CHAPTER XXVI

CATCHING ELBADRITCHELS

For the information of those who may not even have heard of this remarkable creature, it is described as being a cross between a swallow, a goose and a lyre bird. Have you ever seen an "Elbadritchel?" No one has to my certain knowledge, so I cannot vouch for the truth of this description of it.

Fritz Schmidt had never taught to question the truth of the tale. So, when one cold, stormy night several boys from neighboring farms drove up to the Schmidt homestead and asked Fritz to join them in a hunt for "Elbadritchels," he unhesitatingly agreed to make one of the number, unaware that he had been selected as the victim of a practical joke, and, as usual, was one of the jolliest of the crowd. They drove through a blinding downpour of rain and dismounted on reaching a lonely hill about three miles distant. They gave Fritz a bag to hold. It was fashioned of burlap and barrel hoops, inside of which they placed a lighted candle, and Fritz was instructed how to hold it in order to attract the "Elbadritchel." They also gave him a club with which to strike the bird when it should appear.

The boys scampered off in different directions, ostensibly to chase up the birds, but in reality they clambered into the waiting wagon and were rapidly driven home, leaving Fritz alone awaiting the coming of the "Elbadritchel." When Fritz realized the trick played on him, his feelings may be better imagined than described. He trudged home, cold and tired, vowing vengeance on the boys, fully resolved to get even with them.

Much of Aunt Sarah's spare time was devoted to her chickens, which fully repaid her for the care given them. She was not particular about fancy stock, but had quite a variety—White Leghorns, Brown Leghorns, big, fat, motherly old Brahma hens that had raised a brood of as many as thirty-five little chicks at one time, a few snow-white, large Plymouth Rocks and some gray Barred one. Thelattershelikedparticularly because she said they were much, more talkative than any of the others; they certainly did appear to chatter to her when she fed them. She gave them clean, comfortable quarters, warm bran mash on cold winter mornings, alternating with cracked corn and "scratch feed" composed of a mixture of cracked corn, wheat and buckwheat, scattered over a litter of dried leaves on the floor of the chicken house, so they were obliged to work hard for their food.

Old Egg Basket

A plentiful supply of fresh water was always at hand, as well as cracked oyster shell. She also fed the chickens all scraps from the table, cutting all meat scraps fine with an old pair of scissors hung conveniently in the kitchen.

She was very successful with the little chicks hatched out when she "set" a hen and the yield of eggs from her hens was usually greater and the eggs larger in size than those of any of her neighbors. This I attribute to her excellent care of them, generous diet, but principally to the fact of the elimination of all the roosters among the flock during the season between the "first of May and December first," with one exception. "Brigham," animmensely large, old, red Shanghai rooster, a most pompous and dignified old chap. A special pet of Aunt Sarah's, she having raised him from a valuable "setting" of eggs given her, and as the egg from which "Brigham," as he was called, emerged, was the only one of the lot which proved fertile, he was valued accordingly and given a longer lease of life than the other roosters, and was usually either confined or allowed to roam outside the chicken yard during the summer months; in the winter, being a swift runner, he usually gobbled up two shares of food before the hens arrived. That accounted for his great size. The old rooster was also noted for his loud crowing.

One day in early Spring, John Landis came into the house hurriedly, saying, "Sarah, your old Shanghai rooster is sick."

"Yes," answered his wife, "I missed hearing him crow this morning; he is usually as regular as an alarm clock."

She hurried to the barnyard, picked up poor Brigham, wrapped him carefully in a piece of blanket and laid him in a small shed. The next morning she was awakened by the lusty crowing of Brigham, who was apparently as well as ever. The next day the same thing happened. Aunt Sarah found him, as she supposed, in a dying condition, and the following morning he was fully recovered. It was quite puzzling until one day John Landis came into the kitchen laughing heartily and said, "Sarah, I am sorry to inform you of the intemperate habits of your pet, Brigham. He is a most disreputable old fellow, and has a liking for liquor. He has been eating some of the brandied cherries which were thrown into the barnyard when the jug containing them was accidentally broken at house cleaning time.

"Well, Sarah, old Brigham was not sick at all—only 'ingloriously' drunk." In the fall of the same year Aunt Sarah spied Brigham one day on top of one of the cider barrels in the shed busily engaged eating the pummace which issued from the bung-hole of the barrel. John Landis, on hearing of Brigham's last escapade, decided, as the rooster was large as an ordinary-turkey, to serve him roasted at Mary's wedding.

