IMl 
4ii 
An Act of Itisttborditiatioti. 
Part I. 
Grandma Doane stopped rocking and 
sat up very straight. “Did you say that 
Sarah Sherwood is living in the old 
place?’’ she demanded eagerly. 
Mrs. Prescott sat by the other south 
window sewing. “Yes, Mother,’’ she said 
placidly, “she’s lived there all Winter. 
The old man, Mr. Griffin, died in De¬ 
cember, and Luella didn’t want to stay 
there any longer. The old place was left 
to Mrs. Sherwood, and they came out to 
live there. Ellen and Mattie live with 
the old folks. Mr. Sherwood isn’t very 
strong and seems a good deal older than 
she does. Ellen never was married, and 
Mattie is a widow. They don’t like liv¬ 
ing there any too well, it’s so quiet, but 
they are just as good to their mother as 
can be. I’m so glad she is going to 
spend her declining days in peace and 
quiet in the house where she was born.’’ 
Mrs. Doan« had not paid strict atten¬ 
tion. She was folding her work with 
nervous fingers; now she stood up with 
a determined motion. “If Sarah Sher¬ 
wood is living in the old place. I’m going 
straight up there.’’ 
Mrs. Prescott looked up quickly. 
“Why, Mother!” she exclaimed, “you 
must be crazy. It’s three miles.” 
“Not by the old path,” Mrs. Doane in¬ 
sisted; “it isn’t more than a mile that 
way.” 
“It’s too late to go to-day, anyway,” 
said the younger woman. “It’s almost 
sunset, now. Besides, a mile is too far 
for you to walk. I’ll take the horse some 
afternoon and we’ll both go up and call 
on her,” she ended with an air of calm 
finality. 
Mrs. Doane sat down submissively, but 
her face did not show submission;* it was 
rebellious and determined. Her daugh¬ 
ter noticed that she seemed absent- 
minded that evening, and that her face 
was fiushed and her eyes bright. “I do 
hope she isn’t going to be sick,” she 
thought. When she asked if she was not 
tired, her mother agreed almost eagerly 
and went to bed very early. 
At a quarter past five the next morn¬ 
ing the back door of the Prescotts’ 
house opened softly, and Grandma 
Doane stepped out. She had on bonnet 
and shawl, and in her hand she carried 
her shoes and rubbers. After closing 
the door noiselessly behind her, she sat 
down on the stone step and with quick 
motions put on her shoes. When she 
was all ready she stepped off stealthily, 
walking on the grass instead of the path, 
that the crunching of the gravel might 
not betray her. When she was safely 
out of sight of the house windows she 
walked with more assurance, and laugh¬ 
ed softly to herself. 
It was early April and the morning 
was clear and cold. The last year’s 
grass and roadside weeds were white 
with frost, and where the ground was 
soft it was shot through with anchor 
frost. Down the road went Mrs. Doane 
till she came to a wood path which she 
entered. “There!” she said when she 
had followed it a few rods, “I guess I’m 
safe. Nobody saw me. I’m sure. Now 
I won’t have to hurry so.” 
She passed through a young growth 
of hard wood, and came to a clump of 
pines, where the ground was soft with 
needles. Once she heard the slow beat 
of a partridge’s drum. She paused to 
listen and it seemed to her that her 
heart beat faster and faster, in unison 
with the accelerated measure of the 
bird’s wings. Soon she came to an open 
pasture, where were rocks and stumps 
and huckleberry bushes. On the top of 
one of these perched a song-sparrow, 
and its sweet voice thrilled the listener; 
she stood still a long time, her eyes on 
the bird, and when she went on she 
stepped softly that she might not lose 
a note. And now she came to a fork in 
the path which she did not remember. 
She hesitated a moment, then took the 
most trodden one. The way seemed 
strange, and before long she came to the 
pond and a gunner’s duck stand. “This 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
is not the way,” she said, and she hur¬ 
ried to retrace her steps and make up for 
the time she had lost. 
On and on she went through the once 
fumiliar path, and at length she came 
out at the end of the lane which led to 
the Griffin place. The sun was rising, 
and its warmth was most welcome, for 
in spite of uer brisk walking the keen 
air had chilled her slightly. Up the lane 
she walked more slowly that her eyes 
might take in each familiar sight. 
