Sibylla's opportunity came rather unexpectedly. The gentle, mild-mannered Professor was on good terms with his sturdy, energetic neighbor, John Landis, and frequently visited him for a neighborly chat. On this particular day he called as usual and found Sibvlla in the mood described.

"Good afternoon, Sibylla," said the Professor, good-naturedly. "How are you today?"

"I'd be a whole lot better if some people weren't so smart," replied Sibylla, venting her feelings on the broom. "Should think a Perfesser would feel himself too big to talk to a 'servant'."

"On the contrary, my dear girl, I feel honored. I presume you are not feeling as well as usual. What makes you think it is condescension for me to address you?" asked the genial old man, kindly.

"Well, since you ask me, I don't mind a-tellin' you. Yesterday your son insulted me, I won't take no insult from nobody, I am just as good as what you are, even if I hain't got much book larnin'."

With this deliverance, Sibylla felt she had done full justice to the occasion and would have closed the interview abruptly had not the Professor, with a restraining hand, detained her.

"We must get to the bottom of this grievance, Sibylla. I am sure there is some mistake somewhere. What did my son say?"

"Well, if you want to know," replied the irate domestic, 'I'll tell you. He called me a 'servant.' I know I'm only a working girl, but your son nor nobody else ain't got no right to abuse me by callin' me a 'servant'."

"Ah! I see. You object to the term 'servant' being applied to you," said the Professor, comprehendingly. "The word 'servant' is distasteful to you. You feel it is a disgrace to be called a servant. I see! I see!" In a fatherly way, the old man resumed: "In a certain sense we are all servants. The history of human achievements is a record of service. The men and women who have helped the world most were all servants—servants to humanity. The happiest man is he who serves. God calls some men to sow and some to reap; some to work in wood and stone; to sing and speak. Work is honorable in all, regardless of the capacity in which we serve. There is no great difference, after all, between the ordinary laborer and the railroad president; both are servants, and the standard of measurement to be applied to each man is the same. It is not so much a question of station in life as it is the question of efficiency. Best of all, work is education. There is culture that comes without college and university. He who graduates from the college of hard work is as honorable as he who takes a degree at Yale or Harvard; for wisdom can be found in shop and foundry, field and factory, in the kitchen amid pots and kettles, as well as in office and school. The truly educated man is the man who has learned the duty and responsibility of doing something useful, something helpful, something to make this old world of ours better and a happier place in which to live. The word 'servant,' Sibylla, is a beautiful one, rightly understood. The greatest man who ever lived was a servant. All His earthly ministry was filled with worthy deeds. When man pleaded with Him to rest, He answered: 'My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.' When one of Christ's followers desired to express the true nature of his work and office, he called himself a servant. He used a word, 'doulos,' which means, in the Greek language, a slave or a bond-servant. By the word 'doulos' he meant to say that his mission in life was to work, to do good, to serve. This man was a great preacher, but it is possible for any one to become a 'doulos' in so far as he is willing to serve God and his fellowman. You see, Sibylla, the spirit of Christian work and brotherly love is the spirit of 'doulos.' The word has been transformed by service and unselfish devotion to duty. Great men who have blessed the world, and good and noble women who have helped to uplift humanity, have done it through service. It is just as honorable to bake well, and cook well, and to do the humblest daily tasks efficiently, as it is to play well on the piano and talk fluently about the latest books."

At the conclusion of the Professor's little talk on the dignity of labor, a new light shone in Sibylla's eyes and a new thought gripped her soul. The spirit of "doulos" had displaced her antipathy toward the word servant.

"I'll take that butter over to the Professer's home right away," she said, to herself.

Before leaving Sibylla, the Professor quoted from the "Toiling of Felix," by Henry Vandyke:

"Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod, All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of God, March together toward His triumph, do the task His hands prepare; Honest toil is holy service, faithful work is praise and prayer."

They who work without complaining, do the holy will of God.

Heaven is blest with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil.

