49o 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
July 4 
'W' 
Woman and Home 
A Jk 
A Jk A. 
From Day to Day. 
THE CITY POET ON THE FARM. 
Oh, for a life in the country free, 
Where the sighing wind in the sweet-corn 
tree 
Mingles its music, drowsy and low. 
With the song of the milkmaid, as, to and 
fro. 
Through the sunny pastures she skips 
about. 
Milking the milkweeds with many a spout. 
How sweet are the wee white Leghorn 
lambs. 
That scamper about with the half-grown 
hams. 
Barking in glee at the farmer's lad 
As he wades in the brooklet, fishing for 
shad. 
While out through the barnyard come stri¬ 
dent notes. 
For the farmer is busy a-shearing the 
shotes. 
Oh, a country life is the life for me. 
Where the neighing calves go frisking free; 
The swallows cackle at sunset hour. 
As they sip the dew from the whole wheat 
flower. 
And early to roost the ravens go. 
For at morn they must flap their wings 
and crow. 
—The Journalist. 
* 
Serge or cashmere cut on the bias 
makes a very good facing for a skirt 
that is likely to have hard service. It 
does not dampen easily, and mud spots 
can be brushed off it without trouble. 
• 
When the sewing machine runs hard, 
and seems to be gummed and dusty, fill 
a spare oil-can with gasoline, apply it 
freely to all the oiling places, then run 
the machine rapidly for a few minutes. 
After this oil as usual, and the machine 
will run with agreeable lightness. 
• 
Cherry Betty will make an agreeable 
change from ordinary pudding or pie. 
Soak stale breadcrumbs in water, 
squeeze as dry as possible, and beat un¬ 
til they are fine and light; butter a deep 
baking dish, and put in a layer of bread¬ 
crumbs, then a layer of pitted cherries, 
and alternate until the dish is filled, the 
breadcrumbs being the top layer, scatter 
over the top bits of butter and bake 
slowly until brown, and serve hot with 
sugar and cream. 
« 
It is always wise to cover the fioor of 
a closet, whether for clothes or house¬ 
hold supplies, with oilcloth, because it 
may be wiped and kept free from dust 
so much more readily than the bare 
floor. Sanitary lecturers often point out 
the need of ventilating closets, and ad¬ 
vise, where there is no outside window, 
that an aperture be cut in the door, near 
the top, covered with a wire screen fine 
enough to keep out dust while admitting 
the air. We have never felt much confi¬ 
dence in this plan, however, because a 
screen fine enough to keep out dust will 
admit very little air. We prefer a daily 
airing while windows are open in the 
adjoining room, keeping the closet door 
closed the remainder of the time. If 
clothing is always well aired and brush¬ 
ed before it is put away, we get rid of 
one frequent cause of the “stuffy” odor 
often noticed about such a place. 
« 
Good pictures are so widely dissemi¬ 
nated these modern days that if artistic 
culture could be obtained through the 
eye alone no one need be lacking in this 
branch of education. We find, however, 
that most people describe a picture 
merely as pretty, or the reverse, without 
any idea of the painter’s art or purpose; 
there is no attempt to train the eye 
through the mind. An intelligent young 
woman of limited opportunities, who is 
honestly eager to obtain general cul¬ 
ture, often feels her deficiencies when 
she is taken to see some great art exhi¬ 
bition. She can admire with intelligence 
but not with discrimination, and often 
feels mortified in consequence, thinking 
she must appear at a disadvantage. A 
most excellent manual entitled “How to 
Enjoy Pictures,” by M. S. Emery, will 
be found very useful to anyone seeking 
such knowledge, broadening the mind 
and adding much to general culture. A 
useful companion to it, to be recom¬ 
mended to girls with musical tastes, is 
“How to Listen to Music,” by E. H. 
Krehbiel. The girls who, in isolated 
rural homes, long for the wider advan¬ 
tages of the great woidd, may well pre¬ 
pare themselves for the opportunities 
that perhaps will come their way by 
reading of this class. One is never so 
lonely, even in the most buried-alive 
farmhouse, as when difference of educa¬ 
tion and temperament forms a barrier 
before some shy yet ambitious girl, 
thrown for the first time into cultivated 
general society. No matter how genu¬ 
inely refined she may be she feels as 
though she belonged to a life apart. 
Reading is the one medium that may 
always bring us in touch with greater 
and wiser minds than our own, and it 
will do much, when rightly selected, to 
prevent the feeling that our retired 
lives put us at a disadvantage with those 
whose social life is less restricted. 
Cupid and a Pig. 
While the train was nearing Cosycot 
Station Shepherd read Lydia’s note 
again. 