Fritz Schmidt remarked one day in the presence of Sibylla: "Chickens must possess some little intelligence; they know enough to go to bed early. Yes, and without an 'alarm clock,' too, Sibylla, eh?"

She walked away without a word to Fritz. The alarm clockwas a sore subject with her, and one about which she had nothing to say. Sibylla had never quite forgiven Fritz for the prank played on her. He, happening to hear John Landis tell Sibylla a certain hour he thought a proper time for Jake Crouthamel to take his departure Sunday evenings, Fritz conceived the brilliant (?) idea of setting the alarm clock to "go off" quite early in the evening. He placed the clock at the head of the stairs, and in the midst of an interesting conversation between the lovers the alarm sounded with a loud, whizzing noise, which naturally made quick-tempered Sibylla very angry. She said on seeing Fritz the next morning: "It was not necessary to set the 'waker' to go off, as I know enough to send 'Chake' home when it's time."

Fritz, happening to tell the story to the editor of a small German Mennonite paper, edited in a near-by town, it was printed in that paper in German, which caused Sibylla, on hearing it, to be still more angry at the Professor's son.

In the early part of September Mary's Aunt suggested she try to win the prize offered at the Farmers' Picnic in a near-by town for the best "Raised Potato Cake." Aunt Sarah's rye bread invariably captured first prize, and she proposed sending both bread and cake with Sibylla and Jake, who never missed picnic or fair within a radius of one hundred miles.

"POTATO PRETZEL"

Mary set a sponge the evening of the day preceding that of the picnic, using recipe for "Perfection Potato Cake," which Aunt Sarah considered her best recipe for raised cakes, as 'twas one used by her mother for many years.

On the day of the picnic, Mary arose at five o'clock, and while her Aunt was busily engaged setting sponge for her loaf of rye bread, Mary kneaded down the "potato cake" sponge, set torise the previous evening, now rounded over top of bowl and light as a feather.

She filled a couple of pans with buns, molded from the dough, and set them to rise. She then, under her Aunt's direction, fashioned the "Pretzel" as follows: She placed a piece of the raised dough on a large, well-floured bake board, rolled it over and over with both hands until a long, narrow roll or strip was formed about the width of two fingers in thickness and placed this strip carefully on the baking sheet, which was similar to the one on which Aunt Sarah baked rye bread; shaped the dough to form a figure eight (8) or pretzel, allowing about two inches of space on either side of baking sheet to allow for raising. She then cut a piece of dough into three portions, rolled each as thick as a finger, braided or plaited the three strips together and placed carefully on top of the figure eight, or pretzel, not meeting by a space of about two inches. This braided piece on the top should not be quite as thick as bottom or first piece of the pretzel. She then rolled three small pieces of dough into tiny strips or rolls the size of small lead pencils, wound them round and round and round into small scrolls, moistened the lower side with water to cause them to adhere, and placed them on the dividing line between the two halves of the figure eight. She placed an old china coffee cup without a handle, buttered on outside, in centre of each half of the figure eight, which kept the pretzel from spreading over the pan. With a small, new paint brush she brushed over the top of Pretzel and Buns, a mixture, consisting of one yolk of egg, an equal quantity of cream or milk (which should be lukewarm so as not to chill the raised dough) and one tablespoon of sugar. This causes the cakes, etc., to be a rich brown when baked, a result to be obtained in no other manner.

When the pretzel was raised and had doubled in size 'twas baked in a moderately hot oven.

Mary's surprise and delight may easily be imagined when Sibylla, on her return from the picnic, handed her the prize she had won, a two-pound box of chocolates, remarking, "Mary, you and Aunt Sarah both got a prize—her's is in the box what Jake's got."

The box on being opened by Aunt Sarah contained a very pretty, silver-plated soup ladle, the prize offered for the best loaf of rye bread.

"Aunt Sarah," inquired Mary one day, "do you think it pays a housekeeper to bake her own bread?"

LOAF OF RYE BREAD

"Certainly, it pays, my dear. From a barrel of flour may be baked three hundred or more one-pound loaves of bread; should you pay five cents a loaf, the bread which may be made from one barrel of flour if bought from a bake shop would cost you fifteen dollars. Now, you add to the cost of a barrel of flour a couple of dollars for yeast, salt, etc., which altogether would not possibly be more than ten dollars, and you see the housewife has saved five dollars. It is true it is extra work for the housewife, but good, wholesome bread is such an important item, especially in a large family, I should advise the thrifty housekeeper to bake her own bread and bake less pie and cake, or eliminate less important duties, to be able to find time to bake bread. From the bread sponge may be made such a number of good, plain cakes by the addition of currants or raisins, which are more wholesome and cheaper than richer cakes."

