1342 
G*/>e  RURAL  NEW-YORKER 
October  21,  1010. 
Rose  Hill  Farm 
i  wondered  and  wondered  why  Billie 
— of  course  there  could  be  but  oho  Billie 
— came  over  to  help  father  got  ready  for 
the  husking  bee,  because  those  twins 
were  then  seventeen,  and  could  do  a  man’s 
work  each  of  them,  and  even  the  baby 
Johnnie  was  ten;  not  any  good  at  haul¬ 
ing  corn  from  the  field,  but  a  wonderful 
saver  of  steps  about  the  borne..  So  I 
wondered  at  Billie’s  presence.  I  knew  of 
course  he  would  be  there  at  the  husking. 
Pearl  was  fifteen,  and  while  we  fried 
crullers  and  made  mince  pies  for  the 
after  husking  refreshments,  she  whis¬ 
pered  to  me,  with  a  twinkle  in  her  eyes, 
“You  must  sift  an  extra  amount  of  pow¬ 
dered  sugar  over  the  crullers  today, 
Doris.”  In  answer  I  gave  the  sifter  an 
extra  shake. 
Billie  stayed  to  supper  with  us,  and 
before  the  table  was  really  cleared  the 
young  people  began  to  arrive.  The  husk¬ 
ing  was  done  on  the  big  barn  floor,  the 
shocks  being  stacked  at  the  back,  one 
man  following  behind  the  buskers  and 
throwing  tin*  cornstalks  up  on  the  mow, 
so  when  the  last  ear  was  busked  the. 
floor  was  clean.  All  the  girls  in  the 
neighborhood  bad  come  along  with  their 
“men  folks,”  old  Uncle  Silo  bringing  bis 
violin  Everyone  found  a  seat  along  the 
side  of  t he  long  barn  floor  on  bench  or 
stool,  as  the  boys  brought  out  a  basket 
of  dishes,  another  the  steaming  kettle  of 
coflue,  and  the  girls,  Pearl  and  Opal,  fol¬ 
lowed  with  cheese,  sandwiches,  crullers 
and  pies.  After  that  wo  danced  till  mid¬ 
night. 
It  was  a  beautiful  Indian  Summer 
night,  and  towards  the  last  Billie  and  I 
wandered  out,  and  down  the  road,  under 
the  big  maples.  And  then  Billie  said 
things.  No,  never  mind  what,  I'm  not 
telling  a  love  story  this  time.  The  next 
day  I  told  mother,  and  asked  her  con¬ 
sent.  She  kissed  me,  but  rather  myster¬ 
iously  referred  me  to  father,  lie  was 
busy  with  the  boys  putting  the  corn  in 
the  corn  barn,  but  I  knew  I  couid  find 
him  alone  while  the  boys  went  for  corn, 
so  I  trooped  out  there.  ‘’Pa,”  I  began 
bluntly,  for  it  was  a  sort  of  scary  er¬ 
rand,  “Ma  said  I  was  to  ask  you.” 
“Ha-ha,”  said  pa.  busy  with  the  corn. 
“I  thought  she  would.”  I  gasped.  Would 
what?  It  did  not  dawn  on  me. 
“Well,  it’s — it’s — it’s  about  Billie,”  I 
blurted. 
'’Nothin’  bad  I  hope,”  said  pa,  “be¬ 
cause  Billie — be  seemed  quite  a  likely 
sort  of  a  boy,  or  will  be  when  he  gets 
grown  up.” 
“Grown!”  I  gasped,  “why  pa,  he  said 
— said — things.”  1  finished  weakly. 
“Huh,  yes.  I  notice  Billy  talks  c>  isid- 
erable,  at  least  he  did  yesterday.” 
“What  did  he  say?”  I  asked,  sparring 
more  or  less  out  of  repair,  and  some  old 
furniture  in  the  house. 
“Billie,”  I  said,  the  day  we  looked  the 
place  over,  “if  you  buy  this,  we  must  be 
married  at  holiday  time,  and  spend  the 
Winter  fixing  all  this  up.” 
Billie  bad  thought  of  that,  but  felt  he 
could  not  ask  a  bride  to  take  up  a  pro¬ 
saic  life.  lie  lmd  planned  to  “batch,” 
and  do  it  all  alone.  But  on  New  Year’s 
we  were  married  and  I  was  so  eager  to 
be  at  work  that  I  declined  the  little 
“tour”  that  be  planned  for  me. 
