THE RURAL NEW-YORKER 
1491 
Pastoral Parson on the Lonely Road 
Christmas on the Farm 
By Rev. Geo. B. Gilbert 
Our Community Thanksgiving.—I 
must tell you all the very first thing 
what a good time we had at our Neigh¬ 
borhood Thanksgiving this year. As the 
Pastoral Parson with his whole family, 
dog and all, rounded the curve by the 
church in his battered auto, he saw the 
senior warden coming across the old 
bridge with his fine yoke of cattle and 
a load of hickory, most of which he had 
cut that morning. We got up wood till 
service time, then came the dinner. At 
this point there was great consternation! 
One paterfamilias had not shown up. 
Why didn’t he come? lie was to do the 
noon chores arid then come right along 
down. IIis good wife was on the point 
of going home when the Parson jumped 
into his auto and made up through the 
woods. lie was not at the house, so back 
the auto came to find him there waiting 
—he had gone cross-lots »to urge a neigh¬ 
bor to come. While the women folks 
did up the dinner things, the boys played 
football, the men got up more wood, and 
then all off for home in good season for 
chores. Why should we keep putting off 
that command of the Bible “Rejoice ! and 
again I say rejoice.” 
A Day Off. —Yes, we all felt somehow 
as though we had had a day off when 
we started for home after church last 
Sunday. Work seined light to us 
and home seemed good. We had 23 in 
the congregation, celebrated the commun¬ 
ion together and at the close of the ser¬ 
vice, as a part of it we had a Sunday 
school session, and all read over and con¬ 
sidered the “Duty towards my neighbor” 
of the catechism. Two of the ladies had 
to go home, but 21 of us had dinner; a 
large It. I. Red, plenty of gravy, pota¬ 
toes, coffee, bread, apples and cake. No 
12 baskets remained. We brought the 
bones, all that was left, home for our 
little black doggie. It was after two 
o’clock when the Pastoral Parson shout¬ 
ed “All out and off for home. Be down 
again in two weeks.” “Gee!” said a big 
strapping fellow, “Can’t we come again 
for two weeks?” 
Getting IIis Neighhor. —When they 
told me the man mentioned above had 
gone “after his neighbor” I could not 
help saying to myself, “Only a short time 
ago and some neighbor was after him.” 
Can anything else ever save the country 
church? When it becomes so helpful, so 
cheerful, so interesting and so interested, 
that one man will go two miles through 
the woods to get another, then it will 
grow. I notice The R. N.-Y*. banks on 
that very thing, and I guess safely, for 
no less than four men claim that they 
were the ones who first got me to sub¬ 
scribe for that paper. 
Tiie Christmas Tree. —Just as tin 1 
real Thanksgiving was where the table 
was furnished from the cellar below, 
which in turn was filled from the land 
outside, so the real Christmas tree is the 
one where father throws the ax over his 
right shoulder and takes his boy by the 
right hand and starts for the woods. 
Didn’t someone begin a poem: 
“These are the things I hold divine, 
A trusting child’s hand laid in mine—” 
With the memory of dragging a Christ¬ 
mas tree in the deep snow from ’way over 
into neighbor Mead’s back lot for some 
20 years up in old Vermont, the Pastoral 
Parson can never bring himself to buy 
a Christmas tree. Each year the boys 
and I on a Saturday grind up the best 
ax for the occasion. It is wonderful how 
much faster it goes than when we ground 
the corn cutters. Then we take old Doll 
and start over the hill and ask permis¬ 
sion from a man to get one out of his 
lot. He always gives it and always gives 
ns a big dish of apples besides. Then we 
proceed to the pasture lot. How the boys 
scamper among the hemlocks, picking out 
the one they think the best for us. Some¬ 
times I really think they look forward to 
this trip as much as to Christmas Day 
itself. It always winds up by each boy 
wanting a tree for his own and our bring¬ 
ing home a whole load. Eventually one 
goes into parlor and the others bank the 
house. For here in New England a par¬ 
lor has three uses—one for courtin’, one 
for entertaining the minister, and one for 
holding the Christmas tree. When father 
unhooks the horse from the wagon and 
the boys rush to the back door and 
scream in great excitement for “Moms” 
to come and see the tree, then the Christ¬ 
mas season has begun. 
