1900 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
695 
The Affairs of Lyddy. 
Part I. 
Mrs. Barnard stood in the kitchen door 
hnd looked down the worn flower-bor¬ 
dered path to the little white gate, which 
was just swinging on its hinges to ad¬ 
mit a visitor. 
“Lyddy, come see who ’tis; your eyes 
are younger than mine,” she said. 
Lyddy left the churn she was wash¬ 
ing, and crossed the floor with the dish¬ 
cloth still in her hand. As she peered 
over her mistress’ shoulder the look of 
curiosity on her lean face deepened to 
one of contemptuous indifference. 
“Miss Eliza Monniesmith!” she said, 
grimly; “and that means kill a chicken 
and beat up a cake.” 
“We must always do the best we know 
for company, Lyddy,” was her mistress’ 
gentle rebuke. 
Miss Eliza Monniesmith came stalking 
up the garden path, her wiry curls dang¬ 
ling from under her purplish-brown 
bonnet, and bearing to the most sedate 
mind a ludicrous resemblance to a last 
year’s ironweed swayed by the wind. 
She was the village would-be poetess, 
whose active pen the youths and maid¬ 
ens dreaded even while they scoffed. 
“Lyddy don’t look very peart, does 
she, Mrs. Barnard?” queried the guest, 
as she removed her bonnet in the cool 
entry. Lyddy heard, and her sallow face 
grew a shade darker. 
Mrs. Barnard looked toward the kit¬ 
chen with an expression of mingled com¬ 
punction and determined absence of 
sympathy. “Lyddy’s well,” she said, 
briefly. “Come into the parlor, Eliza.” 
Left to herself in the kitchen, Lyddy 
pursued her work silently. Once it had 
been no unusual thing for the house to 
ring with her spirited rendition of “Res¬ 
cue the Perishing,” or “Beulah Land,” 
in a voice wnich was strong and clear, 
though somewhat lacking in sweetness. 
Now, however, the music was stilled. 
Lyddy was not sullen; no spark of re¬ 
bellion gleamed in her gray eyes, but 
there was a lack of ambition, a tinge of 
despair in her expression which was 
really pathetic. As she beat up the but¬ 
ter and sugar for cake her eyes wan¬ 
dered from the contents of the yellow 
bowl in her lap outdoors, across the 
fields and pastures which lay beyond 
the dooryard, to where a little brown 
house showed its gable above an orchard 
of pear and apple trees. Once her hands 
ceased their mechanical motion, and she 
sat gazing breathlessly as a man’s fig¬ 
ure came into view, crossing the lane. 
As it dropped out of sight behind the 
corn-crib she sighed deeply, and went 
on with ner cake-making. 
At last the dinner was well under way 
and the tabrn set. Realizing that she 
had no more to do until the dinner could 
be served, and with an instinctive desire 
to keep busy, she took her sunbonnet 
from its nail behind the door, and pick¬ 
ed up from the milk-bench a shining tin 
pail. Under the old locust-trees the 
worm-eaten garden gate always stood 
open, and tnrough it went Lyddy, seek¬ 
ing the ripest currants, where they hung 
in shining scarlet from the glossy stems. 
As she moved absent-mindedly along 
she drew near the parlor windows, which 
stood open. Mrs. Barnard sat knitting 
near one, and her guest at the other; 
but as the sash was high above Lyddy’s 
head, neither saw her nor suspected her 
presence. She had just paused with one 
hand full of currants, and recalled her 
thoughts with a start, trying to realize 
how long she had been out of doors, 
when she heard her name from within. 
She was an upright soul, and despised 
meanness of any sort, yet almost with¬ 
out thought she stood there (she never 
could have told why) and listened. 
“No, Eliza Ann,” Mrs. Barnard was 
saying, “I ain’t anything to complain 
of in Lyddy; she’s always been the same 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use“Mrs.Wins- 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best— Adv. 
good, mindable girl since I took her 
when ner ma died—a little puny thing 
11 years old.” 
“That’s so,” murmured the visitor. 
“Lyddy rhymes with stiddy.” And she 
fingered her note-book longingly. 
Mrs. Barnard overlooked the comment. 
“But the best of girls is liable some 
time or other to get a little foolish; you 
know that, Eliza—even when they get 
as old as me and you be—and Lyddy 
ain’t no exception to the rule. Now, Jim 
Budd is as good as the common run of 
fellows, but he ain’t a match for Lyddy, 
not by a good deal, and as long as I’m 
in my right mind I sha’n’tr give my con¬ 
sent for her to marry him. I hate to see 
Lyddy down about anything, and know 
there’s something between her and me, 
but I declare I’ll never give in. I feel 
like a mother to Lyddy, and her own ma 
couldn’t done more for her than I have.” 
Mrs. Barnard’s needles clicked with em¬ 
phasis. 
“Lyddy mu " be agin' ” suggested Miss 
Eliza. “You couldn’t do nothin’ if she’d 
elope, could you?” 
“Land, no! Lyddy’s 29 years old her 
next birthday, but I’ve raised her too 
well for her to dream of such a thing. 
She is old enough to know better. I’m 
sure. But it’s no use to talk; seems like 
she’s crazier after Jim now’n ever she’d 
’a’ been at 17.” Here the hostess’ voice 
grew more confidential. “Do you know, 
Eliza ^nn, i don’t believe I’d care so 
much if she’d up and run away and have 
him! Indeed I don’t! I just can’t bear 
to see her fretting so for him; but I 
keep thinking she’ll outgrow it like she 
did growin’ pains. And I just can’t come 
out and say, ‘Here, Lyddy, I give in; you 
can have him if you want to.’ ” 
“It would make a lovely poem,” said 
her visitor, her voice betraying her de¬ 
light at this opportunity. 
