Devore ft |
Belllefonte, Pa., November 23, 1928.
EE ———————
A THANKSGIVING FEAST.
We two are the last, my daughter!
To set the table for two
‘Where once were plates for twenty,
Is a lonesome thing to do.
But my boys and girls are scattered
To the east and west afar,
And one dearer than even the childven
Has passed through the gates ajar.
I'm wanting my bairns for Thanksgiving.
I thought last night as I lay
Awake in my bed and watching
For the breaking of the day,
Hoy my heart would leap in gladness
If a letter should come this morn
To say thai they could not leave us here
To keep the feast forlorn.
Samuel, my son, in Dakota,
Is a rich man, so I hear,
And he'll never let want approach us,
Save the wanting of him near;
While Jack is in San Francisco,
And Edward over the sea,
And only my little Jessie
Is biding at home with me.
Oh! the happy time for a mother
Is when her bairns are small,
And into the nursery beds at night
She tucks her darlings all.
When the wee ones are about her,
With gleeful noise and cry,
And she hushes the tumult with a smile,
Her brood beneath her eye.
But a mother must bear her burden,
When her babes are bearded men;
On ‘Change, or in the army,
Or scratching with a pen
In some banker's dusty office—
As Martin, is no doubt—
A mother must bear her burden
And learn to do without.
I know the Seripture teaching,
To help the halt and the blind,
And keep the homesick and the desolate
At the festal hour in mind.
Of the fat and the sweet a portion
I'll send to the boor man’s door,
But I'm wearying for my children
To sit at my beard once more,
I tell you, Jessie, my darling,
This living for money and pelf,
It takes the heart from life, dear,
It robs a man of himself,
This old bleak hillside hamlet,
That sends its boys away,
Has a right to claim them back, dear,
On this Thanksgiving Day.
Shame on my foolish frettings!
Here are letters, a perfect sheaf!
Open them quickly, dearest ;
Ah, me! Tig beyond belief.
By ship and by train they're hasting,
Rushing along on the way.
Tell the neighbors that all my children
Will be here Thanksgiving Day.
—By Margaret E. Sangster.
—_———
LESLIE THISTLE’S WAR-TIME
THANKSGIVING.
On evenings now the fire in Mr.
Thistle’s great old-fashioned fireplace
felt almost deserted. The big logs
on great-great-grand-father’s brass
andirons sizzled and scolded and
crackled as loud as they possibly could
to help make
their best, they
old times. To
things lively; but do
could not bring the
be sure, Henry and
John, boys of fourteen and sixteen
and the twins, Alexander and James,
besides eight-year-old Theodore, were
always on hand to pop corn and roast
apples; and then there wala baby, Ed-
win and a girl, Leslie, just turned six,
who, Theodore did not count;
but the two eldest boys, Malcolm and
MacGregor, were far
pranks and salljes. and
MacGregor were the tallest, hand-
somest lads in the village of Bellport. h
Everyone would have told you that.
It was the evening before Thanks-
giving, and Cousin Abbie White had
driven over from the Cape for her
semi-yearly visit. Baby Edwin was
lying in her lap crowing at her deep
soft laugh, and Leslie sat on a green
cricket at her feet. Mrs. Thistle was
gazing pensively into the flames
which leaped higher and higher.
“Dear! dear!” they were Men to
themselves, “when Mother Thistle
has that expression on her face we
know that she is thinking of Malcolm
and MacGregor. Come! more noise,
bothers. Do cheer up!” The boys
were stretched at full length crack-
Ing walnuts on the stone hearth and
between whiles teasing Leslie and
playing with Baby Edwin.
“What a queer Thanksgiving this
will be without Malcolm and Mac-
Gregor!” said James,
Leslie drew the head of her dollie,
Clarissa, close to her breast. The
quiet little maiden was thinking sweet
thoughts of Brother Malcolm and
Brother MacGregor, who had given
her Clarissa. She was a real store
dollie, Clarissa was, about ten inches
long, made of wood, and had such
cute arms and legs, All Leslie’s other
dollies were rag ones.
