Tbt RURAL. NEW-YORKER 
Counting tite Blessings.—W hen I 
broke mv eluirn I substituted, tempo¬ 
rarily. a syrup pail with a good, 
Shaking cream by hand to 
ter requires patience, 
tedium I sang a song 
tight, lid. 
brin" the but- 
To relieve the 
in rhythm to my 
movements. “Count Your Many Bless¬ 
ings ” that good, -old hymn sung by man\ 
different denominations, brought the but¬ 
ter best of nil, and left the churner in a 
cheerful frame of mind. 1 found that by 
moving about my anus were not made «o 
tired, so without any spoken plan the little 
children fell in behind me and we marched 
quietly through the house and back to 
the kitchen, singing together fount Your 
Many Blessings” while the butter 
Thereafter, until we bought 
churn, whenever I poured the 
into the bucket, one of the 
as 
I 
from 
came, 
the new 
thick cream 
chi la r .. would 
call : “Oh, come quick ! Mamma is going 
to count her blessings.” Sometimes 1 
think that if we were all compelled to 
count our many blessings once a day we 
should all be happier ourselves, and much 
pleasanter people to live with, andI every 
“grouch” should be compelled to churn 
out" his blessings until the spark ot grati¬ 
tude was lighted again in Ins heart. Lhe 
Bible speaks of “the uuforgiveable sin, 
and I have heard many versions of what 
this sin probably may be. Ingratitude 
would not be a bad guess. Lord, help me 
t .0 be grateful for the little things, even 
though some of the big ones may not be 
to my liking. We take the little things 
too much for granted. 
Harp Times in a Beautiful World. 
_Wheat is now only 66c a bushel, oats 
17c, and the farmers south of us were 
hailed out. the potato crop is half what 
it should be, the sugar beets are hardly 
paying for themselves, rust got our wheat, 
our clover seed blew into our neighbor’s 
field, and one man bad 60 acres of seed 
blown into the canal. It is hard times 
for the farmers of Idah >. Bast year was 
a hard year; this year is worse But the 
skies are just as blue, the sunset and sun¬ 
rise just as magnificent, the clouds 
fascinating as ever, and free to all. 
watch the panorama of the heavens 
my hilltop and thank Bod that He per¬ 
mits me to behold this beauty. I rise in 
the morning and go out under the starlit 
sky and raise my eyes in reverence to the 
vast sparkling arch above me. I watch 
with rapture the gradual change from 
night to the flush of dawn, with the dream 
lakes coining into sight among the clouds 
like mirage of an enchanted, land. We 
all stand at the dining-room window, 
leaving our breakfasts, to watch the won¬ 
ders in the east. Each child points out 
some new beauty that he or she has dis¬ 
covered. “Children,” I say. “you will 
never see anything more beautiful in the 
world, no matter where you go.” I never 
see the flood of rose and gold in the west 
as night draws near without giving 
thanks that I am allowed to witness the 
glory of another sunset. Sometimes I 
feel that my soul is forced to expand in 
order to absorb all this aut.v so freely 
given. This is a treeless country. I once 
took my children to another State, and 
they saw full-grown trees for the first 
time. One little fellow pointed with eyes 
grown suddenly wide: “What is that, 
mamma?” And my little girl criticised 
her brother’s drawing: “lie lias made a 
tree as tall as his house!” Yon can tell 
where the oldest farms are hereby looking 
across the valley from my hilltop _ and 
marking where the clumps of treeS hide a 
farmhouse—not more than half a dozen 
clumps at that. At this season the trees 
have lost their leaves, and as I look across 
the land to the east I see a line of skele¬ 
ton branches etched delicately against the 
rose of the sunset sky. I never see them 
thus without feeling deeply stirred. I 
cannot see the world’s great pictures, but 
I can see the very soul of nature here that 
moved men to make those pictures, and I 
thank God that my eyes are open to be¬ 
hold the wonders before them. 
