858 
THE RURAT NEW-YORKER 
June 20, 1915. 
Pastoral Parson on the Lonely Road 
By Rev. Geo. B. Gilbert 
Mother has just gone off for a ride with 
old “Doll” and I have gotten the ice 
cream cooking for a party down on one 
of the lonely roads tonight. (The two 
babies are having a glorious time with 
the egg-beater.) We had such a good 
time last week that I had to promise 
them another before school closed. The 
district committee says we can move out 
the stove tonight for the Summer, and 
that gives us quite a little room for 
games. I must take down pledge cards 
for the County Farm Bureau and will 
also put in a case of soda and the big 
graphoplione and will take along a man 
to talk about the Indians and his ex¬ 
periences out West, and I fear we shall 
l>e late home! Sometime I want to 
write to the big It. N.-Y. family of how 
many things people who live near the 
city can do to help the people who live 
far out on the Lonely Itoads. 
A Decoration Sunday. —But I start- 
t.i tell you about our Decoration Sunday 
way down 12 miles from the station 
where there is no G. A. It. nor even a 
surviving veteran. One team with the 
young people of the family went down 
the night before to the party in the par¬ 
ish rooms. I sent word during the week 
for them to make up all the ice cream 
they could, so as to have some left for 
Sunday. I would bring more Sunday 
morning. And I did. For when .mother 
and I and the little ones got started we 
had in half a ham, six loaves of bread, 
two dozen boiled eggs, a pound of coffee, 
a pint of cream, and three gallons of ice 
cream. You see we believe in enjoying 
our religion, and not be like a person 
I was reading about in one of the maga¬ 
zines this week, who on coming home 
from church “felt kinder as though he 
had been to a funeral.” No, we don’t 
feel that way. We had a line congrega¬ 
tion. with nearly four times as many to 
the Holy Communion as the first Sunday 
I was there. Of course, I hear you say¬ 
ing. “Who wouldn’t come for such a mess 
of loaves and fishes!” But listen, on the 
Sunday before we had only one less at 
the communion, and not a thing to eat 
in the place, and everyone knew there 
wasn’t a thing, as we ate it all up the 
night before. I note too in making up 
our reports that our offerings are 400% 
more than they were four years ago. 
Show this letter to your church treas¬ 
urer and let him note that fact—he will 
appreciate it. After the service all those 
who had come from a distance stayed to 
dinner. One man had walked nearly four 
miles. Then after dinner more began to 
come for the Decoration Day observance. 
I noted as we began the march from the 
church that the old sheds were filled once 
more with teams, as I suppose they 
used to be years ago. I counted 74 in 
line. Just about 60 of these were back- 
to-the-landers. At the little country cem¬ 
etery—not a house in sight—we had fine 
exercise from the two school districts’ 
children; we decorated the graves of the 
three soldiers there and the Pastoral 
Parson gave a short talk. I did not 
say much what our church stood for— 
somehow I thought it was not necessary. 
But I suggested that next year we come 
prepared to decorate the mounds of those 
who had fought in the battles for the 
Union, and besides, why not all those 
lying there who had fought in the great 
battle of life on those stony hillsides 
round about and in that pleasant valley! 
And I prayed that there might be peace 
between nations, and peace within our 
borders and above all, peace between the 
homes and among the neighbors of that 
region round about, that the spirit of 
brotherhood and helpfulness might be 
among us, with this coining year. 
Before Going Home. —Then we went 
back to the church and that ice cream 
was got out again and the women vis¬ 
ited about women’s things as I told you 
last month, and the men and I talked 
about the new County Farm Bureau, and 
I gave out bulletins and then with the 
shadows lengthening I stood in the 
church door and watched them disappear¬ 
ing in the woods, across the bridge and 
up the road, every child with a cone 
brimming with ice cream in its hand—a 
parting gift from the white church by 
the brook—a token of the spirit of that 
place. 
Sunday And Picnics. —“I guess we 
had better let that man alone,” said a 
back-to-the-lander to his wife one night 
as he put the eggs on the kitchen table 
and began to wash for supper. “I have 
heard more about that missionary fellow 
and what do you think? lie has picnics 
on Sunday.” Sometime after that, know¬ 
ing nothing of the above, I was hurrying 
to get off home, but stepped round to 
(he side door to get acquainted with the 
new family. No sooner inside than I 
saw the “Poultry Journal” on the table 
and then the interest -began. In two min¬ 
utes we were out to the yard and hen¬ 
house together; before I left, in just 
about 10 minutes I had got a 
market for 20 dozen eggs for him, 
had given the address of the place 
to get his phosphate and what kind 
to get, and had promised to bring 
him seed corn on the next trip from a 
good woman 15 miles over the hill, and 
had told him how to plant it, and just as 
I was rushing out of the gate he shouted, 
“Excuse me but ain’t you the minister 
that comes down to the school house?” 