It was in September that Malcolm
and MacGregor, with the other Bell-
port boys, took the steamer up to
Bangor to Camp John Pope, where
they stayed till they went to Boston
in October. The Bellport people had
a big meeting, with speeches, to say
good-bye to the boys, in the town hall.
Just before the boys marched down
to the wharf Malcolm fastened a lit-
tle pin in the form of a shield, with
a red, white, and blue ribbon attach-
ed to it, on Leslie’s dress, and Mac-
Gregor placed Clarissa in her arms.
“I wonder, mamma, will they let
Malcolm and MacGregor have pump-
kin pie with their goose for their
Thanksgiving dinner? Clarissa and
I were talking it over this morning,
and we could not remember when the
boys had much of anything to eat be-
sides hardtack.”
I really cannot give you the reason
—possibly it was owing to a strain
of Seotch-Irish blood—but the This-
tle family, in Blase of the customary
chitken or turke always had roast
goose for their Tha i
The children’s playmates thought this
very funny.
“ pkin pie! you goosie your-
self,” exclaimed John, pretending to
jat Alec.
| Dr. Sewell’s ax is going to have a
jer!” said Henry,
er learned a
! of meal in their
i But why didn’t the doctor say some-
| thing about
{never been a time in this house, to
! headcheese and
‘is all extry,
+ his drawshave.
out, “if she has not been hindered,
' Daniel’s daughter ought to be on the
nksgiving dinner. ,
feed Clarissa a walnut meat.
they will not see the end of a goose’s
wing. I shall feel real mean when I
am eating my drumstick. Malcolm
and MacGregor always want drum-
sticks.”
The sound of footsteps was heard
coming along the porch. A moment
after Mr. Thistle entered the room.
He was a pale, tired-looking man, and
the depressi atmosphere of the in-
clement evening outside seemed to
still envelop him as he dropped into
his arm chair at the right side of the
fireplace. It was only a moment that
he warmed his hands before the
cheery blaze; then he lighted a lamp
and opened the door of a room where
ere was a mail carpenter’s bench.
Theodore sprang to his feet. “0,
father, what are you going to do?”
Mr. Thistle smiled at him, and
taking up an old ax handle, laid it on
a piece of ash, and proceeded to draw
an outline of it.
“That is Mr. Nelson’s ax handle,
isn’t it, father?” said Alec. “He
breaks more ax handles than anyone
else in the neighborhood.”
Mr. Thistle smiled his teasing smile
“Wrong, my son, this time.
“Why,
new handle.”
“What a smart man you are, fath-
carefully watching
the progress of the pencil. “There
is not a boy’s father around here who
works as hard as you do after hav-
ing been busy in the woods all day.
They are only just farmers and nev-
trade the same as you
did. I heard Dr. Sewell tell Deacon
Curtis yesterday that you were the
Feoatost manager of any man that he
ew.
Cousin Abbie laughed. “I should
think your pa would have to manage
with all the bills he has to fill, and
Inow your big brothers
off in the
army. Your father is smart, boys,
and I can remember, as you cannot,
when he used to make barrels even-
ings; for he learned the cooper’s
trade. That was when Malcolm was
four years old. They were the neat-
est, prettiest barrels. Then he would
| take the hayrack and fill it full of
‘them and drive over to Faston and
bring back barrels of flour and bags
place in the hayrack.
your ma? There has
my knowing, when one could not find
a crock of doughnuts and a pan of
| gingerbread, besides a row of pies,
on the buttery shelf, not to speak of
other extrys. And it
children—all extry. The
Lord only promises us our daily bread.
' He does not say anything about gin-
gerbread.”
Mr. Thistle was now at work with
“Mother,” he called
boat tomorrow morning.”
“So she ought, father, if there is
anything left of the child after that
long journey.”
Leslie’s blue-gray eyes grew big
with interest and tender with feeling.