Sibylla Linsabigler was a healthy, large-boned, solidly-built, typical "Pennsylvania German" girl. Her clear, pinkish complexion looked as if freshly scrubbed with soap and water. A few large, brown freckles adorned the bridge of her rather broad, flat nose. She possessed red hair and laughing, red-brown eyes, a large mouth, which disclosed beautiful even, white teeth when she smiled, extraordinary large feet and hands, strong, willing and usually good-natured, although possessed of a quick temper, as her red hair indicated. Kind-hearted to a fault, she was of great assistance to Aunt Sarah, although she preferred any other work to that of cooking or baking. She kept the kitchen as well as other parts of the house, to quote Aunt Sarah, "neat as a pin," and did not object to any work, however hard or laborious, as long as she was not expected to do the thinking and planning. She was greatly attached to both Aunt Sarah and Mary, but stood rather in awe of John Landis, who had never spoken a cross word to her in the three years she had lived at the farm.

Sarah Landis, knowing Sibylla to be an honest, industrious girl, appreciated her good qualities, thought almost as much of Sibylla as if she had been her daughter, and treated her in like manner, and for this reason, if for no other, she received willing service from the girl.

Sibylla, a swift worker at all times, never finished work so quickly as on Wednesday and Saturday evenings, when she "kept company" with Jake Crouthamel. "Chake," as Sibylla called him, was a sturdy, red-faced young farmer, all legs and arms. He appeared to be put together loosely at the joints, like a jumping-jack, and never appeared at ease in his ill-fitting "store clothes." He usually wore gray corduroy trousers and big cowhide boots, a pink and white striped shirt and red necktie.

Sibylla did not notice his imperfections, and thought him handsome as a Greek god.

Jake, an honest, industrious young fellow, worked on a near-by farm, owned his own carriage, and had the privilege of using one of the farm horses when he wished, so he and Sibylla frequently took "choy rides," as Sibylla called them.

Jake Crouthamel was usually called "Boller-Yockel," this name having been accorded him on account of his having delivered to a purchaser a load of hay largely composed of rag-weed. The man called him an old "Boller-Yockel," and the name had clung to Jake for years.



CHAPTER XI.

"NEW COLONIAL" RAG RUGS.

Several days had elapsed since that on which Mary's Aunt had planned to use the contents of her trunk to such good advantage, when Mary, coming into the room where her Aunt was busily engaged sewing, exclaimed: "Don't forget, Auntie, you promised to teach me to crochet rag rugs!"



"Indeed, I've not forgotten, and will make my promise good at once," said Aunt Sarah. "We shall need quantities of carpet rags cut about one-half inch in width, the same as those used for making rag carpet. Of course, you are aware, Mary, that heavier materials should be cut in narrower strips than those of thinner materials. You will also require a long, wooden crochet needle, about as thick as an ordinary wooden lead pencil, having a hook at one end, similar to a common bone crochet needle, only larger. For a circular rug, crochet about twelve stitches (single crochet) over one end of a piece of candle wick or cable cord; or, lacking either of these, use a carpet rag of firm material; then draw the crocheted strip into as small a circle as possible, fasten and crochet round and round continuously until finished. The centre of a circular or oblong rug may be a plain color, with border of colored light and dark rags, sewed together promiscuously, called 'Hit and Miss.'



"Or you might have a design similar to a 'Pin-wheel' in centre of the circular rug, with alternate stripes, composed of dark and light-colored rags."

"I'd like one made in that manner from different shades that harmonize, browns and tans, for instance," said Mary.

"You may easily have a rug of that description," continued her Aunt. "With a package of brown dye, we can quickly transform some light, woolen carpet rags I possess into pretty shades of browns and tans."