Everything was as she remembered it. 
The old orchard on one side, the beauti¬ 
ful level mowing field on the other, the 
garden farther up at the back of the 
cornhouse, and then the old red barn 
with its hospitable open shed facing the 
south. Everything was familiar, even 
to the turnstile that let one out of the 
barnyard, and, yes, it squeaked when 
she went through it just as it always 
used to. Then she saw the old red 
brick house; that was the same, too, ex¬ 
cept that they had built a little veranda 
at the back door. On the veranda stood 
a woman. She was tall and straight, 
and the sunlight fell on her white hair. 
She looked doubtfully at the woman who 
was hurrying toward her, then as she 
came very near she gave a little cry and 
ran quickly down the steps. 
“Mary Trent!” she cried. 
“Sarah Griffin!” 
And then their arms were about each 
other. In the first moment of meeting, 
the years fell away and each called the 
other by her maiden name. 
“I’ve run away,” Mrs. Doane explain¬ 
ed as her friend drew her into the house. 
“I'm going to stay all day with you. 
And Sarah, I came away without my 
breakfast, and I’m pi’etty hungry.” 
Mrs. Sherwood laughed. “When I first 
saw you do you know what I thought 
I said to myself, ‘There’s some poor 
tramp that’s been out all night, and 1’ 
give her a cup of coffee.’ I’ll get you 
something in two minutes. Just take 
off your things and find a chair.” 
She stepped about briskly, getting 
breakfast for her guest. “I’m specially 
glad to see you to-day, Mary,” she said, 
“because I’m all alone. Mattie has been 
off on a visit for a week, and Father and 
Ellen have gone to the city for a day’s 
shopping. They hesitated about leav¬ 
ing me, but I promised to go to the 
neighbors’, though now you’ve come 1 
won’t have to. They’ve only just gone, 
and I was watching them out of sight 
just as you came along. There—draw up 
your chair and go to eating, you poor, 
hungry tramp,” and she patted Mrs. 
Doane affectionately on the shoulder. 
When the meal was finished Mrs. 
Doane arose with brisk determination. 
“Now, Sarah,” she said energetically, 
“I’m not going to be made company of 
to-day. I want to work, and you’ve got 
to let me. I don’t want to complain of 
my folks and the way they treat me, but 
they forget that you can get tired to 
death of resting.” 
“That’s just it,” agreed Mrs. Sher¬ 
wood. “I feel the same way.” 
“Well, then, we’ve got the whole day 
before us. What shall we do? Haven’t 
you got some big piece of work you want 
to do? Something that’s too hard for 
you and that you ought not to do?” 
“Oh, Mary!”—Mrs. Sherwood’s eyes 
sparkled and her cheeks flushed— 
“there’s a quilt I’ve wanted to tie for a 
long time, but the girls wouldn’t let me. 
They think it’s better to buy the ready¬ 
made ones. I’ve got the batting and the 
lining all ready. That’s just the thing 
for us to do. Let’s hurry and get the 
work done.” 
They were putting away the last of 
the dishes when there was an impatient 
knock on the back door. They started 
guiltily and looked at each other, and 
Mrs. Sherwood went to answer the sum¬ 
mons. A boy stood there. His face was 
anxious and he was breathing hard. 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use “Mrs.Wins¬ 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It Is the Best.— A4v. 
“Mother sent me up on my bicycle to 
see if Grandma’s here,” he said. 
“Yes,” said Mrs. Sherwood, “she is 
here and she’s going to spend the day 
with me.” 
“All right,” said the boy. “Ma said 
if she was here to tell her that she’d 
come up with the horse and get her this 
afternoon. She’ll start at four.” 
“Very well,” said Mrs. Sherwood, 
“I’ll tell her.” 
“You are safe,” she laughed, when the 
boy had gone. “I’m afraid we are very 
bad children. I must have caught it of 
you, for I was all right till you came. 
But just now I had the strongest desire 
to tell your grandson that I hadn’t seen 
anything of you. I knew it wouldn’t do, 
though. Now let’s get at that quilt. 