Uncle Daniel had been killed at the
battle of Bull Run. He was shot
down at the very beginning of the
battle. Leslie and her young broth-
ers were in the little red schoolhouse
that July morning. A man on horse-
back rode up through the village and
out by the schoolhouse, crying, “A
batle has ben fought at Bull Run!
Heavy losses!”
The teacher sent Alec and James
out to ask the man some questions.
They came back, saying that some
of the Bellport boys were killed, but
the man did not know their names.
O, the dreadful uncertainty! The
boys and girls who had brothers in
that battle were pale with excitement.
Alec and James shared the general
alarm, for they knew that Uncle Dan-
iel’s Minnesota regiment must have
been in that battle. Leslie was not
old enough to realize this till she ran
ome and found her mother walking
the sitting room floor and weeping.
She seemed to have a presentiment
that something had happened to Un-
cle Daniel. He was her only brother.
A week after a letter had come say-
ing that Uncle Daniel had, indeed,
been killed in that battle.
Now, five days ago Mr. Thistle had
brought home another letter. The
shock had been too much for Uncle
Daniel’s sick wife, and she had fol-
lowed Uncle Daniel. Little Emily,
who was only ten days younger than
Leslie, was to be sent to her mother’s
sister up in Monroe. A friend of Un-
cle Daniel’s, who was coming East,
would take charge of Emily
as far as Boston, where he would put
her in charge of the stewardess on
the Bellport boat.
Some tears fell on Clarissa’s wood-
en head as Leslie remembered that
bitter day. “I never felt so badly for
anyone in my life as I did for Emily,” ,
she whispered to Clarissa.
“What! tears!” sputtered a log.
There was a great snapping in the
fireplace, and a shower of sparks flew
out. Some fell at Leslie’s feet, and
others fell before Mrs. Thistle. John
rushed with the tonges and Henry
with the shovel. Leslie laughed heart-
ily at the boys’ antics, and the tears
dried on her cheeks.
“That was the only thing that I
ever had against Daniel,” remarked
Cousin Abbie, “his taking poor Wini-
fred out to Minnesota, away from all
her kith and kin, and she the slim- b
mest of her family.
Mr. Thistle gave Cousin Abbie a
funny look.
kind of Daniel. It would not have
Shjied you at all; now, would it, Ab-
ie ?
“Not but that Daniel did well with
his mills out there,” continued Cous-
in Abbie, “but there has never been
the man in Bellport that could make
me leave the State of Maine.”
“I cannot think of Daniel as really
gone,” said Mrs. Thistle, her voice
taking on the sad tone that was so
‘often heard these days. “He was the i
Abbie, “I should most think it was a
most alive of anyone that I knew.
Nothing could daunt or discourage
him. O Abbie, think of a mother’s
heart. Any day I may have the same
tidings of Malcolm or MacGregor.
But see, Leslie has fallen asleep. Car-
ry her upstairs for me, Henry. Boys,
it is time that you all were in bed.”
Ten minutes afterward, when all
was quiet under Mr. Thistle’s roof,
: dear.”
at surely was un-:
“Alec, are you awake?” whispered
James. .
“No, I am thinking. Say, Alec, did
you notice anything queer about
mother today ?”
“That is what I have been thinking
about, James. I did notice something
queer. She did not make any pump-
kin pies for our T giving din-
ner.”
“That was it, Alec. I happened to
see her, and what do you think? She
got the pumpkin all strained and took
down the pie plates off the pantry
shelf. She stood a moment with them
in her hand; then she wiped her eyes
and put the pie plates back upon the
shelf.”
“She must have been thinking
about Malcolm and MacGregor,” said
Alec, “and how they have not had
many good things to eat. Henry and
John have been off in the woods all
day with father, so they do not know
anything about it, and Leslie has been
too taken up with dreaming about
Emily’s coming to notice anything.”
“Twill be a strange dinner,
though,” said James, trying not to
speak regretfully, “but I do not blame
mother for not feeling like making
the pies, and I will give that Theodore
a switching if he makes a fuss about
it’
The next morning after Mr. Thistle
and the other boys had set out on the
long walk to the Congregational
meeting house, to hear good old Dr.