"For a circular rug, with design in centre resembling a pin-wheel, commence crocheting the rug same as preceding one. Crochet three rows of one color, then mark the rug off into four parts, placing a pin to mark each section or quarter of the rug. At each of four points crochet one stitch of a contrasting shade. Crochet once around the circle, using a shade similar to that of the centre of rug for design, filling in between with the other shade. For the following row, crochet two stitches beneath the one stitch (not directly underneath the stitch, but one stitch beyond), filling in between with the other color. The third row, add three stitches beneath the two stitches in same manner as preceding row, and continue, until design in centre is as large as desired, then crochet 'Hit or Miss' or stripes. Do not cut off the carpet rags at each of the four points after crocheting stitches, but allow each one to remain and crochet over them, then pick up on needle and crochet every time you require stitches of contrasting shade. Then crochet several rows around the rug with different shades until rug is the required size. The under side should be finished off as neatly as the right, or upper side. Mary, when not making a design, sew the rags together as if for weaving carpet. When crocheting circular rugs, occasionally stretch the outside row to prevent the rug from curling up at edges when finished, as it would be apt to do if too tightly crocheted. If necessary, occasionally add an extra stitch. Avoid also crocheting it too loosely, as it would then appear like a ruffle. The advantage of crocheting over a heavy cord is that the work may be easily drawn up more tightly if too lose."



CHAPTER XII.

MARY IMITATES NAVAJO BLANKETS.

On her return from an afternoon spent at Professor Schmidt's, Mary remarked to Aunt Sarah, "For the first time in my life I have an original idea!"

"Do tell me child, what it is!"

"The 'New Colonial' rag rugs we have lately finished are fine, but I'd just love to have a Navajo blanket like those owned by Professor Schmidt; and I intend to make a rag rug in imitation of his Navajo blanket."

"Yes," answered her Aunt, "I have always greatly admired them myself, especially the large gray one which covers the Professor's own chair in the library. The Professor brought them with him when he returned from 'Cutler's Ranch' at Rociada, near Las Vegas, New Mexico, where he visited his nephew, poor Raymond, or rather, I should say, fortunate Raymond, an only child of the Professor's sister. A quiet, studious boy, he graduated at the head of his class at an early age, but he inherited the weak lungs of his father, who died of consumption. Raymond was a lovable boy, with a fund of dry humor and wit—the idol of his mother, who, taking the advice of a specialist, accompanied her boy, as a last resort, to New Mexico, where, partly owing to his determination to get well, proper food and daily rides on the mesa, on the back of his little pinto pony, he regained perfect health, and today is well, happily married and living in Pasadena, California, so I have been told by Frau Schmidt, who dearly loves the boy."

"But Mary, forgive an old woman for rambling away from the subject in which you are interested—Navajo blankets. Ever since we planned to make a rug with a swastika in the centre, I nave been trying to evolve from my brain (and your Uncle John says my bump of inventiveness is abnormally large) a Navajo rag rug for the floor of the room you intend to furnish as Ralph's den, in the home you are planning. Well, my dear, a wooden crochet hook in your deft fingers will be the magic wand which will perform a miracle and transform into Navajo blankets such very commonplace articles as your discarded gray eiderdown kimona, and a pair of your Uncle's old gray trousers, which have already been washed and ripped by Sibylla, to be used for making carpet rags. These, combined with the gray skirt I heard you say had outlived its day of usefulness, will furnish the background of the rug. The six triangles in the centre of the rug, also lighter stripes at each end of the rug, we will make of that old linen chair-cover and your faded linen skirt, which you said I might use for carpet rags; and, should more material be needed, I have some old, gray woolen underwear in my patch bag, a gray-white, similar to the real Navajo. The rows of black with which we shall outline the triangles may be made from those old, black, silk-lisle hose you gave me, by cutting them round and round in one continuous strip. Heavy cloth should be cut in very narrow strips. Sibylla will do that nicely; her hands are more used to handling large, heavy shears than are yours. The linen-lawn skirt you may cut in strips about three-fourths of an inch in width, as that material is quite thin. I would sew rags of one color together like carpet rags, not lapping the ends more than necessary to hold them together. The rug will be reversible, both sides being exactly alike when finished. I should make the rug about fifty-three stitches across. This will require about six and one-fourth yards of carpet rags, when sewed together, to crochet once across. I think it would be wise to cut all rags of different weight materials before commencing to crochet the rug, so they may be well mixed through. I will assist you with the work at odd moments, and in a short time the rug will be finished."