I confessed, and was gone. It stormed 
so badly the next Sunday I never did get 
there, but this man, I was told, waited 
for nearly an hour in the storm for me 
to come. I saw him again a few days be¬ 
fore my next monthly trip down there and 
1 said: “We are all coming down Sun¬ 
day to eat our dinner on the rooks by 
the school house. You and Mrs.-come 
down and eat with us.” I little expected 
to see him. But as the smoke curled up 
next Sunday, an invitation to all to come 
and dine with the Pastoral Parson if 
they wanted, and as the children were 
rounding the corner from far and near, 
I suddenly saw him coming—with a bas¬ 
ket on his arm. I had two good broilers 
sputtering on the coals and he had two 
more with him, and soon his good Wife 
appeared with another basket, full of all 
good things. And so he learned that the 
picnic he had heard about was nothing 
more than the minister eating his dinner 
at the school house or the church with 
any or all, be it few or many, who 
chanced along. I shall never forget see¬ 
ing a girl appear that same Sunday with 
a huge watermelon clasped tightly in her 
arms. We bring anything we have handy 
and all eat each other’s food. One day 
at that same place a real tramp came 
along. He immediately joined our party 
and had his fill. After dinner we all 
went into the school house and had ser¬ 
vice. Why not go each week to the best 
house in the neighborhood for dinner? 
Re run after and fussed over, and wait- 
ed on, and teaed and cigared and napped 
and groomed ! And stalky to church with 
the swell lady of the neighborhood—-her 
husband salting cows in the back pas¬ 
ture. No, not for the Pastoral Parson. 
The rocks and the boys and the lonely 
schoolhouse and a good half chicken, 
seized by the leg. for him. 
Young Men In Church.—I have just 
read the result of the investigation of 
the membership of 91 country churches, 
and 25 of these had not a single male 
member under 21 years of age. Is there 
any need of this? While writing this, 
I have stopped long enough to attend 
to a young fellow who has driven in 12 
miles from the country. Ilis mother is 
with him. I sold his eggs for five cents 
more a dozen than he could have gotten, 
I have new wheels all ready for his ex¬ 
press wagon, and saved him just two dol¬ 
lars and eighty cents on them, I backed a 
check he had so he could get it cashed in 
town, and put my horse in his wagon 
while his rests in the barn. lie is treas¬ 
urer of one of the Pastoral Parson’s mis¬ 
sions. and two younger brothers are al¬ 
ways at church. I sold the eggs in a 
drugstore and one of the clerks there 
came from this same far back country. 
The Pastoral Parson got him his place. 
The proprietor tells me he likes him. 
“He hasn’t one eye on the sidewalk to 
see some girl go by and the other asleep 
from being up so late the night before,” 
were his very words. Who will respond 
to sympathy and help as quickly as a 
boy ? 
A Cheerful Thanksgiving.— Right 
in line with our cheerful Sundays on the 
lonely roads is our annual community 
Thanksgiving Day. We have had it for 
several years and would not think of giv¬ 
ing it up. We have service in the church 
in the forenoon. The aroma from the 
heaps of good things in the front room 
does not seem to mar it at all! Then 
comes the dinner with the best of the 
fruits of our harvest. Just what we 
raise ourselves is the rule—nothing 
bought from outside. After dinner a 
wonderful football game over in the pas¬ 
ture. We play the soccer ball, and Par¬ 
son practically always has the ball 
tucked away in the wagon somewhere. 
Such a good visit as the women folks 
have cleaning up after dinner! A hand¬ 
out all round as they start home does 
away with any supper or more work for 
the day. Begin to talk this up now in 
your country church. Never mind if 
some say they cannot come, go ahead 
and have it and they will plan so they 
can come another year. Next time I 
may tell you about a big community ser¬ 
vice and dinner we are planning to have 
in a district school house in a section 
where such a thing was never heard of 
before. 
Who Wants a Family? 
Following our plan of printing each 
month some rather unusual farm propo¬ 
sition, we give the following for June. 
Who wants a family? 