Woodbury deliver his Thanksgiving
sermon, Henry took the two-wheeled
chaise and started for the wharf to
meet Emily. Leslie took up her sta-
tion on a window seat between Mrs.
Thistle’s monthly roses, eager to
catch the first glimpse of the stranger
cousin. She did not have long to
wait, for the boat was on time, and
white Bessie trotted home in a great
hurry, as though she knew how very
anxious Leslie was. Bessie gave her
dainty head a toss as she reached the
door, as much as to say, “Now, Leslie,
see how well I have done!”
Henry brought in a bundle of
shawls and placed it on the cricket be-
fore the fire. It swayed a moment
and rolled off onto the floor, where it
kicked vigorously, vainly endeavoring
to extricate its arms and legs.
Cousin Abbie rushed to the rescue.
“For the land’s sake, Henry, couldn’t
you have wrapped that child up with-
out making a hippopotamus of her?
Never mind, my plum, you will be all
right in a minute.’
A few strong twitches given to Mr.
Thistle’s blanket shawl, and two laced
boots and white knitted stockings
were revealed. Another twitch, and
there was a black and white gingham
gown, and above it a rounded flushed
child face, surrounded with golden
curls. Cousin Abbie gave one look
and dropped down in a chair. Then she
reached with trembling hands to the
table for her spectacles, wiped them
and put them on, and stared at the
child with an expression of awe.
Mrs. Thistle was staring oddly, too.
Emily looked frightened. Leslie
sat down on the hearth beside her
and thrust Clarissa into her arms.
Seing the two chidren so near togeth:
er, the women and Henry almest
jumped. There could be no doubt
about it. Leslie and the little Emily
were as alike as two peas and two peas
of the same size, too. If Emily had
had ona red and white checked dress
like Leslie’s, not even Mus. Thistle
herself could have told which was her
own daughter.
Emily hugged Clarissa. Then she
put her arms around Leslie’s neck
and hugged her, too.
“Are you hungry, my sweet one?”
inquired Mrs. Thistle.
Emily continued to hug Leslie, as
though she had not heard the ques-
tion. Mrs. Thistle, thinking that per-
haps she had not understood that the
question was addressed to her, repeat-
ed it, calling her by name.
No answer. Emily did not even
turn her head.
“Poor little creature! She
tired to talk,” said Henry.
“She has not spoken a word since
she left the boat.”
Mrs. Thistle stepped into the but-
tery and returned with a plate of mo-
lasses cookies.
“Here is a
is too
cookie for you, my
Emily smiled brightly at her, and
eagerly commenced eating a cookie.
“Don’t you think that Clarissa is
a beautiful dollie, Emily ?” said Les-
lie. “She is the only store dollie that
I ever had. Brother MacGregor gave
her to me the day that he went to the
war.”
No reply. But the cookie seemed
to have refreshed Emily, and she ran
to a window, dragging Leslie by one
hand, and stood looking at the flow-
ers. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed
up at a pink rose. She turned to
Mrs. Thistle, gesticulating with her
hands.
Mrs. Thistle’s heart seemed to stop
beating, and she saw in Cousin Ab-
bie’s eyes a question that she would
not answer.
Mrs. Thistle took Emily up in her
arms and rained down kisses on her
blossom face. “Fatherless, mother-
less, lovely as an angel, and a deaf-
mute—my Brother Daniel’s baby.”
The kisses and Mrs. Thistle’s emo-
tion must have reminded Emily of her
own mother, for she burst into a pas-
sion of weeping. Mrs. Thistle held
ner shaking form close, and half an
hour later when Mr. Thistle and the
oys came in all glowing from their
battle with the wind, Emily was still
clinging to her. ; :
Cousin Abbie drew Mr. Thistle in-
to a corner, and in a loud whisper
told him of the painful discovery.
Funnily enough, she was unmindful
of the fact that she need not whisper
on Emily’s account.
Mr. Thistle was a
and his first thought was for Emily.
