1810 tot RURAL. NEW-YORKER 
Pastoral Parson and His Country Folks 
By Rev. George B. Gilbert 
Thanksgiving. —It would seem that 
the word Thanksgiving is from the word 
"thinkgiving,” or to give thought about 
anything. To think about a great many 
things we have will lead to thanks about 
a great many things we have. To think 
about people who have not a great many 
things they should have will also lead to 
a great deal of thankfulness. “Blessed is 
he that considereth the poor and needy ; 
the lx)rd will remember him in the time 
of trouble.” The psalmist knew perfect¬ 
ly well that an abundance of thought in 
the brain would surely run over and 
cause much good doing of the hand. To¬ 
day, on the way down to the old church, 
we stopped at a little farm way down by 
Boueha’e Corners, where lives the little 
widow woman and her three children, 
ller husband died rather suddenly about 
a month ago, and it is one of the saddest 
cases we have had to handle. Some years 
ago they came out from New York, the 
man then broken in health, and the hard 
work of the farm made him worse, rather 
than better. There is a mortgage of 
,$1,200 on the place. She does not seem 
to have a relative in the world to look 
to or to help her. Two weeks ago, with 
the old horse and the children, she came 
over to the church—four miles—the 
church to which she and her husband 
came over for weeks before and had such 
a good time and were so happy together. 
All the way that night up the road with 
old horse Jim, the Parson kept thinking 
of that little, frail and bent woman com¬ 
ing home with her little children that 
night—the house cold and empty, calves 
blatting in the grass lot by the barn, the 
pigs calling loudly for their supper—all 
the scurrying and hurrying that awaits 
you when you’ve been gone all day— 
and alone to do it all. 
Tiik Church. — As Old Jim pulled 
steadily up the loug hill by Peeden Place 
the Parson thought of that time when the 
• Master stood between the rich young 
ruler and the poor, and in his look he 
said: “Here arc the unfortunate in 
their need; here are you in your abund¬ 
ance. What are you going to do about 
it?” Here was the Parson and the little 
church and his other churches and mis¬ 
sions, and here was this little woman, 
hurrying and worrying, and crying, all 
the same time—and what was going to 
be done about it? If there ever was a 
real fcGfct- of whether belonging to a 
church really means anything, here was 
one. 
The Estate.— The first thing that evi¬ 
dently would be a worry and care to this 
woman was the estate. It would, of 
course, have to go through all the legali¬ 
ties and formalities, whether it footed up 
to a million or down to that terrible mort¬ 
gage. IIow was she ever going to get 
over to the probate office, full eight miles 
away? To begin at once to do little 
things might be a good deal better than 
to spend a loug time talking about big 
things. So the Parson ’phoned to that 
probate office and arranged for her com¬ 
ing. So he wrote the little woman that 
a near-by auto would come and take her 
over and wait for her and bring her back. 
And there were other things of which 
the Parson assured her—but as to that, 
some other time. 
The Brightest Spot. —Really the 
bright spot in her recent memory of him 
would seem to be his recent connection 
with the church. “Seems «o bad,” she 
said, “that he had to die now. He had 
just heard about this church over here.” 
Their family rides together over to the 
church for the day with the social dinner 
and all had meant so much to him. On 
his first visit he heard the Parson give 
notice that that church stood there to do 
any kind of errand-—to buy anything, to 
sell anything, for anybody. He wanted 
a school bus; wo got it for him, and it 
cost him nothing at that. He wanted 
potato spray; we had it. When he died 
we were looking for a harness for him, 
and would have had it the next Sunday. 
Another Woman. —And while the 
Parson was being thinlcful and thankful 
and thoughtful over many things, he 
thought, of another little woman, so pale 
and white, far off to the southward more 
than 30 miles. She, too, had faced the 
work and the toil and the worry and the 
mortgage—and they had been too much 
for her. And the terrible white plague 
that took the strong right arm away from 
the woman down on Bousha’s Corners is 
fast taking the mother of five children— 
twin girls—away. She cannot hear any 
more—hear the patter of their feet down¬ 
stairs any more, for her hearing is gone. 
She cannot walk any more, talk baby talk 
to those baby twins any more, for her 
voice has gone. And all the eight weeks 
she had lain there she had been thinking 
of them ; of what would become of them. 
And the Parson took a pad and pencil 
and he wrote: “We will do the utter- 
moot to help take care of your children.” 
The “we” stood for the Parson and his 
mission there. How much the .Parson 
will do and how much the mission will 
do does not matter. He handed her the 
words upon the paper—and he meant 
what he said. 
They Came Again. —It is Sunday night 
that the Parson is writing. Mother is 
playing and singing at the piano; Shel¬ 
ley is carrying along the bass by her side. 
The Parson got home earlier today, so as 
to get off this letter to the great It. N.-Y r . 
family. What a good time we had down 
to the old church today. The Farm Bu¬ 
reau Agent was with us; he helped the 
Parson build the fire and ring the bell. 
