linings we now have. I remember sometimes, when the carpet had been newly laid, in our home, immediately after house cleaning time, the surface of the floor looked very odd; full of bumps and raised places in spots, until frequent walking over it flattened down the straw. This room happens to have a particularly good, even floor, as this part of the house was built many years later than the original, old farm house, else it would not do to have it painted."

"Aunt Sarah, may I have the old spinning wheel in the attic? I'd love to furnish an old Colonial bedroom when I have a home of my very own. I'll use the rag carpet you made me for the floor, the old-fashioned, high-post bed Uncle John said I might have, and the 'New Colonial' rugs you taught me to make.

"Aunt Sarah, we shall not put away this really beautiful old sampler worked in silk by Uncle John's grandmother when a girl of nine years. It is beautifully done, and is wonderful, I think. And what is this small frame containing a yellowed piece of paper cut in intricate designs, presumably with scissors?"

"Look on the back of the picture and see what is written there, my dear," said her Aunt.

Mary slowly read: "'This is the only picture I owned before my marriage. I earned the money to buy it by gathering wheat heads.'"

"It belonged to my grandmother," said Aunt Sarah. "In old times, after the reapers had left the field, the children were allowed to gather up the wheat remaining, and, I suppose, grandmother bought this picture with the money she earned herself, and considered it quite a work of art in her day. It is over one hundred years old."

AN OLD SONG EVENING.

Aunt Sarah and Mary spent few idle moments while carrying out their plans for "doing over" the old parlor. Finally, 'twas finished. Mary breathed a sigh of satisfaction as the last picture was hung on the wall. She turned to her Aunt, saying, "Don't you think the room looks bright, cheery and livable?"

"Yes," replied her Aunt, "and what is more essential, homey, I have read somewhere, 'A woman's house should be as personal a matter as a spider's web or a snail's shell; and all the thought, toil and love she puts into it should be preserved a part of its comeliness and homelikeness forever, and be her monument to the generations.'"

"Well, Aunt Sarah," replied Mary, "I guess we've earned our monument. The air that blows over the fields, wafted in from the open window, is sweet with the scent of grain and clover, and certainly is refreshing. I'm dreadfully tired, but so delighted with the result of our labors. Now we will go and 'make ready,' as Sibylla says, before the arrival of Ralph from the city. I do hope the ice cream will be frozen hard. The Sunshine Sponge Cake, which I baked from a recipe the Professor's wife gave me, is light as a feather. 'Tis Ralph's favorite cake. Let's see; besides Ralph there are coming all the Schmidts, Lucy Robbins, the school teacher, and Sibylla entertains her Jake in the kitchen. I promised to treat him to ice cream; Sibylla was so good about helping me crack the ice to use for freezing the cream. We shall have an 'Old Song Evening' that will amuse every one."

Quite early, as is the custom in the country, the guests for the evening arrived; and both Mary and Aunt Sarah felt fully repaid for their hard work of the past weeks by the pleasure John Landis evinced at the changed appearance of the room.

The Professor's wife said, "It scarcely seems possible to have changed the old room so completely."

During the evening one might have been forgiven for thinking Professor Schmidt disloyal to the Mother Country (he having been born and educated in Heidelberg) had you overheard him speaking to Ralph on his favorite subject, the "Pennsylvania German." During a lull in the general conversation in the room Mary heard the Professor remark to Ralph: "The Pennsylvania Germans are a thrifty, honest and industrious class of people, many of whom have held high offices. The first Germans to come to America as colonists in Pennsylvania were, as a rule, well to do. Experts, when examining old documents of Colonial days, after counting thousands of signatures, found the New York 'Dutch' and the Pennsylvania 'Germans' were above the average in education in those days. Their dialect, the so-called 'Pennsylvania German' or 'Dutch,' as it is erroneously called by many, is a dialect which we find from the Tauber Grund to Frankfurt, A.M. As the German language preponderated among the early settlers, the language of different elements, becoming amalgamated, formed a class of people frequently called 'Pennsylvania Dutch'."

Professor Harbaugh, D.D., has written some beautiful poems in Pennsylvania German which an eminent authority, Professor Kluge, a member of the Freiburg University, Germany, has thought worthy to be included among the classics. They are almost identical with the poems written by Nadler in Heidelberger Mundart, or dialect.

Mary, who had been listening intently to the Professor, said, when he finished talking to Ralph: "Oh, please, do repeat one of Professor Harbaugh's poems for us."

He replied, "I think I can recall several stanzas of 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick.' Another of Professor Harbaugh's poems, and I think one of the sweetest I have ever read, is 'Heemweeh.' Both poems are published in his book entitled 'Harbaugh's Harfe,' in Pennsylvania German dialect, and possess additional interest from the fact that the translations of these poems, in the latter part of the same book, were made by the author himself."

"Oh, do repeat all that you remember of both the poems," begged Mary.

HEEMWEH.