Tiie Seeing Eye. —Bet ns be thankful 
for the good days with their ripe sun¬ 
light filled with the wine of youth for 
everybody, and let us look for beauty in 
the gray sky, and the sodden roads. If 
I could give a fairy gift to my children it 
would be that their eyes see beauty 
wherever they go (for, believe me, friend, 
beauty is always there!) and that they 
walk joyfully and thankfully under all 
conditions. I should have said only 
thankfully, for if they are truly thankful 
they must be joyful. If your heart has 
not springs of joy in it which overflow 
and make others happy around you, you 
are lacking in gratitude to your Maker. 
Gratitude for what? .Tust for the priv¬ 
ilege of being alive, if you can ftnd no 
other. I love to see the lights at night 
in the little homes as I ride on the road 
to town. I am always glad when the 
blinds are not lowered, and I am rude 
enough to try to see the families gathered 
about their tables at supper. It warms 
iny heart to see their little circles of love, 
and I think how good the Creator is to 
make it possible for all these people to 
live together in the happy communion of 
a home—a country home—isolated from 
the rest of the world, it is true, but sur¬ 
rounded by the quiet, sweet and innocent 
country air, far from the false excite¬ 
ment of the artificial cities. I am thank¬ 
ful that I was permitted to know the 
peace of the country home before the 
prison virus of the city had robbed me of 
the power to appreciate it. 
Farm Thanksgiving. —For those 
things am I thankful, O Bord, that Thou 
hast, opened mine eyes to the beautiful 
and the true before I have taken leave 
of this world. For I know that beauty 
and truth find their natural dwelling place 
on fho farm. And long-suffering, sacri¬ 
fice and patience also. I am thankful 
for all that is best in this farm life, and 
I pray for power to fight all that is 
wrong. The very thankfulness in my 
heart for what the country gives me 
makes me stronger in my desire that the 
farmer and his wife and children have 
justice done them. Some day we farm 
folks shall not only be thankful for all 
that nature gives us, but we shall be 
thankful for what the. world gives us 
when it wakes up and pays us a just price. 
So let us stand together and demand that 
the world give us what has long been due. 
With hearts filled with thankfulness let. 
us say: “This whole year I shall use my 
voice, my means, m.v vote to help make 
the world safe for the farmer, as well as 
for the other people, that, next Thanks¬ 
giving I may have even more to be thank¬ 
ful for.” It rests with ourselves to make 
the country the heaven that God meant 
hut she knows how to appreciate the lov¬ 
ing adoration of these childish arms. The 
best part of living, it seems, is to be able 
to appreciate these things while wo have 
them, before they are gone. At least so 
grandmother says. 
Winter .Toys. —Now it is that I pity 
those folk bound up in great cities, who 
cannot feel the romance of coming Win¬ 
ter. Outside the clouds arc heavy with 
snow and sleet—such a background for a 
glowing fire. And tire has ceased to be 
merely a medium for stewing or frying. 
It becomes God's wonderful gift to man. 
and the everlasting mystery of the uni¬ 
verse intrigues in its dancing flame. 
Tiger George, wild-eyed and uncertain, 
will testify to that; the eight of an open 
fire changes him from an intelligent house 
cat to a dangerous animal with pri¬ 
mordial instincts. Sometimes I am al¬ 
most forced to think that George sees 
strange 'things in the fire that we are not 
permitted to look upon. 
Tiie Wonderful Snow. — The man 
from Florida has decided to stay North 
and see what a real Winter looks like, 
lie has never seen a snowdrift, felt the 
tang of zero weather. “Snow looks just 
like cotton floating down through the air,” 
says he, in a surprised toue. “I’ve seen 
what we thought was snow befoali. but we 
nevah had anything like this. What we 
had must have been frost.” As for felt 
boots and heavy woolens, he had never 
seen them. The furnace is a curiosity. 
Iu our day it was usually the boy who turned the handle of the 
the man held down hard on the ax or scythe. From this picture 
time has come when youth will be served. 
grindstone, while 
it seems that the 
This shows Mr. 
pie foundation, 
pies—every one 
and Mrs. James F. Randall with a crop of what they call pumpkin 
There are pumpkins enough in this pile to make a long string of 
representing a key to temporary happiness. The pumpkin crop 
seems to have been immensely large this year. 
it to be, or just a place where we slave 
out our lives while others live at ease on 
our life blood. I am thankful, O my 
brothers, and sisters, for the mercies I 
have received, but I am not satisfied, 
want justice. 