The Parson had not had time to send out 
cards or do much to notify the scattering 
people. It was cold and the ground was 
frozen. “Doubt if we get many out to¬ 
day,” said the Parson, as the Ford low- 
geared up Pea Hill. We had a large 
stove In the back of the car for the old 
two-chimney house. We put the stove in 
the sitting room—12 miles out from town, 
and then went down to church. Yes, 
they did come—and kept coming. Both 
the long tables were full, and even the 
ends of the tables, when we sat down to 
dinner. After dinner we had our service, 
and after the service the Farm Bureau 
Agent talked to ue and answered many 
questions, and we made arrangements to 
have our own booth—our own church 
booth—at the annual county corn show. 
Sunday Company. — As the Parson 
looks back over the Summer it seems that 
there has been but one service (we gen¬ 
erally have one every two weeks) that 
there have not been guests down to the 
old church. Isn’t there a terrible same¬ 
ness to most of our church services? The 
best of preachers run along in about the 
same line, stressing the same things, week 
after week; yes, in the same tone of voice. 
If we cannot change this, and it would 
appear to be rather difficult, what a boon 
to our people to have others with new and 
fresh messages come in and speak to them. 
Next trip down, in three weeks, the presi¬ 
dent of the Farm Bureau is to be with 
us for the day. He will be with us at 
the morning service, at the dinner, at the 
conclave on the sunny side of the horse 
sheds, and will speak to us in the after¬ 
noon. 
Extremes Meet. —This man is rich, 
very rich. He drives a line car; ho 
farms it, but not because he has to. His 
home knows not the voice of children. 
Instead of one horse tugging at the plow 
among the rocks, big tractors turn his 
long, long furrows. There is no ’phone 
among these who come to this church, 
but the. Parson notes three under this 
man’s name. So surely extremes will 
meet, and both parties will learn, and 
it will do good to both of them. 
That Furnace. —The Parson has just 
come up from the cellar. The greatest 
worry he has really had about this place 
was the “Cellar. It ws most alwa.v« wet. 
To be sure, it had been concreted before 
we bought the place, but the water would 
spurt up through the cement just like 
Spring mud through barefoot toes. There 
was a tile drain from the cellar down to 
the brook, so that the water never got 
deep; it was simply wet all the time in 
the Spring and after every big rain. 
Something had to be done before that 
pipeless furnace came, so we ’phoned in 
for a atone mason and contractor to 
come out and tell us what to do with the 
cellar. We had much advice, all of which 
required more expensive tile. This man 
came right out and looked over the whole 
proposition. “Out about a foot and a 
half from the wall dig a ditch clear 
around the cellar, the width of a shovel 
and a good foot iu depth. Fill this ditch 
up with cobblestones. Do not cement it 
over, or put in any tile. Let the ditch 
open, of course, into the drain in the 
corner of the cellar.” Well, we went at 
it one day in vacation, and it was quite a 
job. We put a ladder over the hatch¬ 
way door against the house, and pulled 
up the mud and stones, and with tackle 
blocks, and dumped right into the wagon. 
Then we filled the ditch with cobble¬ 
stones, and went over them with a sledge 
—just leveling them off a bit. 
Wet or Dry. —The wet on that cellar 
bottom had so pestered the Parson that 
he might well have become a wet for sure 
if it had kept up forever. It seemed to 
him that really it would be too good to 
be true to have it really dry after a big 
rain. Then one day there came the rain 
—a terrific storm. The Parson hardly 
dared to go downstairs. Mrs. Parson 
went down for some potatoes. “How is 
the cellar?” he asked. “So dry, it’s fairly 
white,” she calmly remarked. The Par¬ 
son persisted she was fooling. Then he 
went to see for himeelf. He fairly danced 
on that concrete, it was so dry. He 
peered down among those cobblestones. 
There was that water—he could see it— 
trickling along toward the drain, lie 
ran down to the mouth of the drain. If 
there wasn’t a clear, good stream running 
into the brook, instead of the bottom of 
his shoes. 
That Furnace. —But it isn’t because 
the Parson can go down cellar in cloth 
slippers that he has been down there. 
He has been down looking at that new 
pipeless furnace. It has just been set up, 
and the boys built a fire iu it before the 
Parson came home. It does seem to be 
quite a thing; nooks and corners and 
back rooms that never had the chill off 
before seem to be as cosy as you please. 
Colder weather will tell the story better, 
and we will see what it can do. If it can 
save Mrs. Parson the work and dirt that 
went with three coal stoves all last Win¬ 
ter (three besides the kitchen stove), it 
will be.a wonderful help. We have only 
one ton of coal in the cellar, but the deal¬ 
ers claim there will be plenty before that 
is gone. 
Reudie Again. —Some of the readers 
will remember the • picture of Itoddie’s 
babies last Spring. When her pigs were 
about five weeks old she was seized with 
paralysis, caused, wo are told, by heavy 
feeding and little exercise. She recov¬ 
ered from this, and now has a fine family 
of 10 small Reddies. This time we give 
her a big yard to run in, and she roots, 
roots all day long. We believe this will 
keep her from having any such troub’e 
again. Six pigs are already sold for $5 
each. This *$<’10 will buy 150 11**. of 
dressed pork. If the others sell it would 
moan 250 lbs. of pork, much-easier gotten 
November 27, 1020 
this way than by raising—at least, it 
would seem so to the Parson. Of the two 
litters, Reddie has never killed or in¬ 
jured a single one, nor shown the slight¬ 
est objection to little Sit or little Clossie 
or anyone else catching her babies and 
carrying them all off if they want to. So 
it looks as though we would take the pig 
money and buy the pork and winter Red¬ 
die over again as a more or less per¬ 
manent member of the family. 