There  was  in  the  house  au  old  cherry 
table  with  drop  leaves,  needing  only  a 
good  hinge,  a  good  sandpapering,  and  a 
coat  of  varnish  to  make  it  shine  like 
a  cherry.  There  were  two  old  bedsteads, 
one  a  grinning  imitation  of  mahogany, 
one  a  rank  yellow  with  great  flaming 
red  roses  lavishly  painted  on.  There  was 
my  30  yards  of  new  rag  carpet,  enough 
l’or  the  sitting  room  and  the  bedroom.  I 
invested  in  a  pot  of  white  enamel,  and 
laid  it  Solidly  on  the  yellow  bedstead. 
Plenty  of  feathers  from  lmme,  and  a 
straw  tick  filled  at  the  barn,  completed  a 
bed.  We  pulled  the  old  rusty  range  in 
from  (lie  shed,  found  that  the  village 
split  up  boxes  for  wood,  and  as  all  the 
world  knows,  pine  boxes  do  not  make 
good  wood  for  cooking,  so  Billie  offered 
to  trade  hard  wood  for  boxes.  Mrs. 
.Tones  was  delighted.  .So,  too,  was  Mrs. 
Billie.  Old  Pat  trudged  along  with  n 
sled  load  of  hard  wood,  and  came  back 
with  a  sled  piled  with  boxes.  And  on 
those  loug  Winter  evenings  Billie  and  I 
worked.  Remember  we  had  all  of  pa's 
excellent  tools  to  borrow  from  freely. 
In  the  bedroom  we  had  the  “dim  future 
kist”  in  which  I  kept  my  bedding,  and 
the  high  -wooden  bedstead,  both  painted 
white.  That  was  all.  Among  the  box¬ 
es  were  two  sugar  barrels.  These  we 
transformed  into  chairs.  First  nail  the 
hoops  firmly.  Then  saw  off  Sufficient 
staves  for  a  seat  front,  at  a  height,  for 
a  low,  cosy  seat,  then  saw  two  more 
staves  at  each  side  for  (lie  arms  of  the 
chair,  just  high  enough  for  comfortable 
arms.  This  leaves  a  wide  curved  back. 
Below  the  scat  bore  a  hole  in  each  stave 
and  criss-cross  in  ropes  very  tight.  Now 
pad  the  ropes,  tack  an  old  quilt  all  over 
the  inside  of  the  barrel  above  the  ropes, 
pad  the  arms,  tacking  everything  on  firm. 
Then  make  as  pretty  a  cover  as  you 
“On  those  long  Winter  evenings  Billie  and  I  worked" 
for  time. 
“Why!”  said  pa,  squaring  his  should¬ 
ers  as  he  straightened  up  and  looked  at 
me,  “the  youngster  told  me  he  had  no¬ 
tions  of  marrying!”  Pa’s  voice  made 
the  idea  preposterous. 
“Ho,”  yelled  Pit,  “don’t  turn  so  red, 
else  the  gobblers’ll  git  ye,  of  ye  don’t 
watch  out.”  Just  then  the  boys  came 
with  a  load  of  corn,  and  I  ran  into  the 
house. 
“Pa’s  awfully  much  pleased,”  mother 
whispered  after  I  came  in,  supposing  I 
had  had  it  out  with  papa. 
“And  did  Billie  ask  him?”  I  cried. 
Mamma  nodded.  “Asked  him  yesterday.” 
Well,  that  is  all  you  care  to  know  of 
that.  I  was  nineteen,  Billie  was  tweiity- 
two,  and  had  saved  five  hundred  dollars. 
[  had  ninety-six  dollars  that  I  had 
earned  teaching  school,  three  sheep,  a 
tbree-y car-obl  cow,  a  yearling  heifer  and 
a  calf,  besides  other  “kist.”  And  for 
four  hundred  dollars  down,  and  a  thou¬ 
sand  iu  yearly  payments,  he  could  buy 
Rose  Hill  Farm,  worth  far  more  than 
the  price  asked,  hut  young  Erwin  would 
not  farm,  and  preferred  to  sell  cheap. 
As  father  said,  such  a  bargain  comes 
only  once  in  a  lifetime,  and  Billie  must 
not  miss  it.  A  little  hay,  some  corn 
fodder  and  much  straw  went  with  the 
place,  hordes  a  shed  full  of  old  carts, 
wagons,  sleds  and  the  like,  all  of  them 
stove  man  could  put  iu  fire  brick,  and  a 
holt  or  two,  and  much  blackening  furn¬ 
ished  up  a  stove  that  did  good  service  and 
baked  splendidly  for  the  next  ten  years. 