ANNIE PIKE GREENWOOD. 
1 
“Happy Thanksgiving” 
“Over the meadow and through the woods 
To grandmother’s house we go” 
Sings Elsie, fondling the foolish yellow¬ 
faced pumpkin that grins from a dark 
corner of evenings. “Mother, don’t you 
think he looks awfully happy tonight?” 
I cannot but agree, though I feel sure 
that it is only the reflection of the little 
girl’s happiness that brings the semblance 
of gladness to the pumpkin. We are 
really going to grandmother’s house on 
Thanksgiving Day. 
Greeting Grandmother. — There 
seems to be a magic in the words of the 
song that sends a delicious thrill up the 
spine. It suggests a big, fat goose lying 
sizzling in the roasting pan, legs sticking 
up in mute protest, long neck curved 
around to one side to meet accommoda¬ 
tions. Bittle grandmother always basts 
the big bird herself, and as she opens the 
oven door the soft, hot air whishes un 
and stirs the fluffy gray curls about her 
face and neck. Then her back is so in¬ 
viting that before she knows what is hap¬ 
pening little, soft arms steal around her 
neck from behind. If grandmother is not 
prepared she almost loses her equilibrium, 
she answers, unex- 
silent elders cannot 
strange things these 
1383 
open fireplace, which is of brick from floor 
to ceiling. This fireplace is the result of 
many conferences with the brick mason, 
as to proportions and design, but I think 
it well worth the time and thought spent. 
We had been told that 9!) out of every 
100 do not burn satisfactorily, and it. was 
not until the first fire was started that 
we knew it would he a success. Modern 
chimneys are equipped with a damper, so 
that when not in use the rush of cold air 
may be shut off. This will hardly be de¬ 
sirable, _ except in the coldest weather, 
for this* ventilation is greatly needed for 
the health of the family, especially with 
a hot-air furnace. The germs of a con¬ 
tagious diseases, such as a cold, it is said, 
(‘an obtain much better foothold where the 
memranes of the nose and throat are dried 
by the hot-air system. 
The Breakfast Room. —What I hope 
will be the handiest room of the house B 
the little breakfast room off the kitchen. 
The table and chairs will take up three- 
quarters of the space in the further end. 
and just inside the door is a cupboard 
for the necessary dishes. It is often a 
temptation to breakfast in the kitchen on 
cold Winter mornings, and many the 
housewife who has wished for a larger 
kitchen on this account. So, though 
daddy may laugh at my fancies and pre¬ 
dict. that my breakfast room will turn out 
to be a wash-room and clothes-room, l 
fool quite sure of myself. Really, I am 
going to find it, a fine place to wash, down 
cellar. 
A Child’s Reverence. —It has begun 
to snow against the window panes, light, 
soft flakes, that stick as they fall. Daddy 
comes in like a snow man, and little Jane 
hops in excitement. “Oh, don’t brush it 
off ” she cries. 
“Why?” asks he. 
“It’s from God,” 
pectedly. And we 
gainsay it. What 
youngsters say! 
Pleasures of Home. —The man from 
Florida is taking out a long pan of roast¬ 
ed peanuts, and their aroma fills the air. 
mingling with the faint scent of burning 
pine from the fireplace. Mother knows 
where there is candy, and dadl.v is bring¬ 
ing up some fine, sweet cider, fresh from 
the press. Elsie has started the victrola. 
picking a record at random, which turns 
out to be “I Eovo to Be a Sailor,” a jolly 
song by a jolly Scotchman. No one can 
have gloomy thoughts here tonight. Even 
George consents to sit by the fire, as he 
can shove his nose under mv elbow and 
not see the blaze. Isn’t it fine to be all 
here? 