"I think what you say is true, Aunt Sarah," said Mary.

"Frau Schmidt always bakes her own bread, and she tells me she sets a sponge or batter for white bread, and by the additionof Graham flour, cornmeal or oatmeal, always has a variety on her table with a small expenditure of time and money."

A "BROD CORVEL" OR BREAD BASKET

The home-making instinct was so strongly developed in Mary that her share in the labor of cooking and baking became a pleasure. Occasionally she had failures—what inexperienced cook has not?—yet they served only to spur her on to fresh efforts. She had several small scars on her wrist caused by her arm coming in contact with the hot oven when baking. She laughingly explained: "One bar on my arm represents that delicious 'Brod Torte' which Frau Schmidt taught me to bake; the other one I acquired when removing the sponge cake from the oven which Uncle John said 'equaled Aunt Sarah's' (which I consider highest praise), and the third bar I received when taking from the oven the 'Lemon Meringue,' Ralph's favorite pie, which he pronounced 'fine, almost too good to eat.'" Mary was as proud of her scars as a young, non-commissioned officer of the chevron on his sleeve, won by deeds of valor.

The lessons Mary learned that summer on the farm while filling her hope chest and preparing her mind for wifehood were of inestimable value to her in later years. She learned not only to bake, brew and keep house, but from constant association with her Aunt she acquired a self-poise, a calm, serene manner, the value of which is beyond price in this swift, restless age.

One day, while having a little heart-to-heart talk with Mary, her Aunt said: "My dear, never allow an opportunity to pass for doing a kind act. If ever so small, it may cheer some sad, lonely heart. Don't wait to dobig things. The time may never come. If only a kind word, speak it at once. Kind words cost so little, and we should all be more prodigal with them; and to a tired, sad, discouraged soul, a kind word or act means so very much; and who is there that has not at some time in life known sorrow and felt the need of sympathy? Were our lives all sunshine we could not feel in touch with sorrowing friends. How natural it is for our hearts to go out in sympathy to the one who says 'I have suffered.' Give to your friend the warm hand-clasp and cheery greeting' which cost us nothing in the giving. 'Tis the little lifts which help us over stones in our pathway through life. We think our cross the heaviest when, did we but know the weight of others, we'd not willingly exchange; and remember Mary, 'there are no crown-bearers in Heaven that were not cross-bearers below.' Have you ever read the poem, 'The Changed Cross?' No? Well, I will give it to you to copy in your book of recipes. Should you ever, in future years, feel your cross too heavy to bear, read the poem. How many brave, cheery little women greet us with a smile as they pass. But little do we or any one realize that instead of a song in their hearts the smiles on their lips conceal troubles the world does not suspect, seeking to forget their own sorrows while doing kindly acts for others. They are the real heroes whom the world does not reward with medals for bravery, 'To stand with a smile upon your face against a stake from which you cannot get away, that, no doubt, is heroic; but the true glory is not resignation to the inevitable. To stand unchained, with perfect liberty to go away, held only by the higher claims of duty, and let the fire creep up to the heart, that is heroism.' Ah! how many good women have lived faithful to duty when 'twould have been far easier to have died!"

"FAITHFUL OVER A FEW THINGS."

Matt. xxv: 23.

It may seem to you but a trifle, which you have been called to do;Just some humble household labor, away from the public view,But the question is, are you faithful, and striving to do your best,As in sight of the Blessed Master, while leaving to Him the rest?It may be but a little corner, which you have been asked to fill;What matters it, if you are in it, doing the Master's will?Doing it well and faithfully, and doing it with your might;Not for the praise it may bring you, but because the thing is right.In the sight of man you may never win anything like success;And the laurel crown of the victor may never your temples press;If only you have God's approval, 'twill not matter what else you miss,His blessing is Heaven beginning, His reward will be perfect bliss.Be faithful in every service, obedient to every call;Ever ready to do His bidding, whether in great things or small;You may seem to accomplish little, you may win the praise of none;But be sure you will win His favor, and the Master's great "Well Done."And when at His blessed coming, you stand at His judgment seat;He'll remember your faithful service and His smile will be Oh! so sweet!He will bid you a loving welcome, He'll make you to reign for aye,Over great things and o'er many, with Him, through eternal day.

It may be but a little corner, which you have been asked to fill;What matters it, if you are in it, doing the Master's will?Doing it well and faithfully, and doing it with your might;Not for the praise it may bring you, but because the thing is right.