Between  the  home  woodshed  chamber, 
and  tbe  attic  at  the  new  place,  we 
brought  out  chairs,  lame,  halt  and  blind, 
all  of  which  we  patched  and  propped,  till 
we  had  chairs  enough  to  serve,  and  every 
one  I  painted  a  soft  clear  green.  My 
grandma  had  a  set  of  green  chairs  and  I 
always  loved  them.  Some  I  had  to  cov¬ 
er  with  cretonne,  so  patched  up  were 
they,  particularly  two  rockers. 
A  twenty-year-old  mare  had  been  left 
with  the  place.  No  one  would  buy  her, 
so  she  was  ours.  With  old  Cleopatra, 
Pat  for  short,  Billie  drew  wood  to  the 
village  and  thereby  bad  cash  to  pay  for 
food.  The  cow  furnished  a  little  milk, 
and  with  much  coaxing,  the  dozen  liens 
that  mother  gave  me  kept  us  in  eggs. 
Billie  got  out  wood  enough  to  last  us  a 
year  during  the  Winter,  but  on  stormy 
days  he  was  able  to  stay  at  home  and 
mend  everything  from  chairs  to  carts, 
and  the  broken  harrow. 
Ami  uoav  comes  the  part  of  the  story 
for  which  all  this  has  been  written.  The 
house  was  a  comfortable  size,  but  furni¬ 
ture?*  was  sadly  lacking.  There  were 
closets  and  cupboards,  but  that  left  the 
rooms  still  bare.  So  we  planned  it  to¬ 
gether.  .Tones,  the  village  storekeeper. 
choose.  I  made  a*  pale  pink  cover  from 
the  back  breadths  of  a  worn-out  print 
dress.  That  was  for  our  room.  The 
other  barrel  chair  I  covered  with  green 
to  match  the  bedstead  that  I  had  painted 
that  color  for  our  “spare  room.” 
I  covered  another  small  box  with  pink 
for  a  shoe  box,  and  padded  the  top.  It 
was  a  useful  little  seat.  Still  I  longed 
for  a  dresser,  and  Billie  evolved  one. 
Just  a  big  box,  the  right  size  and  height, 
open  iu  front,  and  with  a  shelf  inside. 
The  old  mirror  with  tbe  cracked  corner 
iu  the  home  woodshed  chamber  got  a 
spray  of  pink  roses,  iu  oil  paints,  over  tlie 
crack,  and  was  hung  above  the  “dresser,” 
which  I  bad  covered,  first  with  a  tightly 
tacked  old  sheet  from  mu’s,  a  raggedy 
old  sheet,  and  over  this  was  ruffled  and 
flounced  tliree-ceut-a-yard  cheesecloth. 
A  wooded  peg  above  tlie  mirror  caught  a 
length  of  the  cheesecloth,  ruffl'd,  that 
reached  to  the  dresser  top.  Two  or  three 
bows  made  from  hits  of  pink  ribbons, 
finished  the  daintiest  little  dresser.  A 
white  pincushion,  and  a  f'-w  little  gifts 
dressed  it  completely. 
For  tbe  spare  bedroom  we  made  a  sim¬ 
ilar  dresser,  but  there  was  no  green 
cheesecloth  at  three  cents.  Now,  if  I 
had  not  been  counting  pennies  1  would 
have  bought  madras  at  -0  cents,  but  at 
mamma’s  I  found  just  the  remnants 
of  ii  package  of  green  dye,  little  save  the 
euvolope,  but  T  tried  it.  Out  of  the  dye 
came  my  cheesecloth,  a  pale  pea  green, 
like  tbe  very  breath  of  Spring.  In  the 
room  we  must  have  a  washstand  also. 
As  we  looked  about  for  a  box,  I  saw 
that  we  could  make  shelves  across  the 
corner.  This  room  had  a  chair  rail, 
at  just  a  good  height  for  the  top.  So 
we  sawed  and  cleated  a  wide  shelf  to 
fit  the  corner,  rounded  at  tbe  front.  A 
smaller  shelf  below  we  fastened  to  the 
tup  of  the  baseboard,  this  for  tlie  pitcher. 