“Well, this is a pretty box! There
is not one of us who knows the sign
language. The child might as well
on a desert island.”
“0, Cousin Samuel,” said Cousin
practical man,
judgment of the Lord's for my cur-
iosity. I suppose that I have laid up
one hundred and fifty questions to
ask that child, if I have one.”
“It is not half as bad as you think,
father,” spoke yg: John. “You have
forgotten that I had old Captain
Bently. teach me the deaf-and-dumb
alphabet one winter just for fun, The
captain once had a deaf-and-dumb
passenger who went around the world
with him on the Sally, and I tell you
the captain had plenty of time ~ to
practice with him.”
“Praise the Lord!” exclaimed Cous-
in Abbie; “I never felt more like get-
ting down on my knees than I do now.
I might have known that John would
help us out; for he was named for my
father, and there never was such a
man for taking the ship by the helm
when everything appeared to be going
to pieces.”
Emily- had raised her head when
the boys entered and was now peek-
ing coyly at Theodore over Mrs.
Thistle’s shoulder. After some coax-
ing she allowed herself to be trans-
ferred to Mr. Thistle’s lap, and there
was a scene of pretty confusion.
John dropped on one knee in front
of her, and the others formed a cir-
cle around He made some signs.
Emily’s eyes shone, and she imme-
diately responded with more signs.
“0, what did she say? what did
you say, John?” they all cried out at
once.
“I asked her if she liked the looks
of us all, and she answered that she
did, and especially Leslie's. She was
the dearest little girl that she had
ever seen, and had such a beautiful
dollie. Then she wanted me to tell
her which one of the boys was Alec,
Alec, the one who ran a pitchfork in
his hand. I told her that Alec was
the red-headed one, and she said, ‘0
pretty hair ! Too bad about the pitch-
fork.’ ”
“My stars! but isn’t she a bright
young one?” said Alec, blushing over
the unwonted compliment to his hair.
“To be sure, I remember when I
wrote Daniel about Alec's accident,”
said Mrs. Thistle. “But who would
have thought that Emily would have
made so much of it? ~ How tender-
hearted!”
“Aren't we going to have any
Thanksgiving dinner?” whined The-
odore. “We can talk to Emily after
dinner.”
“Yes, yes, Theodore.” Mrs. This-
tle bravely tore herself away and
hurried out to the kitchen. Cousin
Abbie lingered to have John put a
few questions to Emily on her be-
half. When she too had gone to help
hurry up the dinner the boys asked
Emily funny questions, just to hear
her smart answers.
At the dinner Emily was placed be-
tween John and Leslie. Carlissa
came to the table, too, and sat in Em-
ily’s lap.
Mr. Thistle’s voice trembled as he
asked grace, and he pickel up the
carving knife and fork twice before
he attacked the goose. Theodore had
to pull his coat sleeve in order to
hurry him up.
The children chattered joyously and
Emily beamed upon them with the
air and graces of a -princess. Her
sorrows were all forgotten in this
merry crowd.
Mr. Thistle’s goose was still un-
tasted. He seemed to have somethin
on his mind. “Mother, Daniel os
to write you pretty regular, as I re-
member.”
“Yes, indeed, father. Once a month
anyway. There never was a more de-
voted brother than Daniel.”
“And Winifred? She was quite a
hand to correspond, too, was she
not?”
“Why, yes, father. If Daniel was
the least bit ailing, she always sat
right down and wrote me all about
it.
“Well, they used to have consider-
able to say about Emily, didn’t
they 7”
“There never was much else in the
letters but about how she was grow-
ing, and how forward she was.”
“And you do not call to mind one
word that might have given you a
hint that Emily was in any way un-
like other children?”
“Not one word, father. I have had
the biggest surprise of my life to-
day, and I cannot understand it yet.
But I do know this one thing—that
two prouder people never walked the
earth than Daniel and Winifred Pres-
cott. They could not have stood your
sympathy or mine.
- Cousin Abbie shook her gray curls
impressively. “Well, there is one
thing that is perfectly clear to my
mind, and that is, that it all comes
from living out in Minnesota. If
Daniel and Winifred had been living
among their own respectable kins-
folks, there would have been some
one to have written us the news.