In the sight of man you may never win anything like success;And the laurel crown of the victor may never your temples press;If only you have God's approval, 'twill not matter what else you miss,His blessing is Heaven beginning, His reward will be perfect bliss.

Be faithful in every service, obedient to every call;Ever ready to do His bidding, whether in great things or small;You may seem to accomplish little, you may win the praise of none;But be sure you will win His favor, and the Master's great "Well Done."

And when at His blessed coming, you stand at His judgment seat;He'll remember your faithful service and His smile will be Oh! so sweet!He will bid you a loving welcome, He'll make you to reign for aye,Over great things and o'er many, with Him, through eternal day.

"THE CHANGED CROSS."

It was a time of sadness, and my heart,Although it knew and loved the better part,Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife,And all the needful discipline of life.And while I thought on these as given to me,My trial tests of faith and love to be,It seemed as if I never could be sureThat faithful to the end I should endure.And thus, no longer trusting to His might,Who says, "We walk by faith and not by sight";Doubting and almost yielding to despair,The thought arose—My cross I cannot bear.Far heavier its weight must surely beThan those of others which I daily see;Oh! if I might another burden choose,Methinks I should not fear my crown to lose.A solemn silence reigned on all around,E'en nature's voices uttered not a sound;The evening shadows seemed of peace to tell,And sleep upon my weary spirit fell.A moment's pause and then a heavenly lightBeamed full upon my wondering, raptured sight;Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere,And angels' music filled the balmy air.Then One more fair than all the rest to see—One to whom all the others bowed the knee—Came gently to me as I trembling lay,And, "Follow Me!" He said, "I am the Way."Then speaking thus, He led me far above,And there, beneath a canopy of love,Crosses of divers shapes and sizes were seen,Larger and smaller than my own had been.And one there was, most beauteous to behold,A little one, with jewels set in gold;Ah! this methought, I can with comfort wear,For it will be an easy one to bear.And so, the little cross I quickly took,But all at once, my frame beneath it shook;The sparkling jewels fair were they to see,But far too heavy was their weight for me."This may not be," I cried, and looked againTo see if there was any here could ease my pain;But one by one I passed them slowly by,Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,And grace and beauty seemed in it combined;Wondering, I gazed and still I wondered more,To think so many should have passed it o'er.But Oh! that form so beautiful to see,Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me;Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair;Sorrowing, I said. "This cross I may not bear."And so it was with each and all around,Not one to suit my need could there be found;Weeping, I laid each heavy burden down,As my guide gently said: "No cross, no crown."At length to him I raised my saddened heart,He knew its sorrows, bid its doubts depart;"Be not afraid," He said, "but trust in Me,My perfect love shall now be shown to thee."And then with lightened eyes and willing feet,Again I turned my earthly cross to meet;With forward footsteps, turning not asideFor fear some hidden evil might betide.And there, in the prepared, appointed way,Listening to hear, and ready to obey,A cross I quickly found of plainest form,With only words of love inscribed thereon.With thankfulness, I raised it from the rest,And joyfully acknowledged it the best;The only one of all the many thereThat I could feel was good for me to bear.And while I thus my chosen one confessed,I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest;And as I bent my burden to sustain,I recognized my own old cross again.But, oh! how different did it seem to be!Now I had learned its preciousness to see;No longer could I unbelievingly say:"Perhaps another is a better way."Oh, no! henceforth my own desire shall beThat He who knows me best should choose for me,And so whate'er His love sees good to send,I'll trust its best, because He knows the end.And when that happy time shall comeOf endless peace and rest,We shall look back upon our pathAnd say: "It was the best."

It was a time of sadness, and my heart,Although it knew and loved the better part,Felt wearied with the conflict and the strife,And all the needful discipline of life.

And while I thought on these as given to me,My trial tests of faith and love to be,It seemed as if I never could be sureThat faithful to the end I should endure.

And thus, no longer trusting to His might,Who says, "We walk by faith and not by sight";Doubting and almost yielding to despair,The thought arose—My cross I cannot bear.

Far heavier its weight must surely beThan those of others which I daily see;Oh! if I might another burden choose,Methinks I should not fear my crown to lose.

A solemn silence reigned on all around,E'en nature's voices uttered not a sound;The evening shadows seemed of peace to tell,And sleep upon my weary spirit fell.

A moment's pause and then a heavenly lightBeamed full upon my wondering, raptured sight;Angels on silvery wings seemed everywhere,And angels' music filled the balmy air.

Then One more fair than all the rest to see—One to whom all the others bowed the knee—Came gently to me as I trembling lay,And, "Follow Me!" He said, "I am the Way."