Above  the  basin,  well  above,  we  fash¬ 
ioned  a  third  shelf,  just  large  enough 
for  the  soap  box,  painted  all  green,  and 
then  with  more  green  cheesecloth  I 
pleated  flounces  on  the  front  of  each,  con¬ 
cealing  the  tacks  by  a  bit  of  narrow 
green  ribbon.  Stall  I  longed  for  a  car¬ 
pet,  but  lo !  there  was  none.  When  I 
climbed  up  to  put  paper  on  the  closet 
shelf  I  found  a  half  dozen  remnants  of 
wall  paper,  big  light  green  ferns,  on  a 
dark  green  background.  I  remembered 
that  I  hud  seen  floors  papered,  and  I 
measured  the  paper.  There  would  be 
plenty,  and  the  short  pieces  could  go  un¬ 
der  the  bed.  The  next,  stormy  day  Billie 
and  I  laid  it.  We  made  a  paste  iu  which 
we  put  thin  glue  water,  brushed  the 
floor,  then  a  length  of  paper,  then  spread 
if.  We  had  no  brush,  so  I  put  on  the 
paste  with  a  rag  over  my  hand  like  a 
mitten.  Oh,  but  it  was  a  job,  but  what 
fun  wo  had  over  it.  There  had  to  be  a 
little  outlay  for  varnish,  and  then  our 
floor  was  done.  I  couldn’t  have  believed 
it  could  be  so  pretty.  It  was  almost  like 
being  iu  the  Woods.  To  make  it  com¬ 
plete  Billie  brought  me  a  load  of  bran 
sacks  that  his  father  had  thrown  aside. 
These  make  pretty  rugs,  though  not  as 
long-lived  as  one  could  wish.  To  make 
them,  one  sews  bags  for  a  foundation  of 
the  desired  size.  I  had  one  for  the  front 
of  tbe  bed  three  feet  by  six,  another  for 
tin1  dresser  three  feet  by  four  and  a  half 
— the  usual  yard,  by  a  yard  and  a  half 
size — and  in  front  of  the  washstand  I 
•measured  one  a  yard  wide  by  just  the 
length  that  crossed  the  corner.  Now,  to 
make  the  rugs,  get  on  the  old  dress  that 
you  war  to  pick  geese  iu,  and  tie  a  dust 
cap  tight  over  your  hair,  as  the  lint 
flies.  Then  cut  your  sacking — which 
must  be  scrupulously  clean — across  the 
li'Km.  Don't  forget  that,  because  the 
warp  is  finer,  and  does  not  fringe  up  as 
well.  Cut  the  strips  all  one  width,  be¬ 
tween  two  threads,  cut  straight,  you 
know,  any  width  you  wish.  The  wider 
the  strips  the  deeper  and  softer  the  vug, 
but  four  inches  is  a  good  width.  Now 
ravel  out  both  edges,  in  toward  the  cen¬ 
ter,  leaving  a  few  threads.  When  you 
have  sufficient  strips  double  the  strip, 
and  begin  sewing  onto  the  foundation, 
at  the  outside  edge.  Go  round  and 
round,  one  layer  sewed  on  so  as  to 
overlap  the  otln-r  layer,  just  as  shingles 
are  put  on.  If  the  strips  are  sewed  close 
together,  when  tbe  center  of  the  founda¬ 
tion  is  reached,  the  rug  is  done,  then 
lift  it  by  the  four  corners  and  shake  it 
face  down.  This  makes  the  fringed 
edges  fluff  up  beautifully.  I  think  these 
the  prettiest  homemade  rugs  that  I  have 
ever  seen.  Their  only  fault  is  lack  of 
durability.  For  our  bedroom  I  left  them 
in  the  natural  linen  color.  For  the  guest 
chamber  I  had  to  go  down  into  our  bank 
for  the  wherewithal  to  get  a  10  cent 
package  of  green  dye.  Before  the  sack¬ 
ing  so  much  as  saw  the  dye  kettle,  I 
had  used  it  to  dye  one  of  Pearl's  out¬ 
grown  dresses  for  Opul.  “It  is  just  as 
good  as  brand  new,  now  that  it  is  n  dif¬ 
ferent  color,”  Opal  said.  Then  into  the 
dye  went  my  fringed  coffee  sacking,  and 
remained  all  night,  as  the  dye  was  weak. 
I  made  the  three  rugs  for  the  spore  room, 
and  they  were  just  a  shade  paler  than  the 
ferns  iu  the  paper  carpet. 
No  millionaire’s  bride  was  over  half 
so  proud  and  happy  over  a  bridal  diamond 
tiara,  or  rope  of  pearls,  as  I  with  my 
green  guest  room.  Still  the  woodwork 
was  a  faded  white.  “Wait  till  next  Win¬ 
ter?”  Billie  said,  “and  I’ll  paint  all  the 
(Continued  on  page  1349) 