I want to tell you my troubles. The 
Hope Farm talks and mention of the 
“Redheads” makes me know, that you 
are not one of “our modern men,” who 
think children ought to be chloroformed 
or headed up in a barrel. We have five 
boys and three girls, that we consider 
“valuable property,” in spite of hard 
times. We are very anxious to find a 
place on a good farm, where there would 
be work for all of us, and where a fair 
amount of pay would be certain. We 
have thought to find some place where 
a city family, wanted good help and care¬ 
takers for a farm they made their Sum¬ 
mer home, or perhaps an elderly couple 
with no boys, but a good farm they can¬ 
not tend. We would rent, but would pre¬ 
fer to work for wages for awhile, on ac¬ 
count of lack of capital. We have a 
good young team, which we want to 
keep if possible. 
My husband is an experienced farmer, 
and a good stockman, and he is handy 
with all kinds of tools and machinery. 
One thing we couldn’t handle, would be 
a dairy, as my husband “overmilked” in 
the Northwest, before we came here, and 
ruined his hands for milking and an ac¬ 
cident to one of the oldest boy’s hands 
puts him out as a milker, but does not 
hinder from any other farm work. The 
oldest boys are 16 and 14, and can do 
nearly a man’s work of any kind. Our 
children need not be considered a draw¬ 
back, except as the usual trouble chil¬ 
dren cause, as they have been raised to 
stay at home, mind their own business 
and not to destroy, as a positive proof 
we have a better garden, more flowers, 
and a more homelike place than anywhere 
in our neighborhood. Of course that 
does not mean they have any wings start¬ 
ed. They are only healthy, hearty, mis¬ 
chievous, everyday children. We have 
out a crop and want to be ready to make 
a change when it is gathered. We have 
a little home here over half paid for. We 
are sure to lose it, unless we can make 
more than we are doing. As tobacco is 
“the crop” here, and we are not tobacco 
folks, we can make a living here, but 
cannot get any ahead on anything else, 
as when you work, you must go into 
competition with the negro, and a white 
man cannot do it. MRS. J. G. u. 
Virginia. 
A Birthday Party. 
It may be pleasant to other people to 
hear of our “Birthday Club.” Condi¬ 
tions are not the same in all localities, 
but here, in our neighborhood, there are 
only two or three farm women who get 
out much in a social way; and, of tin* 
remainder, there are two or three who 
almost never go out. One day after 
Christmas, one of the neighbors remarked 
that it was too bad we never “got togeth¬ 
er” at anything, unless at the neighbor¬ 
hood Christmas tree; which, this last 
year was forbidden by the Health Board 
on account of some scarlet fever in town, 
so she suggested a “Birthday Club.” and 
most of the ladies, who were invited to, 
joined. The number has to be limited; 
as no one of us can easily entertain 
more than 12 or 15. Each member en¬ 
tertains the others on her birthday; and, 
at each meeting, the members pay five 
cents, each, to be used for the purchase 
of a gift, not exceeding in value 50 
cents, for the member who entertains the 
next time. At the first “party,” we 
elected a president and secretary, but 
everything is informal. Each time we 
also elect a gift committee of two. In 
the short days of Winter, the first hostess 
decided that dinner would be best, and 
a chicken pie dinner was served by her; 
later, there have been social afternoons 
with “tea-parties,” and, at one, falling 
in the maple-sugar season, a real Ver¬ 
mont sugar party. I nearly forgot to 
say that each one carries some article 
of food, whatever they wish, or think ap¬ 
propriate to the meal served. At the 
sugar party, plain doughnuts and eggs 
were the staples. Though there has not, 
as yet, been one “party,” where every 
member was present, we all seem to enjoy 
them so much. If a member has babies, 
they can “go along,” too, and those who 
wish to, take their work, and we have a 
friendly, social, time. A man once said 
a women’s meeting was all “giggle, gab¬ 
ble, gobble.” I guess there is a good deal 
of “gabbling,” but gossiping does not 
seem to be in favor. A picnic has been 
suggested for some of the Summer birth¬ 
days. This will not appeal to those who 
are trying to “stand on tiptoe,” as it is 
simple, which is why it is so successful. 
Vermont. A. 
The Singer. —Give me the woman who 
sings at her work! Mother kept the 
household machinery running smoothly 
through all kinds of weather with bits 
of song dropped in here and there for 
lubrication. AVe children were never so 
happy as when she was singing, unless 
it was when she and father would visit us 
in the playhouse. That is the secret of 
it all—the cheerful heart. It conquers 
the dreariest tasks, it helps over the 
hardest places, it puts life and appeal 
into the lowliest home. 
Sing! 
Happy Days for Old Rover. 
I. M. J. 