Then speaking thus, He led me far above,And there, beneath a canopy of love,Crosses of divers shapes and sizes were seen,Larger and smaller than my own had been.

And one there was, most beauteous to behold,A little one, with jewels set in gold;Ah! this methought, I can with comfort wear,For it will be an easy one to bear.

And so, the little cross I quickly took,But all at once, my frame beneath it shook;The sparkling jewels fair were they to see,But far too heavy was their weight for me.

"This may not be," I cried, and looked againTo see if there was any here could ease my pain;But one by one I passed them slowly by,Till on a lovely one I cast my eye.

Fair flowers around its sculptured form entwined,And grace and beauty seemed in it combined;Wondering, I gazed and still I wondered more,To think so many should have passed it o'er.

But Oh! that form so beautiful to see,Soon made its hidden sorrows known to me;Thorns lay beneath those flowers and colors fair;Sorrowing, I said. "This cross I may not bear."

And so it was with each and all around,Not one to suit my need could there be found;Weeping, I laid each heavy burden down,As my guide gently said: "No cross, no crown."

At length to him I raised my saddened heart,He knew its sorrows, bid its doubts depart;"Be not afraid," He said, "but trust in Me,My perfect love shall now be shown to thee."

And then with lightened eyes and willing feet,Again I turned my earthly cross to meet;With forward footsteps, turning not asideFor fear some hidden evil might betide.

And there, in the prepared, appointed way,Listening to hear, and ready to obey,A cross I quickly found of plainest form,With only words of love inscribed thereon.

With thankfulness, I raised it from the rest,And joyfully acknowledged it the best;The only one of all the many thereThat I could feel was good for me to bear.

And while I thus my chosen one confessed,I saw a heavenly brightness on it rest;And as I bent my burden to sustain,I recognized my own old cross again.

But, oh! how different did it seem to be!Now I had learned its preciousness to see;No longer could I unbelievingly say:"Perhaps another is a better way."

Oh, no! henceforth my own desire shall beThat He who knows me best should choose for me,And so whate'er His love sees good to send,I'll trust its best, because He knows the end.

And when that happy time shall comeOf endless peace and rest,We shall look back upon our pathAnd say: "It was the best."

Late in September Jake and Sibylla drove to the Allentown Fair. It was "Big Thursday" of Fair week. They started quite early, long before Ralph Jackson, who had come from the city the day previous, to take Mary to the Fair, had arisen.

SECOND CHURCH BUILDING Sheltered Liberty Bell, 1777-78. Photographed from the print of an old wood cut used in a German newspaper in the year 1840

Mary, while appreciating Sibylla's good qualities, never failed to be amused at her broad "Pennsylvania German" dialect.

The morning of the "Fair," Mary arose earlier than usual to allow Sibylla and Jake to get an early start, as it was quite a distance from the farm to the Fair grounds. As they were about to drive away, Sibylla, alighting from the carriage, said, "I forgotmy 'Schnupftuch.'" Returning with it in her hand, she called, as she climbed into Jake's buggy, "Gut-by, Mary, it looks fer rain."

"Yes" said Jake, "I think it gives rain before we get back yet. The cornfodder in the barn this morning was damp like it had water on it."

And said Mary, "The fragrance of the flowers was particularly noticeable early this morning." Jake, as it happened, was no false prophet. It did rain before evening.

Later in the day, Mary and Ralph drove to a near-by town, leaving horse and carriage at the hotel until their return in the evening, and boarded a train for Allentown. On arriving there, they decided to walk up Hamilton Street, and later take a car out to the Fair grounds. As they sauntered slowly up the main street, Mary noticed a small church built between two large department stores and stopped to read a tablet on the church, which informed the passerby that "this is to commemorate the concealment of the Liberty Bell during the Revolutionary War. This tablet was erected by the Liberty Bell Chapter of the Daughters of the Revolution."

The First Zion's Reformed Church was founded in 1762. In front of the Church a rough block of granite, erected to the memory of John Jacob Mickley, contained the following inscription: "In commemoration of the saving of the Liberty Bell from the British in 1777. Under cover of darkness and with his farm team, he, John Mickley, hauled the Liberty Bell from Independence Hall, Philadelphia, through the British lines, to Bethlehem, where the wagon broke down. The Bell was transferred to another wagon, brought to Allentown, placed beneath the floor of theSecondChurch building of Zion's Reformed Church, where it remained secreted nearly a year. Thistabletwas placed by the order of the Assembly of the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, June 2nd, 1907, under the auspices of the Pennsylvania Daughters of the Revolution."