The Feast Day.— Tomorrow we must 
be about early, for grandmother’s house is 
many miles away. It will be a cold 
drive, but the gladness of little grand¬ 
mother’s face is to be our reward. We 
shall pass this way but once. The pea¬ 
nuts are fine, and as we shell them I re¬ 
member that if Elsie, little Jane and I 
had not harvested them they would be 
out under the snow tonight. Among 
Northern people a few bushels of peanuts 
are indeed a treasure, for few of us know 
how to grow them to get results. The 
poor cotton plant out in the garden was 
overtaken by cold weather and did not 
burst a boll. Down cellar in plant jars 
are certain bulbs making root, so that we 
may have Spring flowers in Winter. The 
man from Florida, who loves to see things 
grow, is pleased at the prospect of brimr¬ 
ing them into flower—tulips, daffodils 
and hyacinths. The wind is coming up 
and blows against the house in fierce, 
sudden little gusts. Perhaps the snow¬ 
storm will be blown away. A little way 
above the horizon the stars are peeping 
out faintly—it may be fair tomorrow. 
Happy Thanksgiving Day. and may it 
be a long and bright one. little Jane is 
very drowsy from watching the flames, 
bue she murmurs “Happy Thanksgiving.” 
MRS. F. II. UNGER. 
and the coal fire which burns 12 hours 
without replenishing is a wonderful sav¬ 
ing of time and labor. And after three 
months in the garage we are very much 
inclined to agree with him that these are 
worth being thankful for. 
Cold Quarters. —It is asconishing bow 
those months in temporary quarters have 
chastened our spirit of disdain for just 
ordinary comforts. There were long con¬ 
tinuous cracks in the woodshed that let 
in freezing drafts of outdoors, and some¬ 
times a flake of snow drifted through to 
fall with a hiss on the hot stove. We 
wore our overcoats from morning until 
night, and little Jane, masquerading as 
a Teddy bear, was the only one who did 
not complain of the cold. It required a 
strong character to undress and go to bed, 
and a still stronger one to get up iu the 
morningj October was /bad enough, but 
November was even more so. We hoped 
in vain for those nine days of Indian 
Summer; they were not. Bong, dark, 
damp days and plenty of ’em. An army 
of mice came to live with us. One morn¬ 
ing I found four in a pan of milk, float¬ 
ing nicely, their ears poking up from the 
cream! 
The Season of Thanks. —So Thanks¬ 
giving Eve finds us with hearts full of 
gratitude for just heat and shelter. The 
furnace men were here yesterday, and 
the plaster man has finished. We have 
moved in. though the top flooring is not 
yet laid, and there is no paper on the 
walls. It will be possible, I think, to do 
this work during the Winter. The chil¬ 
dren are most pleased, I think, with the 
Blind Canary Reaches Age of Twenty-one 
If you were totally blind and getting 
old and couldn’t see the faces of dear 
friends, nor the green trees and 
would you sit and sing all day 
never whimper or get blue? 
just what “Pete” is doing and 
for many a month, and that’s 
ones and 
blue sky, 
long and 
That’s 
has done 
how he celebrated his Birthday last Fri¬ 
day (September 10), when he was just 
21 years old. “Pete” is a black and yel¬ 
low canary bird belonging to Mrs. Sarah 
Clarke, Iladdonfield, N. J. To her. 
“Pete” is as dear and “human” as any 
member of the family. “Pete” was hatched 
at Palmyra, N. J., and presented to Mrs. 
Clarke 21 years ago. Since that time he 
has traveled from coast to coast and 
through practically every State. John M. 
McClelland, a brother of Mrs. Clarke, at¬ 
tributes “Pete’s” long life to a practice 
of hanging his cage in the sunlight and 
of having every member of the household 
talk to him. “Pete” often came out of 
his cage and sat on our shoulders and 
ate out of our hands; if we had ice cream 
he would come to each of us when his 
name was called. If one brought home 
a package, he was never satisfied until 
he knew what it contained. When he 
heard the phonograph, or a street organ, 
he would do his best to outsing them. He 
is always cheerful. Now that he is 
blind our practice of talking to him is 
beginning to tell, and he is perfectly satis¬ 
fied as long as he an hear our voices. 
EDWIN F. CARSON. 
Bady (to newsboy) : “You don’t chew 
tobacco, do you. little boy?” Newsie: 
“No. mum, but I kin give yer a cigarette 
if you want one.”—Credit Lost. 