The rug, when finished, was truly a work of art, and represented many hours of labor and thought. But Mary considered it very fascinating work, and was delighted with the result of her labor—a rug the exact imitation of one of the Professor's genuine Indian Navajo blankets, the work of her own hands, and without the expenditure of a penny.

Mary remarked: "I do not think all the triangles in my rug are the exact size of the paper pattern you made me, Aunt Sarah. The two in the centre appear larger than the others."

"Well," remarked her Aunt, "if you examine closely the blankets owned by Professor Schmidt, you will find the on the ones woven by Navajo Indians are not of an equal size."

'Tis said Navajo blankets and Serapes will become scarce and higher in price in the future, on account of the numerous young Indians who have been educated and who prefer other occupations to that of weaving blankets, as did their forefathers; and the present disturbance in Mexico will certainly interfere with the continuance of this industry for a time.



"Mary, while you have been planning your Navajo rug, I have been thinking how we may make a very attractive as well as useful rug. You remember, we could not decide what use to make of your old, tan cravenette stormcoat? I have been thinking we might use this, when cut into carpet rags, for the principal part of the rug, and that old, garnet merino blouse waist might be cut and used for the four corners of a rug, and we might have gay stripes in the centre of the rug to form a sort of design, and also put gay stripes at each end of the rug.

"And you might crochet a rug, plain 'Hit or Miss,' of rather bright-colored rags."

"Yes," said Mary, "I think I will crochet a swastika in the centre of a rug, as you suggest, of bright orange, outlined with black, and a stripe of orange edged with black at each end of the rug to match the centre. Don't you think that would be pretty, Aunt Sarah?"



"Yes indeed, but Mary, don't you think the swastika would show more distinctly on a rug with a plain background?"

"Perhaps it would," replied Mary, "but I think I'll crochet one of very gayly-colored rags, with a swastika in the centre."



"Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "do tell me how that pretty little rug composed of silk scraps is made."

"Oh, that silk rug; 'twas given me by Aunt Cornelia, who finished it while here on a visit from New York. I never saw another like it, and it has been greatly admired. Although possessed of an ordinary amount of patience, I don't think I'll ever make one for myself. I don't admire knitted rugs of any description, neither do I care for braided rugs. I think the crocheted ones prettier. But, Mary, this small silk rug is easily made should you care to have one. I will commence knitting one for you at once. You will then find a use for the box of bright-colored silks you possess, many of which are quite too small to be used in any other manner. Professor Schmidt calls this a 'Prayer Rug.' He said: 'This rug, fashioned of various bright-hued silks of orange, purple and crimson, a bright maze of rich colors, without any recognizable figure or design, reminds me of the description of the 'Prayer Carpet' or rugs of the Mohammedans. They are composed of rich-hued silks of purple, ruby and amber. 'Tis said their delicacy of shade is marvelous and was suggested by the meadows of variegated flowers.' But this is a digression; you wished directions for making the rug.