That is what the Lord gives us kind-
red for.”
The goose and its accompaniments
having been disposed of, Mrs. This-
tle proceeded to help the children to
generous slices of gingerbread and
doughnuts.
Theodore watched his mother with
growing disapproval. “Mother, where
are the pumpkin pies? Arent we
going to have any pumpkin pies for
our Thanksgiving dinner?”
Mrs. Thistle looked troubled and
rather shamefaced. She opened her
lips to give an explanation.
“It is all right, mother,” called out
James, much embarrassed, but deter-
mined to stand beside his mother in
the breach. “We do not want any
pumpkin pies on Thanksgiving Day
when Malcolm and MacGregor are
faring so poorly.” He threw a scorn-
ful look at Theodore. “And I will
punch the head of the first fellow who
is mean enough to say that he does.
Theodore here is only a baby. He
cannot be expected to know what he
is talking about.”
Emily saw that something was the
matter and questioned John. He an-
swered her that the folks were talk-
ing about Malcolm and MacGre Tr,
and did not mention the pumpkin pies,
so she contendedly ate her ginger- |
bread and deughnuts.
“That was
sermon of Dr. Woodbury’s,” comment-
ed Mr. Thistle around the fireplace.
“The doctor has an excellent gift, but
I have been thinking that if he had
had that sunbeam of an Emily up in
the pulpit alongside of him, the peo-
ple that have children with tongues
that can go like mill clappers
wouldn’t have needed any other,
Thanksgiving sermon.”
Cousin Abbie laid her hand on Em-
ily’s head. “That is so, Samuel. A
little child shall teach them. .I know
that isn’t exactly what the Scripture
says but it is what it means.”
a good Thanksgiving
And now the shadows were gath-
ering. Soon the only light in the
room was that which came from the
glowing logs. Alec brought out the
corn popper and held it over the fire.
Emily clapped her hands to see the
white kernels jump up and down in
the popper, and held Clarissa up to
see, too.
Leslie’s arms were so lonesome.
She had never gone so long without
holding Clarissa. She brought out all
her rag dollies, and they were a pret-
ty lot, and showed them to Emily.
Emily petted them, but become much
excited when Leslie tried to substitute
one of them for Clarissa.
At bedtime Emily and Leslie were
tucked up in one bed, and Clarissa
reposed betwen them, Emily’s left
hand fast hold of Clarissa’s arm.
When the little girls were asleep
Mrs. Thistle called the house-hold to
look at them. They fairly gasped.
Of the two curly heads emerging
from the white counterpane no one
could tell which was Leslie's.
“And you and Daniel did not look
any more alike than a crow and a red
robin,” ejaculated Cousin Abbie to
Mrs. Thistle. “It certainly is a mir-
acle,”
“I could not tell how that child has
grows into my heart today;” Mrs.
istle kissed Emily’s dimpled hand
that lay upon the counterpane. “How
can I give her up to Mary ?”
Mr. Thistle became sober. “You
make it hard for me, mother. What
if I should tell you that Emily must
leave us in the morning? Mrs. Ames,
of Monroe, is in the village, and told
me after service this forenoon that
Mary had charged her to bring Emily
home with her. Mrs. Ames is going
by the stage in the morning, and they
will call for Emily. You know how
Mary is, mother. “She will fret her-
self sick till Emily gets there. And
after all, Emily is as near to her as
she is to you. When Mary has had
Emily with her for a spell and gets
sort of used to her I will drive up
and bring her back for a good visit.”
Mrs. Thistle smiled pitifully. In
her heart of hearts she did not for F
one moment believe that Mary ever
could love Emily as she did af that
moment. After the others had re-
turned to the fireside she sat by the
bed murmuring soft mother talk to
the motherless litle one.