You can carry the chairs into the other 
room and push the table into the cor¬ 
ner while I go up to the attic and bring 
down the quilting bars.” 
SUSAN BROWN BOBBINS. 
Laundering; Starched Clothes. 
In the first place, wash shirts and col¬ 
lars spotlessly clean; then dry on line 
same as other wash, and when perfectly 
dry use the following cooked starch. The 
exact amount of starch cannot be deter¬ 
mined; about four level tablespoonfuls 
to quart of water. The nice point is to 
make starch just thick enough and not 
too stiff to rub in linen easily, about like 
cream before it begins to thicken in 
churning. Have on hand white wax; it 
can be bought at any drug store, and 
gum arabic dissolved in water and bot¬ 
tled. Ten cents worth of each would 
last an ordinary family a year. 
Dissolve starch in as little cold water 
as can be used and still work it ali down 
to smooth paste; then add boiling water, 
stirring all the while, until thin enough. 
Add to one quart of starch one-half tea¬ 
spoonful of gum arabic, and with a case 
knife scrape off a small quantity of 
white wax. It does not readily dissolve 
in even boiling starch, so scrape it off 
thin. Use about half a teaspoonful of 
these shavings, set your starch on stove 
cover, and boil moderately for half an 
hour. Have a starching board, one that 
you use for this purpose and no other, 
using any wood that will not stain when 
damp. Our Washington fir is good, but 
cedar would not do at all. Turn shirts 
wrong side out and leave so until all is 
ironed except bosom. 'I’o starch, put 
collars and cuffs, one by one, in starch, 
just as you take it off stove. With a sil¬ 
ver spoon you can move them in starch 
until they are completely covered. Let 
them remain until you have shirt 
bosoms all finished. To begin on these 
use the starch hot and with spoon spread 
starch first on right side of bosom, fold 
together and take bosom on wrong side 
and give the same twisting motion you 
do when wringing clothes. This forces 
the starch through linings, which is very 
important, for unless this is thoroughly 
done the bosom, instead of being stiff as 
a board, will be covered with blisters. 
Repeat on wrong side, only do not turn 
when you wring, for if you do all your 
work on wrong side of bosom you lessen 
the chances of leaving some soiled spots. 
Practice will soon show you when you 
have material full of starch, under pleat 
and linings. When all is thoroughly 
worked full of starch place wrong side 
of bosom directly on board, and with the 
fingers on right side rub out free from 
wrinkles. Remember any that you fail 
to remove now will remain just so when 
ironed. Treat cuffs of shirt in same 
manner; then hang on chairs very near 
a good fire so as to dry fast. Have a 
room free from dust. Work the starch 
in cuffs and collars as directed for bosom 
of shirt, and dry in the same manner 
until perfectly dry. I don’t try to iron 
the same day, and always starch enough 
at one time to last a month or two; then 
they can be put in clean bag and ironed 
as convenient. 
To dampen them for ironing don’t 
sprinkle or dip in coid starch, as you will 
by so doing spoil all your work. Take 
a pail or pan full of water, dip shirt flaps 
in, wring out as dry as you can by hand, 
lay directly on bosom, wring out an¬ 
other cloth of same thickness and put on 
other side of bosom, then lay shirt cuffs 
on top of this damp cloth. Pile layers 
made in this way one on another, place 
starching-board on top with irons to 
weight it down, and in two or three 
hours the linen is just right to iron. 
Have the irons clean and smooth, and 
always have a cloth of beeswax to rub 
them on. Then always iron the backs of 
shirts first and make sure your irons are 
perfectly clean before ironing bosom. 
Have a bosom board; I use starching 
board with a flour sack drawn over it. 
You can put on a beautiful polish on 
linen starched in this way, and when 
you consider that your linen will wear 
twice as long and look well until ready 
for the wash you will think it as easy 
a way as the old. It certainly will fur¬ 
nish a number of polished surfaces to 
reflect back the pride of feeling that the 
family linen couldn’t be told from city 
laundry work. mhs. kittie grant. 
When you write advertisers mention Ths 
R. N.-Y. and you will get a quick reply and 
“a square deal.” See our guarantee 8th page. 
COME AND GO 
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Giant ChemiealCo.,Philadelphia 
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