“Dear Walter,” it began, “of course we 
should be glad to have you at Cosycot 
during your vacation, and I suppose 
Aunt Elizabeth can put you up. But you 
will find us both completely busy with a 
colony of fresh-air children near by 
which aunt is taking care of. It is a 
noble work, and Aunt Elizabeth has in¬ 
terested me in it very thoroughly; I can 
think of nothing else, and have decided 
to devote my whole life to laboring 
among the children of the poor, if I am 
worthy of such a career. I want to tell 
you this before you make up your mind 
to come, so that you' will understand 
that I won’t be able to see much of you 
and so that you may expect to find me 
sobered by a serious purpose. Yours 
most sincerely, Lydia Farrow.” 
Shepherd crumpled the paper vicious¬ 
ly in his pocket. “Confound Aunt Eliza¬ 
beth!” he grumbled. “‘Sobered by a 
serious purpose!’ That’s the old maid’s 
phrase—not Lydia’s. Result’of reading 
novels about hospital nurses. The chil¬ 
dren of the poor must be taken care of— 
but, hang it all, so must Lydia. ’ 
A trap was waiting at the station to 
convey him to Aunt Elizabeth’s cottage, 
and his hostess was waiting at her 
piazza to greet him. Mis Gibbs was an 
elderly lady whose figure and bearing 
looked as much out of place in the coun¬ 
try as would the portico of the Fifth 
Avenue Hotel. No amount of gingham 
and flannel could rusticate her. 
“Dear Lydia left her apologies to you, 
Mr. Shepherd,” said Aunt Gibbs. “She 
has been forced to absent herself upon 
an important duty connected with our 
children’s mission. May I beg you to 
amuse yourself until she returns? Thank 
you—so kind of you—my clerical work 
leaves me little leisure in the afternoon, 
and later I have an outdoor class in bot¬ 
any.” 
Shepherd spent a quarter of an hour in 
a vain attempt to read a magazine, then 
he flung it down and started at random 
across the rolling and sunshiny green 
of the fields. A shadowed lane tempted 
him for a mile or so, but when he saw 
the path running ahead of him into the 
hot glare of a highway he paused un¬ 
certainly. 
“Hey, Mister Shepherd!” called a fam¬ 
iliar voice from the fence, and a familiar 
head and shoulders appeared in the ad¬ 
jacent thicket. Voice, head and shoul¬ 
ders belonged to Cuppy, the newsboy 
who was accustomed to sell him the 
morning paper at his office door in New 
York. 
“Hello, Cuppy!” said Walter, in great 
surprise. “Are you up here with the 
other kids?” 
“You bet,” assented Cuppy. “The flat 
is a couple of blocks down the street. 
Milk an’ pie an’ chicken—and sheets fer 
ter sleep in. Dere’s 20 of us. Termorrer 
we has atterleetic sports. I’m the em¬ 
pire.” 
“Miss Gibbs is very kind to do all this 
for you.” 
Cuppy stopped short in his progress 
out of the bushes. 
“Say,” he demanded, “this Miss Gibbs 
—are you wid her?” 
“No,” replied Shepherd, thoughtfully, 
“I’m agin her.” 
“That’s right,” said the ragged object 
of Aunt Elizabeth’s bounty. “The old 
lady’s all right if she’d only leave us be. 
What fer does she come ’round a-lectur- 
in’ and puttin’ us on the sneak? I’m on 
the sneak now. She pays the rent fer 
us, an’ we takes off our hats fer that. 
But,” he concluded, with a darkening 
eye, “she runs a night school out o’ 
doors by daylight and I’m on the sneak. 
Miss Farrer, she’s the people.” 
“She is all of that,” said Shepherd, 
feeling strangely comforted; he wanted 
to shake the boy’s brown hand as they 
strolled together down the highway. 
“She is all of that, for sure,” he added. 
“Sure. Miss Farrer’s worked fer the 
gang of us till she’s most down an’ out. 
She looks as pale as me mother on a 
wash day. Does yer know what she’s 
doin’ now? Gone up this road a couple 
er mile after a pig.” 
“After a what?” 
“Ter git a pig—a greased pig fer the 
atterleetics. The farmer what runs our 
joint made her chase away to buy one off 
his brother, who needs the money. I told 
her I’d go meself, ’cause she’s so tired, 
but ‘Naw,’ she says, ‘Cuppy, youse must 
stay fer the bot-enny.’ So she chases er- 
lone, for she says it’s her dooty, she 
says.” 
Shepherd gave his leg a savage slap 
with his walking stick. 
“Hurry along, Cuppy,” he exclaimed. 
“Perhaps we may meet her. And this 
is a fine job for Lydia Farrow!” 