“I do’ know as Lyddy would care; I 
don’t s’pose she’d ever see it,” replied 
Mrs. Barnard. “But of course you must 
put in some other names.” 
“Names are plenty,” said the poetess, 
evasively. 
Lyddy, below the currant-bushes, had 
cried a few silent tears when Mrs. Bar¬ 
nard’s words recalled the many kind¬ 
nesses this good friend had snown her 
during the years of their companionship 
and then, as the converstion flowed on, 
she heard words that burnt themselves 
into her heart. Her eyes grew strained 
and bright, her breathing became ab¬ 
rupt, her cheeks reddened until as she 
stood she seemed to be growing years 
younger. Then, as the rocking and chat¬ 
ting uegan again in the darkened parlor, 
she slipped away.—Woman’s Home 
Companion. 
Rural Recipes. 
To-day we had a guest at lunch, 
’Twas her first meal with us; 
Her table manners were most rude 
Her plate an awful muss. 
She poked her fingers in the jam, 
And ran them through her hair; 
She used no knife or fork or spoon, 
But did not seem to care. 
My wife was shocked, and so was I; 
You will be 'till you’re told 
That this rude guest who lunched with us 
Is only two years old. 
—Table Talk. 
Some one asks Table Talk for a recipe 
for ubble and squeak. This is the old 
name for a warmed-over dish of cold 
meat and cabbage, the meat used being 
boiled beef, fresh or corned, or cold 
roast beef. Cut about two pounds of 
lean cold meat in small, rather thin 
slices. Put them in a pan with one 
tablespoonful of hot dripping and let 
them color quickly. Chop the boiled 
cabbage and put it into a saucepan with 
two tablespoonfuls of butter, salt and 
pepper to taste and stir over the fire 
until smoking hot and just beginning 
to color. Turn it out on a heated plat¬ 
ter and press it down in the center, in 
this hollow arrange the browned meat 
and send at once to the table. 
Recipes for sour cream pie have been 
given by The R. N.-Y. before, but this 
is the way Miss Cornelia Bedford makes 
it: Line two pie plates with puff paste 
rolled out very thin, prick well with a 
fork and bake in a quick oven. Mix to¬ 
gether one-half of a cupful of sugar, 
three tablespoonfuls of flour, a pinch 
of salt and the grated rind of one lemon. 
Add gradually to this four well-beaten 
eggs, one pint of thick sour cream and 
the strained juice of one-half of a lemon. 
Pour into the baked crusts and return 
to the oven, which should be cooler than 
before, until the mixture is firm in the 
center. Serve very cold. 
Fruit farina is a dainty dessert made 
as follows: Into one quart of rapidly 
boiling water sprinkle three tablespoon¬ 
fuls of farina. Stir until it boils and 
begins to swell evenly, then simmer for 
three-quarters of an hour, stirring oc¬ 
casionally. Add one pint of ripe ber¬ 
ries, chopped apples or cut fruit, one- 
quarter of a teaspoonful of salt and 
sufficient sugar to sweeten and con¬ 
tinue tne cooking until the fruit is ten¬ 
der, the turn into a serving dish. Serve 
cold with cream. 
Here is another recipe for the same 
dish: Stew sufficient ripe berries in a 
little water to give one quart when 
pressed through a fine sieve. Heat to 
the boiling point, sweeten to taste and 
sprinkle in two and a half tablespoonfuls 
of farina. Add a pinch of salt and boil 
gently for three-quarters of an hour, 
stirring often to keep from lumping. 
Serve cold with cream. 
Raisin lemon pie is a slight variation 
from the ordinary recipe. One cupful of 
chopped raisins, one cupful of water, 
one-half cupful of sugar, one lemon. Cut 
the rind off as thin as possible, remove 
the pulp, take out seeds and chop fine; 
boil three-quarters of an hour. Bake 
with upper and lower crusts. 
Sweet-potato waffles may be made 
thus: Mix well together two heaping 
tablespoonfuls of mashed sweet potatoes, 
one of melted butter, one of sugar, a lit¬ 
tle less than a pint of sweet milk, four 
heaping tablespoonfuls of flour, a tea¬ 
spoonful of baking powder, half a tea¬ 
spoonful of salt and the whites of two 
eggs, beaten stiff. Oil the waffle iron 
well and bake to a delicate brown. 
Serve with maple syrup, or honey-cream 
sauce. This sauce is made by beating- 
one cupful of comb honey (first cut into 
bits, and press out as much of the comb 
as possible) into one pint of whipped 
cream. Delicious. 
When a man lives with God his voice 
shall be as sweet as the murmur of the 
brook and the rustle of the corn.—Emer¬ 
son. 
Covetous men need money least, yet 
most affect and seek; prodigals, who 
need it most, do least regard it.—Theo¬ 
dore Parker. 
Believe in the divine right of kings I 
never snail— except in the divine right 
to be kingly men, which all men share. 
—James Lane Allen. 
Elgin Watches 
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sell and warrant the 
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An Elgin Watch always 
has the word “Elgin” en¬ 
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As for light, it furnishes a veri¬ 
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