This was all very interesting to a girl who had been born and reared in Philadelphia; one who in earliest childhood had been taught to love and venerate the "old Bell."

Ralph was quite as interested in reading about the old Bell as was Mary, and said; "Did you know that the City of Philadelphia purchased the State House property, which included the Bell, in 1818, in consideration of the sum of seventy thousanddollars? No building is ever to be erected on the ground inside the wall on the south side of the State House, but it is to remain a public green and walk forever?"

"No," replied Mary, "I did not know that. I don't think we will see anything of greater interest than this at the Fair."

"I understand," said Ralph, "this is the third church buildingbuilt on this site, where the original church stood in which the Bell was secreted."

Mary, possessing a fair share of the curiosity usually attributed to the "female of the species," on noticing the church door standing ajar, asked Ralph to step inside with her, thinking to find the caretaker within; but no one was visible. A deep silence reigned in the cool, dim interior of the House of God.

One could almost feel the silence, 'twas so impressive. Slowly they walked up the wide church aisle and stood before the quaint baptismal font. A stray sunbeam glancing through one of the beautiful, variously-colored memorial windows, lighted up the pictured saint-like faces over the chancel, making them appear as if imbued with life. Mary softly whispered to Ralph, as if loath to profane the sacredness of the place by loud talking, "I seem to hear a voice saying, 'The Lord is in His holy temple.'" Quietly retracing their steps, they, without meeting any one, emerged into the bright sunlight and were soon in the midst of the turmoil and traffic incident to the principal business street of a city.

The young folks boarded a trolley and in a short time reached the Fair grounds, which offered many attractions to Ralph as well as Mary. The latter was interested in the fine display of needlework, fruits, flowers and vegetables of unusual size. Aunt Sarah's bread won a prize. A blue ribbon attached to Frau Schmidt's highly-prized, old-fashioned, patchwork quilt, showed it to be a winner. Ralph, being interested in the pens of fancy chickens, prize cattle, etc., Mary reluctantly left the woman's department of fancy work, and other interesting things, and accompanied him. On their way to the outlying cattle sheds they noticed two lovers sitting on a bench. Upon a second glance they were convinced that it was Jake and Sibylla. Jake, beaming with happiness, said, "Sibylla vos side by me yet?" They were busily engaged eating a lunch consisting of rolls with hot "weiners" between the two halves, or, as Jake called them, "Doggies," munching pretzels and peanuts between sips of strong coffee, both supremely happy. A yearly visit to the Allentown Fair on "Big Thursday," wasthe eventin their dull, prosaic lives.

DURHAM CAVE

It appeared to be nothing new for Fritz Schmidt to get into trouble; rather the contrary. One day in early Fall, after the first frost, he, in company with a number of boys, drove to Durham, not many miles distant from his home, in search of persimmons, the crop of which, on account of the severity of the preceding winter, old farmers had predicted would be exceedingly heavy.

Fritz did not tell the boys of his intention to explore a cave which he had been told was in the neighborhood, thinking it would be a good joke to explore the cave first, then tell the boys later of his adventure.

The old gentleman from whom Fritz gained his information relative to the cave aroused the boy's curiosity by saying, "Very many years ago, a skeleton was found in Durham cave and one of the bones, on examination, proved to be the thigh bone of a human being. How he came there, or the manner of his death, was never known." A large room in the cave is known as "Queen Esther's Drawing Room," where, tradition has it "Queen Esther," or Catharine Montour, which was her rightful name, at one time inhabited this cave with some of her Indian followers.

Fritz accidentally stumbled upon the mouth of the cave. None of the other boys being in sight, Fritz quickly descended into the cave, which was dark as night. By lighting a second match as quickly as one was burned, he explored quite a distance, when, accidentally dropping his box of matches, the burning match in his hand, at the same moment, flickered faintly, then went out, leaving Fritz in darkness. Imagine the feelings of the boy, as he groped unsuccessfully on the floor of the cavern for the lost match box. Finally, he gave up in despair. Fritz was not a cowardly boy, but while searching for the matches, he, without thinking, had turned around several times, lost his bearings and knew not in which direction to go to reach the opening of the cave. He heard strange noises which he imagined were bats flopping their wings.There appeared to be something uncanny about the place, and Fritz devoutly wished himself out in the sunshine, when a quotation he had frequently heard his father use came into his mind: "More things are wrought by prayer than this world dreams of." So Fritz knelt down and prayed as he had been taught to pray at his mother's knee, but more earnestly than he had ever prayed before in his life, that God would help him find his way out of the cave, believing that his prayer would be answered. And who shall say it was not answered? For, stumbling onward in the darkness, not knowing if he were coming toward the cave's entrance or going in the opposite direction, he eventually hailed with joy a faint streak of light which he followed, and it soon brought him to the mouth of the cave. He was surprised on joining his companions to find they had not been alarmed at his absence. He had been in the cave only thirty minutes, but to him it had seemed hours. Fritz says to this day he has a horror of Durham Cave or "The Devil's Hole," as it was formerly called.