That New Church. —As some will 
remember last year, in a small village, 
we started a new kind of church. We 
have had a^ great time getting this church 
as we wanted it, and had done much 
hard work in getting the money to pay 
for it. How this church experiment is 
working out is quite a story in itself, and 
will have to be left till another time. 
We cleaned up $75 at the food tent on 
the day of the local fair. The Pardon 
was cooking all-hots at the far end of the 
tent when he overheard a stranger talk¬ 
ing with the ladies at the counter. “Is 
your minister here?” he asked. “‘Yes; 
he’s that man back there,” they said. 
“Oh, ho! That’s the man, is it, that 
looks after you all to make you behave?” 
“Looks after us,” answered one of the 
women. “Hardly; it’s all the whole of 
us can do to look after him.” 
From Connecticut to California 
Part I. 
The Long Trail. —Just two months 
have become history since we packed 
our car with the long road to travel from 
“coast to coast,” thus being painted on 
each side of the car as well as “Con¬ 
necticut to California” across the back. 
We were told by tourists that they had 
to remove any signs showing that they 
were travelling, as prices for gasoline and 
supplies were higher for them than the 
inhabitants. We did not find this so in 
our case, or if we were overcharged we 
did not know it, so “ignorance was bliss.” 
We arrived in Long Beach, Oct 7. mak¬ 
ing 53 days since leaving “Hillerest.” 
Only 33 days were spent in actual travel, 
the other time being taken for sight-see¬ 
ing or laid up for repairs. In referring 
to my diary I fi*d 40 days were clear, six: 
partly cloudy, and two showery. We 
had no rainstorms or the terrible thun¬ 
der showers we could see taking place 
off in the distance. 
The Roads. —Our first camp was 
made in a shower. Our only other ex¬ 
perience with rain was outside Lincoln, 
Neb., when it rained sufficiently to make 
the roads as slippery as though paved 
with grease. It only takes a few hours 
for roads to dry out. We had wondered 
why roads were made so wide but de¬ 
cided it was to give the car plenty of 
room to skid without going into the ditch. 
Many tourists spend the night in the 
ditch; they get mired and with night com¬ 
ing on it is difficult to get someone to 
haul them out. The travelling autoist is 
usually very considerate of another’s dif¬ 
ficulty, for he does not know before 
he has gone the length of his car but 
what he may be in need of assistance. 
We did not have much car trouble until 
after leaving Denver; from there on one 
gets the mountainous passes and rough 
going. Distances are so great between 
towns in New Mexico and Arizona that 
it seems impossible to keep the roads in 
good condition. There were better roads 
crossing the Mojave Desert than usually 
found in the above States. One would 
have difficulty in passing over the desert 
with a heavy car if the roads were not 
oiled, as sand is so deep. 
Sightseeing. —We visited Niagara 
Falls, camping one night in Canada. The 
ride that takes one the length of Lake 
Erie, gives occasional glimpses of the 
water and on either side of the road are 
acres of vineyards under fine cultivation. 
The Lake Sho>-e drive into Cleveland is 
lovely, some of the finest residences seen 
on the trio being on this drive. Tho 
Roosevelt National Highway was trav¬ 
elled until Ligonier, Ind. was reached, 
where it linked up with the Lincoln 
Highway. This was followed to Omaha, 
Neb., and is badly worn out in places, 
having been Used to haul army supplies 
during the war. . 
The Western Reserve.— On entering 
Northwestern Ohio we passed through 
the territory that was settled by the 
Western Reserve Co., of Connecticut. 
The town of Conneaut has an unusual 
feature in a viaduct 2,700 feet across; a 
small toll is charged. Several viaducts 
which span deep valleys were crossed in 
Ohio. We crossed the Mississippi at 
Fulton and Clinton which is also a toll 
bridge. Water was very low in all rivers, 
creeks being completely dry. which was 
fortunate as many of them have no 
bridges, just a cement ford. 
The Corn Belt. —Illinois, Iowa and 
Eastern Nebraska are the great corn- 
raising States. One rides for daye and 
seldom secs anything growing but corn, 
and such corn! Thousands of hogs are 
raised on the Alfalfa fields all through 
the Middle States. The Missouri was 
crossed at Council Bluffs into Omaha. 
This is a busy city built on very rolling 
land ; one is constantly going up one hill 
and down another for miles after leaving 
Omaha, and tips is especially difficult 
during wet weather. Outrtide Lincoln 
we had our fir«t exnerieuoo with muddy 
roads and it was bad travelling nnt’l wo 
readied Colorado where many of the 
roads have been surfaced with decom¬ 
posed granite rock. MRS. w. E. H. 