Trimming The Tree. —Whatever may 
be the German way or whatever may be 
English way, or whatever may be the 
city way, the Pastoral Parson holds that 
the native way is to trim the tree with 
the presents themselves. When the gifts 
are put on the table and piano and win¬ 
dow sill, and the tree is loaded with 
blood-red gewgaws from the five and 10- 
cent store, those precious gifts are de¬ 
prived of their lawful rights. Half con¬ 
cealed among the branches, in the shadow 
of a big red swinging apple, the very 
hiddenness of those shining skates is half 
their joy. With the feeling of a Colum¬ 
bus, you discover them, gently you dis¬ 
entangle them, reverently you examine 
and adjust them, rapturously to every 
member of the family you exhibit them, 
and then when chores will wait no long¬ 
er, silently you steal back to the parlor 
to the Christmas tree, half sneakingly 
you place them again on that low bushy 
branch on the farther side, and when you 
steal back an hour later you make your¬ 
self think you have never seen them, you 
peer anxiously among the branches, you 
spy them in their shining and you drink 
again the brimming cup of your joy. 
Jack Knives And Christmas. —The 
Pastoral Parson told his oldest boy some 
time ago that it would be a long time be¬ 
fore he ever got him another knife. He 
had just lost the last one, having had it 
two days. How many the boys have lost, 
no one knows. I got a set one Christmas 
with chains on them, but to no use. But 
it wasn’t a week after I made the boy the 
above promise that he found me one day 
about the barn floor. “What you lost, 
papa?” said he. I had to confess. I had 
lost my knife. He didn’t say anything, 
but a thoughtful smile went over his 
face. Queer, how we’re all boys still! 
Of all the things I remember connected 
with Christmas trees on the old farm so 
many years ago nothing begins to stand 
out so vividly as those shining two-blad- 
ers, hanging on a string on the tree. 
And as the Pastoral Parson lingers in the 
parlor doorway Christmas morning, milk 
pail in hand, and sees his own boy stand¬ 
ing half dressed just as he used to 
stand, peering into the tree just as he 
used to peer, and radiantly reaching for 
the two-blader just as he used to reach— 
well, we won’t talk any more about it. 
The boy will get his knife. 
What To Buy The Children.— 
Something to carry to school. That’s 
what I said. Something to carry to 
school. Can’t you remember how the 
children came out to meet you on that 
first day after vacation and asked what 
you got for Christmas? I am not so 
sure but that a girl likes to name over 
gifts, but a boy doesn’t. He wants to 
draw from his pants’ pocket some glor¬ 
ious token to dazzle the gaze of his fel¬ 
lows. “Gee, but ain’t it a beaut!” Can’t 
you see his face as he hears those words? 
It is in his hand as lie marches into 
school. It is on top of his desk as he 
takes his seat. It meets his adoring 
gaze all the day long. How he whistles 
that night as he fills the wood box and 
tugs the skim-milk you have warmed over 
to the calves! Yes, whether it be that 
two-blader (with one blade just right 
for skinning skunks) or a dollar watch, 
with 25-cent chain, or a pocket flash, or 
a fountain pen, or a well-filled pencil box, 
it must be something the boy can take to 
school. A suit of clothes in the closet 
to a boy is a great gift—for his father! 
What Nor To Buy. —Have these 
cheap mechanical toys that get out of 
kilter before night any place on a farm? 
Is there any place for a boy’s brains with 
such toys? Is there anything of him¬ 
self in those toys? Any self expression? 
A child wants to make something, to 
accomplish something, himself. A child 
learns by doing as best he can what he 
sees someone else do. He loves this. A 
hammer and a small saw and soihe bright 
new nails and some grocers’ boxes make 
a fine present. One of the Pastoral Par¬ 
son's boys is about daft over electricity. 
All his spare time he monkeys with wires 
and lights and my old auto batteries. It 
bothers him cutting the wires and twist¬ 
ing them together. So I am going to get 
him a pair of lineman’s pliers. 
Christmas In The Country Church. 
—The one thing that stands out as a 
real and lasting joy in connection with 
the church and my boyhood days is get¬ 
ting the Christmas greens, and helping 
trim the church. Woe be to the country 
church that leaves its hillsides of spruce 
and hemlock and balsam and laurel and 
goes to buy those cheap paper trimmings. 
