32 
THE RURAL NE?W-YORKER 
January 11, 
Woman and the Home 
From Day to Day. 
THE EMPTY COT. 
Two peasants dwelt alone. Alas, 
No child had they, 
For he had died! But once there came 
A lad that way, 
And asked if he might spend the night. 
They spread for him 
The empty cot that long had stood 
In shadows dim. 
’Twas Christmas-tide—and ere he went 
He asked the man, . 
“What can I do for thee?” He said, 
“'Tis little that you can.” 
“And thou,” lie asked of her, “who took 
A stranger lad 
Into your home and broke your bread, 
To make me glad? 
“I was'aweary, and you made 
The little bed, 
Where one before I came had slept—” 
With lifted head, 
She looked at him In quick surprise, 
And whispered low, 
“Oh, stay with me, sweet child Divine; 
Thy face I know.” 
“My mother!” softly answered he, 
“Again we part. 
But keep the little bed for me, 
Within your heart.” 
******* 
When Christmas comes with holly boughs, 
And mistletoe, 
And cedars sweet, the earth is glad 
Beneath the snow ; 
When mothers hang the stockings round, 
With love intent, 
A tear oft falls upon the hearth 
For those who went! 
Aye, blame her not, if for a while 
She steals apart 
And kneels beside the empty cot, 
Hushing her heart! 
For love dies not. The stranger lad, * 
With eyes so mild, 
Is heaven-sent to comfort is, 
The Christmas Child. 
—I. M. P. Ockenden, in Youth's Companion. 
* 
To bake macaroni with cheese and to¬ 
mato, put a layer of boiled macaroni into 
a buttered baking dish, turn a little white 
sauce over it and then a little tomato 
sauce; sprinkle on some grated Parme¬ 
san cheese, add another layer of maca¬ 
roni, repeat the white sauce and tomato 
sauce and the cheese dressing and con¬ 
tinue until the dish is full. Then sprin¬ 
kle the top with cheese and some finely 
minced chives and bake until it is brown, 
* 
If your oven does not bake well late 
in the afternoon (and many kitchen 
stoves suffer from this defect) you can 
bake potatoes for supper on the top of 
the stove. Put a sheet iron plate or pan 
on the stove, put the potatoes on this, 
and turn an iron skillet or pot over them. 
This cover must of course fit tight. The 
potatoes take no longer than when in 
the oven. One small family, using an 
oil stove in Summer, has baked potatoes 
all the year round, cooking them in this 
way through the Summer. 
* 
One of our friends steams her fruit 
before baking it, carrying on the whole 
process in the oven. She puts some hot 
water in her double roasting pan, puts 
the cake in its tin on the rack in the 
roaster, closes it up, and puts it in the 
oven. It is cooked in the steam for 
two hours, is then taken out of the roast¬ 
ing pan, and put in the oven as usual, 
being baked for one hour. The result 
is excellent, and there is much less trou¬ 
ble than the ordinary baking, where one 
always fears the cake may burn on top. 
* 
Here is still another coffee cake, and 
a very good one: To one pound of raised 
bread dough work in one cup of soft 
butter, three eggs, two cups of brown 
sugar, a half-cup of milk and one tea¬ 
spoonful each of cinnamon and nutmeg, 
a half teaspoonful of cloves and all¬ 
spice, one large half cup of pitted dates 
and the same of seeded raisins. After 
mixing put in a shallow buttered pan 
and let raise in a warm corner; bake in 
a moderate oven. When taken out have 
ready a thick syrup made from sugar 
and water and brush the top of the 
cake; immediately arrange halved 
blanched almonds, pecan nut meats and 
candied orange peel in a design on top 
and sides, covering closely. 
* 
Whenever we feel a trifle discon¬ 
tented—disposed, so to speak, to quarrel 
with our bread and butter—we like to 
think of a certain elderly woman in a 
nearby town. She is over 70 years old, 
a childless widow, and lives alone in a 
tiny home which is her only possession. 
She has been, and still is, a great suf¬ 
ferer from rheumatism, so that both 
hands and feet are bent and twisted, but 
she is able to run her sewing machine, 
and she works day after day, making 
furniture coverings, at which she is an 
expert, to provide her livelihood. To 
be alone, to be partially crippled, and 
to be obliged to work for daily bread 
when past three score and ten, would 
seem, to many people, cause enough for 
melancholy. But in this case people go 
to the little house, not to cheer a lonely 
old woman, but to gain cheer for them¬ 
selves, for somehow, no matter what 
happens, she has the faculty of seeing 
the bright side, if there is one, or if not, 
of so polishing up the dark side that 
it may very well pass for bright. Once, 
when alone in a large city, her rheumatic 
feet gave way, and she had a fall, re¬ 
sulting in a badly fractured leg. Kindly 
strangers took ber to a hospital, and 
there she had to remain for 10 long 
weeks. That would seem trying to most 
of us, but this cheery body took it as a 
new and delightful experience, and she 
talks with the greatest pleasure of her 
delightful vacation in the hospital. Some 
of her friends wished to provide for her 
in a private room, instead of the crowd¬ 
ed hospital ward, but she scouted the 
offer. Shut her up in a private room, 
with a nurse to wait on her? No in¬ 
deed ; she wanted to be out among other 
folks. So she shared the pains and 
troubles of other people, after her wont, 
and left the hospital with the affection 
and good wishes of nurses and patients 
alike. We think that the whole secret 
of the affection she gains wherever she 
goes just lies in the ready sympathy that 
keeps her so interested in others that her 
own pains or troubles become of second¬ 
ary importance. Many a woman situat¬ 
ed like her becomes a self-centered soli¬ 
tary. We like to think of this good 
woman, to whom pain and trouble have 
been merely a medium for drawing her 
closer to others, and whose life of toil 
and prayer, outwardly narrow and cir¬ 
cumscribed, spreads its influence in far- 
reaching ripples to friends uncounted 
and unknown. 