At five o'clock the following morn-
ing Mrs. Thistle awakened Emily, and
John explained to her that she was
to go with a kind lady to Aunt
Mary’s. He succeeded so well in con-
vincing Emily that it would only be
a short time before she would be with
them again that she recived the news
quite calmly. :
At half past five the stage stood
before the ‘door. After Emily had
kissed everybody good-bye .she kissed
Clarissa, and tenderly laid her in
Leslie’s arms. Mr. Thistle then lift-
ed Emily and placed her beside Mrs,
Ames in the stage.
The driver cracked his whip.
“0, wait!” cried Leslie. “I want to
give something to Emily.”
Her father swung her up, and she
thrust Clarissa into Emily’s hand.
Another crack of the whip, and the
stage rolled out of the dooryard.
Mr. Thistle and the boys went off
to the barn, and Mrs. Thistle and
Cousin Abbie disappeared into the
kitchen. There was no one left to see
a little figure fling itself down on the
hearth.
“0, my Clarissa!
lie!” Leslie wailed.
She had given Clarissa to Emily,
because she was so sorry for her, and
she felt it was her heart’s blood.
“0, what shall I do without my
Clarissa, that Brother MacGregor
gave me the day that he went to the
war?”
A whole row of flamelets danced up
from a log and glowed brightly at
Leslie.
“But aren’t you glad that Emily
has Clarissa?” she heard them sing.
“Sweet Emily, who cannot call the
chickens and the bossies the same as
you can.” :
Leslie sat up straight, and smiled,
0, my store dol-
fo wan smile at the bright flame-
ets.
“Yes, I am glad that Emily has
Clarissa.”
Thousand Islands Park, N. Y.—
From the Christian Advocate, in the
year of 1900.
Sour Cream Gets College Attention.
Experiments on the methods of
manufacturing commercial sour
cream are being conducted by the
dairy department of the Pennsyl-
vania Agricultural Experiment Sta-
tion at State College.
This product is also known as
“Jewish sour cream” because of its
extensive use by Hebrew people. It
is not restricted to them entirely, be-
ing also very popular with the Slavie
races generally and to a lesser extent
with the Germans, Austrians, and
Bohemians.
The sour cream is, when properly
made, a thick-bodied, smooth product
with a clean, acid flavor. It finds use
as a dressing for vegetables, either
cooked or raw, as well as being the
important ingredient in certain typi-
cal cold vegetable mixtures not un-
like salads.
The most difficult problem in mak-
ing commercial sour cream is to pro-
duce a body thick enough and smooth
enough to satisfy the customers. The
experiments at State College show |
that there are many factors to con-
trol where a high quality product is
desired. This work is expected to
be of considerable aid to the milk
dealers who are attempting to supply
the market, says F. J. Doan, of the
dairy manufacturing department.
—Anglican rector in the South of
Ireland, wanting to replace his old
church by a new building, ventured to
send his appeal to the Roman Catho-
lic priest of the parish, with whom he
was on friendly terms. His response
was: “I cannot subscribe to the build-
ing of your new church, but here is |
two guineas toward the demolition
of the old one.”
when one is run down?” asks a news-
paper correspondent.
“The number of the car.”—Strat-
ford Beacon-Herald.
‘meat desired. He
FARM NOTES.
—Many of the poultry houses that
are used for laying quarters need
some repairing or remodeling, says
county agent, R. C. Blaney. Many
outbreaks of colds and roup will be
eliminated if the housing conditions
are corrected before the fall rains and
cold weather comes. Eliminate all draft
from the houses by covering the east,
west, and north sides of the house
with 2-ply roofing paper.
Damp litter in the hen house is
usally a result of poor ventilation or
overcrowding rather of a poor-
ly constructed floor. If the greater
part of the front of the house is in-
closed with glass it is almost impos-
sible to have dry litter without in-
stalling a ventilating system. The
open front type of house with muslin
curtains is recommended. The curtains.
must be replaced with new muslin
when they become dirty, so the air
will pass through them.
Most laying houses do not have
sufficient mash hopper space. Plan
to have at least eight linear feet of
hopper space for each one hundred
birds where the birds can eat from
sides. Several small mash hoppers.
in a pen are more satisfactory than
one long hopper. Also provide hopper
space for feeding oyster shell and
grit.