"Use tiny scraps of various bright-hued silks, velvets and satins, cut about 3-1/2 inches long and about one-half inch in width. Ends should always be cut slanting or bias; never straight. All you will require besides the silk scraps, will be a ball of common cord or twine, or save all cord which comes tied around packages, as I do, and use that and two ordinary steel knitting needles. When making her rug, Aunt Cornelia knitted several strips a couple of inches in width and the length she wished the finished rug to be. The strips when finished she sewed together with strong linen thread on the wrong side of the rug. She commenced the rug by knitting two rows of the twine or cord. (When I was a girl we called this common knitting 'garter stitch.') Then, when commencing to knit third row, slip off first stitch onto your other needle; knit one stitch, then lay one of the tiny scraps of silk across or between the two needles; knit one stitch with the cord. This holds the silk in position. Then fold or turn one end of silk back on the other piece of silk and knit one stitch of cord to hold them in place, always keeping silk on one side, on the top of rug, as this rug is not reversible. Continue in this manner until one row is finished. Then knit once across plain with cord, and for next row lay silk scraps in and knit as before. Always knit one row of the cord across plain after knitting in scraps of silk, as doing this holds them firmly in position. Of course, Mary, you will use judgment and taste in combining light and dark, bright and dull colors. Also, do not use several scraps of velvet together. Use velvet, silk and satin alternately. Should any scraps of silk be longer than others after knitting, trim off evenly so all will be of uniform size. When her rug was finished, Aunt Cornelia spread it, wrong side uppermost, on an unused table, covered it with a thick boiled paste, composed of flour and water, allowed it to dry thoroughly, then lined the rug with a heavy piece of denim. This was done to prevent the rug from curling up at edges, and caused it to lie flat on floor; but I think I should prefer just a firm lining or foundation of heavy burlap or denim."

"Thank you, Aunt Sarah, for your explicit directions. I cannot fail to know just how to knit a silk rug, should I ever care to do so. I think the work would be simply fascinating."



CHAPTER XIII.

THE GIRLS' CAMPFIRE, ORGANIZED BY MARY.

One day in early June, when all nature seemed aglow with happiness, we find Mary earnestly discussing with Elizabeth Schmidt the prosaic, humdrum life of many of the country girls, daughters of well-to-do farmers in the vicinity.

"I wish," said Mary, wrinkling her forehead thoughtfully, "I could think of some new interest to introduce into their lives; some way of broadening their outlook; anything to bring more happiness into their commonplace daily toil; something good and helpful for them to think about."

All at once Mary, who was not usually demonstrative, clapped her hands, laughed gleefully and said: "I have it, Elizabeth. The very thing! Suppose we start a 'girls' campfire,' right here in the country? I don't think we shall have any trouble to organize."

"And you, because you understand all about it, will be the Guardian," said Elizabeth.

At first Mary demurred, but, overcome by Elizabeth's pleading, finally gave a reluctant consent. They then made out a list of the girls they thought might be willing to join, Mary promising to write at once for a handbook. They separated, Elizabeth to call to see the girls, and Mary to interview their parents. Their efforts were rewarded with surprisingly gratifying results, for many of the girls had read about the "Campfire Girls" and were anxious to become members.

* * * * *

One afternoon, several weeks later, had you gone into the old apple orchard, at the farm, you would have seen thirteen eager young girls, ranging in age from fourteen to sixteen, listening intently to Mary, who was telling them about the "Campfire Girls." What she told them was something like this:

"Now girls, we are going to have a good time. Some of our good times will be play and some work. When you join, you will become a 'Wood Gatherer,' and after three months' successful work, if you have met certain qualifications, you will be promoted to the rank of 'Fire Maker.' Later on, when you come to realize what it means to be a 'Torch Bearer,' you will be put in that rank. The first law which you learn to follow is one which you must apply to your daily life. It is: Seek beauty, give service, pursue knowledge, be trustworthy, hold on to health, glorify work, be happy. 'The Camp Fire' has meant so much to girls I have known, for their betterment, and has been so helpful in many ways, you surely will never regret becoming a member of the organization, or be anything but happy if you keep their laws. There will be no dues, except what is collected for good times, and no expense except the cost of your ceremonial costume, epaulettes and honor beads. The latter are quite inexpensive. The honors are divided into several classes, and for each honor a bead is given as a symbol of your work. A special colored bead is given for each class. We shall meet about once every week. The monthly meeting is called the 'Council Fire.' I will tell you later about the 'Wohelo' ceremony. By the way, girls, 'Wohelo' stands for work, health and love. You see, the word is composed of the first two letters of each word."