Charity Sweetheart’s Letters. 
When the onions and carrots and 
beets are all safely in the cellar, and the 
potatoes and apples stored away in bins, 
the general housekeeping on a farm runs 
smoother, and there is time to gather 
up the loose ends of the threads of life. 
All Summer we work and hurry, and 
are unable to enjoy things as we go 
along; we are too busy, and so over¬ 
tired that I am often reminded of Mrs. 
Browning’s lines: 
We scarcely care to look at even 
A little child ; or God’s blue heaven, 
We feel so tired—my heart and I. 
And the days go by as in a dream, 
while we are almost numb with fatigue, 
and do not enjoy the golden days as 
they pass. But when all the products 
of the garden are in the cellar, when 
the fruit cupboard has its shelves full 
of bottled sunshine, in the shape of 
canned fruits and sweet pickles, when 
the butter for Winter use is in the 
crocks and the churn is in disuse, there 
is no need for haste to make both work 
ends meet. Since the Doctor read me a 
lecture about being too anxious to get 
money I have been letting my pocket- 
book get so thin that the sides had no 
bulges. But I was weak and discour¬ 
aged, feeling in the mood that says “It’s 
no use trying.” For I had always 
thought it was laudable to try to earn a 
little money independently, and here was 
the Doctor not only ready to pull down 
my money castles, but to show me I had 
the wrong spirit in building them. 
But as if in answer to my thoughts I 
discovered in the garret a piece of old- 
fashioned chintz that belonged to Grand¬ 
mother, and the thought came to me 
what lovely pillows it would make. No¬ 
body wanted it, so I gathered the bags 
of feathers that were waiting for cur¬ 
ing, and two wet days were spent in 
sorting and stripping. They were dried 
in the oven, slowly, so as not to extract 
the oil, and a little fine borax sifted 
among them to destroy insects. I bought 
a piece of tucking and rubbed the inside 
of every pillow cover with beeswax, 
then filled them and put on the chintz 
covers with a fluted ruffle around them. 
There were seven when finished, and 
Mrs. De Long had a small one made for 
her baby’s carriage. Altogether they 
netted me $19 and I felt repaid. Of ' 
course if I had been obliged to buy the 
chintz it would have been less profit, 
and I knew as well as Mrs. De Long 
that it was a bit of rare quality. Then 
I found my last year’s customers wanted 
chili sauce, and the boys went partners 
with me in supplying the vegetables 
while I did the work, for the garden had 
been managed by them all Summer. So 
we had the money ready for the Win¬ 
ter, to spend in books and other de¬ 
lights. And now I must tell the best 
thing of all which I have kept till the 
last, as children do a tasty morsel. We 
have got a piano! 
Mrs. Summers was moving East, and 
offered hers to Brother quite cheap. I 
really think it is all because of little 
Theo, for he thinks the sun rises and 
sets for her. He had just sold the cor¬ 
ner lot of the swamp of soft maples and 
felt quite rich, I suppose; at any rate, 
it’s here. And all the family gathered 
round to give advice as to the very best 
corner to place it. And then I sat down 
and played “My Country, ’Tis of Thee,” 
much to their surprise. But I had often 
practiced on some of the cabinet organs 
about here, and mean now to study so 
that I can teach little Theo by and by. 
After all, music is a wonderful power 
in the home, and I often feel sorry for 
girls who have opportunity to practice 
and take lessons and are so indifferent 
to their chances. It is one of the talents 
we can use toward making home happy 
if cultivated in the right direction. I 
know a girl who taught her three 
brothers to read music at sight, and as 
they grew up it was a real pleasure for 
them to be able to join with musicians 
in new work, and to sing a new tune 
easily. So the Winter seems pleasant, 
and if we are busy with whatsoever our 
hands find to do there need be no re¬ 
grets. Ah! Charity, a little voice whis¬ 
pers, why try to cover up the truth? 
In this world of folly and mistakes 
there must always be regrets. 
CHARITY SWEETHEART. 
The 
White Indian 
A white Indian is a sick In* 
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White skin—sick man was 
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