Get out the boys and start for the woods. 
By winding and twisting you won’t im¬ 
prove on God’s handiwork. Put a tree in 
each corner and many boughs round 
about upon the walls. Make it look real 
woodsey. How it will delight the chil¬ 
drens’ hearts! Can one ever forget those 
Christmas Eve services, when we had 
got the church all trimmed up so fine, 
and we boys cleaned out the big sled and 
put boards across for seats and plenty of 
straw in the bottom ! And how the loose 
ends of the trace chains jingled as we 
drove into the village! Beautiful religious 
pictures so inexpensive now, and if you 
can afford it, good books make the best 
presents for churches to give. 
A Present For Father From Moth¬ 
er. — I know Christmas is childrens’ day, 
but here is a gift that won’t cost money 
because it cannot be priced. Perhaps 
you have been a great housekeeper for 
father all these years. You chased dust 
and you’ve chased dirt and you’ve chased 
flies and some have chased the men folks 
to the neighbors and even to the saloons. 
You’ve pulled shades over the windows 
to save the carpets and pulled shadows 
over human hearts and lost their cheer. 
Now make your husband that greatest 
gift—a liomekeeper. Fix up that old sofa 
in the kitchen, pull out that easy rock¬ 
er from the parlor and make him the 
comfiest, cosiest, homesiest home in the 
world. 
A Present For Mother. —“If only 
once I had ever been told that all this 
hard work of all these years was appre¬ 
ciated,” said a woman of the Lonely 
Road last week. Quite likely it was ap¬ 
preciated in a certain way, but why not 
tell ber so? You love your wife of 
course, but how do you show it? Where 
are those little signs of affection you used 
to have? You needn’t give her a new 
pump this year or dogskin coat but give 
her that affection that a woman's heart 
will hunger for till time shall be no more. 
The Gift For All. —God announced 
His Christmas giftt to shepherds, to farm¬ 
ers. Out from the rush and strife of 
city streets, they alone had time to lis¬ 
ten, they alone had heart to hear. And 
He told them of the Peace of Heaven and 
the good will that IIis Christ had come 
to bring. May the tree that bears the 
presents bear the hallowing of peace in 
all our homes, and may good will among 
neighbors lie as a vesture over every 
valley and on every hill. 
“How silently, how silently, 
The wondrous gift is given! 
So God imparts to human hearts 
The blessings of IIis heaven. 
No ear may hear IIis coming, 
But in this world of sin, 
Where meek souls will receive Him still, 
The dear Christ enters in. 
“O Holy Child of Bethlehem! 
Descend to us, we pray; 
Cast out our sin, and enter in, 
Be born in us today. 
We hear the Christmas angels 
The great glad tidings tell; 
Oh come to us, abide with us, 
Our Lord Emmanuel.” 
Canning Clams 
On page 1410 I note inquiry how to 
can clams by C. D. C., and answer by 
Mrs. E. C. G. As I am a clam digger 
in the business of supplying a canning 
factory, I believe I can say with cer¬ 
tainty that that method will not be a 
success. The best method is to take fresh¬ 
ly dug clams, wash them clear of sand in 
salt water (never fresh), fill a wash 
boiler about half full of clams, and place 
over a hot fire and bring to a boil as 
quickly as possible. They must be cooked 
quickly. Continue the cooking until the 
cap or skin that covers the head of the 
clam can be removed easily, which should 
be in about five minutes. Add no more 
than a pint of water to boiler before 
placing over fire, as clams are at their 
best when cooked in their own juice. Re¬ 
move from fire and drain off all liquor, 
(be sure to save the liquor), and as soon 
as cool enough remove from shell, clip 
off black portion of head, and pack loose¬ 
ly, not tight, into cans or glass jars. 
Now take the juice in which clams were 
cooked, strain to remove any sand which 
may be in it, add an equal amount of 
boiling fresh water—clear juice is too 
salt and bitter for almost everyone’s taste 
—fill cans with this juice, seal and ster¬ 
ilize cans in boiling water as you would 
meat. It is important in cooking the 
clams in the boiler to bring them to a 
boil quickly, and also never to let them 
cool in the juice before removing from 
shell, as this will spoil them by turning 
them black. gerald k. Stanley. 