THE WOODLAND STREAM

His vacation ended, after a busy season at the farm, Ralph Jackson returned to his work in the city, strong and robust. He had acquired the coat of tan which Mary's Uncle had predicted. Physically strong as the "Cave Man" of old, he felt capable of moving mountains, and as was natural, he being only a human man, longed for the mate he felt God had intended should one day be his, as men have done since our first gardener, Adam, and will continue to do until the end of time.

When visiting the farm, an event which occurred about every two weeks, Ralph constantly importuned Mary to name an early day for their marriage.

Mary, with a young girl's impulsiveness, had given her heart unreservedly into the keeping of Ralph Jackson, her first sweetheart. Mary was not naturally cold or unresponsive, neither was she lacking in passion. She had had a healthy girlhood, and a wholesome home life. She had been taught the conventional ideals of the marriage relations that have kept the race strong throughout the centuries. Mary possessed great strength of character and fine moral courage. Frequently, not wishing to show her real feeling for the young man; too well poised to be carried off into the wrong channel, defended and excused by many over-sentimental and light-headed novelists of the day, she sometimes appeared almost indifferent to the impetuous youth with warm, red blood leaping in his veins, who desired so ardently to possess her.

Mary's Aunt had taught her the sanctity of parenthood, also that women are not always the weaker sex. There are times when they must show their superiority to "mere man" in being the stronger of the two, mentally if not physically, and Ralph Jackson knew when he called Mary "wife" she would endow him with all the wealth of her pure womanhood, sacredly kept for the clean-souled young man, whose devotion she finally rewarded by promising to marry him the second week in October.

Sibylla Linsabigler, a good but ignorant girl, accustomed to hearing her elder brothers speak slightingly regarding the sanctity of love and marriage, was greatly attached to Mary, whom she admired exceedingly, and looked up to almost as a superior being. She unconsciously imitated many of Mary's ways and mannerisms, and sought to adopt her higher ideals of life and standard of morals.

One Sunday, as Jake Crouthamel was spending the evening with Sibylla, as was his usual custom, he attempted some slight familiarity, which annoyed Sibylla greatly. Jake, noticing the young girl's displeasure at his action, remarked, "I think me Sibylla, you are stuck up yet" (a grave fault in the Bucks County farm hand's opinion).

"No, Chake," Sibylla replied, "I ain't, but Mary, she say a man gives a girl more respect what keeps herself to herself before she is married, and I lofe you Chake and want that you respect me if we marry."

Fritz and Elizabeth Schmidt, on hearing the news of Mary's approaching marriage, promptly begged the privilege of decorating the old farm house parlor for the expected ceremony. They scoured the surrounding woods and countryside for decorations; along old stone fences and among shrubbery by the roadside they gathered large branches of Bitter Sweet. Its racemes of orange-colored fruit, which later in the season becomes beautiful, when the orange gives place to a brilliant red, the outer covering of the berry turns back upon the stems, forming one of the prettiest pictures imaginable in late Autumn. They also gathered branches of feathery wild clematis, which, after the petals had fallen, resembled nothing so much as a cluster of apple seeds, each seed tipped with what appeared like a tiny osprey feather. From the woods near the farm they gathered quantities of trailing ground pine and rainbow-tinted leaves from the numerous brilliant scarlet and yellow maples, which appeared brighter in contrast to the sober-hued trees of shellbark, oak and chestnut.

POLLY SCHMIDT.

The wedding gifts sent to Mary were odd, useful and numerous. The Campfire Girls, to whom she became endeared, gave her a "Kitchen Shower," consisting of a clothes basket (woven by an old basketmaker from the willows growing not far distant),filled to overflowing with everything imaginable that could possibly be useful to a young housekeeper, from the half dozen neatly-hemmed linen, blue ribbon tied, dish clothes, to really handsome embroidered articles from the girls to whom she had given instructions in embroidery during the past summer.

Sibylla's wedding present to Mary was the work of her own strong, willing hands, and was as odd and original as useful. 'Twas a "door mat" made from corn husks, braided into a rope, then sewed round and round and formed into an oval mat. Mary laughingly told Sibylla she thought when 'twas placed on her kitchen doorstep she'd ask every one to please step over it, as it was too pretty to be trod on, which greatly pleased the young girl, who had spent many hours of loving thought and labor on the simple, inexpensive gift.