It is a good plan to have a 2-inch
mesh poullry wire stretched over the
perches from the rear of the house to
the front of the dropping boards.
This wire will keep the birds out of
the droppings on the dropping boards
and will aid in cutting down the num-
ber of dirty eggs and losses from dis-
ease. When the wire is stretched
across the top instead of being fast-
ened to the under side of the perches
there will be less sagging and it will
last longer. The wire on top of the
perches does not seem to injure the
birds’ feet.
—In curing pork scrupulous care
and cleanliness are fully as essential
as the salt, sugar and saltpeter. K.
. Warner, meat specialist of the
United States Department of Agri-
culture, elaborates this point.
“One hundred pounds of meat,”
he says, “can be cured with three
pounds of salt or twelve pounds of
salt and widely vgrying amounts of
sugar and saltpeter, but unless care-
fulness is included, the resulting pro-
duct will be neither economical nor
palatable. The boys complain con-
siderably nowadays about the fussy
crankiness with which grandpa learned
his lesson in the hard school of ex-
perience, and he knows that unless
meat is put down with care, refined
almost to the degree of crankiness,
the result will be unsatisfactory.”
Mr. Warner also calls attention to
the fact that the home butcher should
select the animals for slaughter with
a view to the weight and quality of
says:
“Where lard and sausage are the
products desired, very large and very
fat hogs will serve, but when shoul-
ders, hams and loins are desired these
will be in proportion to the weight
of the animal. A trimmed ham will
weigh about 7 per cent. of the live
weight of the hog, the bacon strip
about 5 per cent. If one desires ten-
pound hams the hogs should be buteh-
ered at about 140 to 150 pounds.
weight. If the family can make eco-
nomical use of twenty-pound hams
the weight of the hog may run up to
300 pounds.”
’
—An agricultural college in anoth-
er State says that “there is more
hope for the good farmer on poor
land than for the poor farmer on
good land. This is applicable to any
State as many have frequently ob-
served.
—Growers find that they can get
from 10 to 25 cents a bushel more for
apples that are well packed instead of
being just poured into the basket.
Honestly facing a bushel of apples
does not improve the flavor or value
of the fruit but it makes a more at-
tractive package.
—If pullets are to lay well all win-
ter their body weight must be kept
up. This can be done by feeding a
£00d grain mash and some cod liver
oil.
—See that you have good viable
and disease-free seed for use next
spring. Be sure that all seed is thor-
oroughly dried and stored in a place
where it will not get wet or be de-
stroyed by rats and mice.
—It is not necessary to put off ov-
erhauling the sprayer until spring.
On rainy days it may be taken apart,
oiled, and the worn parts replaced.
—Many vegetable growers find that
they can grow their own plants for
early use ir the spring where they
have proper equipment. Hundreds of
Pennsylvania gardeners are using the
small sash greenhouse planned and
recommended by State College vege-
table gardening extension specialists.
—Good Thanksgiving turkeys are
well fed and fattened. A fat turkey
carries a great deal of flesh and the
meat is of higher quality. Fat tur-
keys are worth more on the market
than those lacking finish. It pays to
fatten the birds for market,
—With liberal feeding the brood
sow will be able to recuperate from
suckling her fall litter so that she will
be thrifty and vigorous when mated
for her next litter. Rations rich in
protein and mineral content should
prevail prior to mating as well as
throughout the gestation period. A
combination of corn and oats, plus
tankage, fishmeal or buttermilk, will
serve the purpose well.
—Protecting farm machinery from
the weather now and during the win-
ter will save heavy drains on the
bank account next spring.
—Cutting the “weed trees in the
farm woodlot will improve the qual-
ity of the stand in future years.
“What is the best thing to take |
—A cool ‘temperature (above freez-
ing) and a somewhat moist atmos-
i phere is needed in storage for cab-
bage, celery, chinese cabbage, kohl-
, rabi, and the root crops.