He plowed through the dust doggedly, 
while Cuppy took to the roadside, dodg¬ 
ing among the low bushes and keeping 
a wary glance over his shoulder for a 
possible pursuer. Proceeding in this 
skirmishing order they reached a turn 
from which could be seen a little bridge, 
spanning a peaceful brook, and, on the 
bridge, a girl with a green sun umbrella. 
She was holding the umbrella over 
something behind hei', and she did not 
observe the two pedestrians. 
“Hey, Miss Farrer,” yelled Cuppy. 
Miss Farrow turned and Shepherd 
waved his hat. 
“Hello, Lydia,” said he. “What in the 
world have you got there?” 
“I have a pig here,” answered the 
young lady. “I am afraid the pig is 
overcome by the heat. How do you do, 
Walter?” 
“There’s a sight more chance that you 
are overcome by the heat yourself,” re¬ 
torted Shepherd wrathfully, and, in spite 
of her protesting gasp, he seized the um¬ 
brella and shaded her pretty head with 
it This maneuver gave him a chance to 
shake hands with her, and left the pig 
exposed in the glow. 
“Say, he’s a dead one,” remarked 
Cuppy. 
The small animal lay apparently mori¬ 
bund on the planking and emitted a fee¬ 
ble wail when Shepherd poked a toe gin¬ 
gerly against his somewhat emaciated 
flank. 
“Oh, dear, what shall we do?” said the 
girl. “Do you think it is going to die? 
Auntie is so severe when I fail in my 
duties.” 
“Good heavens, Lydia, do you mean to 
say that a pig more or less”- 
“But you don’t understand, Walter— 
1 must, must show myself trustworthy 
in every detail. Aunt Elizabeth says so. 
She knows a girl who couldn’t stay at 
the Rivington Street Mission—that’s 
where I want to go—because they 
couldn’t rely on her to clean milk cans. 
Do you believe that if we sprinkled 
water on the poor thing”- 
“Let’s throw him in the brook,” mut¬ 
tered Shepherd between his teeth. “He’d 
appreciate it, and so would 1.” 
“No, no, no!” cried Miss Farrow. 
“Your handkerchief.” 
Shepherd gave her one wild look and 
vaulted over the low railing at the side 
of the bridge. He soused his handker¬ 
chief in the stream, clambered up the 
bank and squeezed out the water over 
the pig, who was reduced by this dem¬ 
onstration to the last extremity of ter¬ 
ror. He rolled about, involving himself 
in the cord around his neck; he squeal¬ 
ed; dissolution seemed imminent. 
“I don’t know much about pigs,” said 
Shepherd, desperate because of the genu¬ 
ine trouble in I.,ydia’s big gray eyes. 
“Do you, Cuppy?'’ 
“Aw, I seen one in Jones’ wood, an’ 
say, I tlnk this feller’s fakin’, Stan’ 
up. Bill,” ordered Cuppy, grabbing the 
leading line. “Lemme take him along 
fer yer. Miss Farrer.” 
“I couldn’t let you, Cuppy, really 1 
couldn’t,” protested Lydia. “Aunt gave 
me this to do, and every failure counts 
against me. Besides, you ought to be 
at botany. Give me the cord.” She 
leaned rather wearily against the rail¬ 
ing and contemplated the hot stretch of 
road. “But I am tired and thirsty,” she 
added. 
“What’s that place up on the slope?” 
inquired Shepherd, pointing to the right. 
The place was where a rude bench 
stood under some heavy overhanging 
trees on the neighboring hillside. The 
clear water of a spring spouted gener¬ 
ously out of a rock close by it, plashing 
into a pool, and a dark green of the 
foliage surrounding it made the spot 
stand out on the knoll like a bower. 
“That’s the—that’s a—why, a spring.” 
faltered Lydia. 
“The farmers call it the ‘Lover’s 
Well,’ ” explained Cuppy. 
Miss Farrow blushed slightly. She 
could not help it; Shepherd was looking 
straight at her. 
“Lydia,” said he with stern determina¬ 
tion, “you and I are going to walk up 
there and you shall rest yourself. It is 
The coffee habit is quickly over¬ 
come by those who let Grain-O 
take its place. If properly made 
it tastes like the best of coffee. N o 
grain coffee compares with it in 
flavor or healthfulness, 
TRY. IT TO-DAY. 
At grocers everywhere; 15c. and 26c. per package. 
Hutchins Horizontal 
ROLLER SWING 
Abeolutoly now, belter than an electric fan In hot weather. 0 |»ersite» 
as euM.v as n rocking chitir. Delightful motion. Guaranteed not to 
make you sick. Special discount on first swing to introduce where we 
have no agent. I.ocal agents wanted. Exclusive territory. Travelers 
wanted to carry us a side line. Handsome 1 lb. aluminum model furnished. 
nUTClIIN-S BOLI.ER SWING CO., Box 104. AI.TON. lU. 