Mary received from Professor Schmidt a small but excellent copy of one of the world's most famous pictures, "The Night Watch," painted by Rembrandt, in 1642.

"My dear," said the old Professor, "I saw whatwas said to bethe original of this painting, the property of Queen Wilhelmina of Holland, at the St. Louis Exposition in 1904. It was in a small, separate building. The size of the picture was fifteen feet by twenty feet. It is the largest and best known of Rembrandt's works. It acquired the wrong title of 'Night Watch' in a period when, owing to the numerous coats of varnish and the effect of smoke and dust, it had gotten so dark in appearance that only the most lucid parts could be discerned. Nowadays, nobody doubts that the light falling from the left on the boisterous company is that of the sun. The musketeers are remarching out of the high archway of their hall, crossing the street in front of it, and going up a bridge. The architecture of the building is a product of Rembrandt's imagination. The steps, also, which we see the men descending, were put there simply to make those at the back show out above those in the front ranks. The march out was to be above all a portrait group. Sixteen persons had each paid their contributions, a hundred guilders on the average, to have their likenesses transmitted to posterity, and every one of them was therefore to be fully visible."

"It is certainly a wonderful picture," said Mary, "and while I have seen few pictures painted by old masters, I think, even with my limited knowledge of art, I cannot fail to appreciate this excellent copy, and I thank you heartily. Professor, and shall always be reminded of you when I look at this copy of a great work."

Mary would not go empty-handed to Ralph at her marriage. Her "hope chest" in the attic was full to overflowing, and quite unique in itself, as it consisted of an old, in fact ancient, wooden dough-tray used in times past by Aunt Sarah's grandmother. Beside it stood a sewing table, consisting of three discarded broom handles supporting a cheese-box cover, with wooden cheese-box underneath for holding Mary's sewing; stained brown and cretonne lined. Mary valued it as the result of the combined labor of herself and Ralph Jackson. A roll of new, home-made rag carpet, patchwork quilts and "New Colonial" rugs, jars of fruit, dried sweet corn, home-made soap, crocks of apple butter, jellies, jams and canned vegetables all bore evidence of Mary's busy Summer at the farm.

The day of Mary's marriage, the twelfth of October, dawned clear and bright, sunshine warm as a day in June. In the centre of the gayly-decorated old farm house parlor, wearing a simple, little, inexpensive dress of soft, creamy muslin, we find Mary standing beside Ralph, who is looking supremely satisfied and happy, although a trifle pale and nervous, listening to the solemn words of the minister. Ralph's "I will" sounded clearly and distinctly through the long room. Mary, with a sweet, serious, faraway look in her blue eyes, repeated slowly after the minister, "I promise to love, honor and"—then a long pause. She glanced shyly up at the young man by her side as if to make sure he was worth it, then in a low, clear tone, added, "obey."

Ralph Jackson certainly deserved the appellation "Cave Man" given him by Fritz Schmidt. He was considerably more than six feet in height, with broad, square shoulders, good features, a clear brain and a sound body. He had never used intoxicants of any description. He sometimes appeared quite boyish in his ways, for on account of his matured look and great size he was frequently judged to be older than he really was.

Aunt Sarah had provided a bounteous repast for the few friends assembled, and while looking after the comfort of her guests tears dimmed the kindly, gray eyes at the thought of parting from Mary.

Small Polly Schmidt, as flower girl at the wedding, was so excited she scarcely knew if she should laugh or cry, and finallycompromised by giving Mary what she called a "bear hug," much to Mary's amusement. Fritz gravely said: "Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Jackson," and turning to Mary, "I wish you a beautiful and happy life, Mrs. Jackson." Mary blushed becomingly on hearing her new name for the first time.

Bidding farewell to friends, Mary and Ralph, accompanied by her Uncle, were driven by "Chake" to the depot in a near-by town, where they boarded the train for the little, newly-furnished home in the suburbs of Philadelphia, the deed of which was Mary's wedding gift from her Uncle, in appreciation of her faithful service on the farm during the summer and for the brightness she had brought into his life and the lives of those with whom she had come in contact, as every one at the farm had felt the captivating charm and winning sweetness of the young girl.

As the train came in sight, the old gentleman, in a voice husky with emotion, bade the young couple, just starting the journey of life together, an affectionate farewell, and repeated solemnly, almost as a benediction, "Es Salamu Aleikum."

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