The girls appeared to be greatly interested, and Mary felt very much encouraged. Some of the girls left to talk it over with the homefolks, while others, wishing to learn more of the organisation, plied Mary with numerous questions. Finally, in desperation, she said: "Girls, I will read you the following from the 'Camp Fire Girls' Handbook, which I received this morning:"

'The purpose of this organization is to show that the common things of daily life are the chief means of beauty, romance and adventure; to aid in the forming of habits making for health and vigor, the out-of-door habit and the out-of-door spirit; to devise ways of measuring and creating standards to woman's work, and to give girls the opportunity to learn how to "keep step," to learn team work, through doing it; to help girls and women serve the community, the larger home, in the same way they have always served the individual home; to give status and social recognition to the knowledge of the mother, and thus restore the intimate relationship of mothers and daughters to each other.'

"Well, girls," said Mary, as she laid aside the book, "I think you all understand what a benefit this will be to you, and I will do all in my power to help you girls, while I am at the farm this summer. It is too late to tell you any more today. The information I have given you will suffice for the present. Three cheers for our Camp Fire! which will be under way in two months, I trust."

* * * * *

The members of "Shawnee" Camp Fire held their first Council Fire, or Ceremonial Meeting, the second week in July. The girls, all deeply interested, worked hard to secure honors which were awarded for engaging in domestic duties well known to the home, for studying and observing the rules of hygiene and sanitation, and for learning and achievements in various ways. They held weekly meetings and studied diligently to win the rank of Fire Maker.

A girl, when she joins, becomes a Wood Gatherer; she then receives a silver ring.

The weeks pass swiftly by, and it is time for another Camp Fire. The girls selected as their meeting place for this occasion farmer Druckenmuller's peach orchard, to which they walked, a distance of about three miles from the home of Elizabeth Schmidt. They left about two o'clock in the afternoon, intending to return home before nightfall, a good time being anticipated, as they took with them lunch and materials for a corn-roast.

The peach orchard in question, covering many acres, was situated at the foot of a low hill. Between the two flowed an enchanting, fairy-like stream, the cultivated peach orchard on one side, and on the opposite side the forest-like hill, covered with an abundance of wild flowers.

When the afternoon set for the Council Fire arrived, had you happened to meet the fifteen merry, chattering girls, accompanied by two older girls, Mary and Lucy Robbins (the country school teacher), as chaperones, wending their way to the orchard, you, without a doubt, would have smiled and a question might naturally have arisen regarding their sanity. They certainly possessed intelligent faces, but why those queer-shaped Indian dresses? And such an awkward length for a young girl's dress! And why was their hair all worn hanging in one braid over each shoulder, with a band over the forehead? Why so many strings of gaudy beads around their necks? These questions may all be answered in one single sentence: The girls are dressed in Ceremonial Costume.



A great many delays along the way were caused by girls asking the names of the different wild flowers and weeds they noticed in passing. One of the girls stopped to examine a prickly-looking plant about two feet high, with little, blue flowers growing along the stem, and asked if any one knew the name of it. They were about to look it up in a small "Flower Guide" owned by one of the girls, when some one said: "Why, that is a weed called 'Vipers Bougloss,'" They also found cardinal flower, thorn apple, monkey flower and jewel-weed in abundance, wild sunflower, ginseng, early golden rod, "Joe-pie-weed," marshallow, black cohosh and purple loose-trifle. The girls also noticed various birds.

On a tall tree one of the girls espied a rose-breasted Grosbeak, rare in this part of Bucks County. They all stopped and watched for a short time a white-bellied Nut-hatch. The girls were startled as a Scarlet Tanger flew past to join his mate, and they at last reached their rendezvous, the orchard.

By half-past three they were all seated in a circle waiting for the ceremonies to begin. Mary Midleton, their Guardian, stepped to the front, saying: "Sunflower, light the fire." Sunflower, through several months of daily attainment, had become a Fire-maker and was very proud of the Fire-maker's bracelet she was entitled to wear. Sunflower was given that name because she always looked on the bright side of everything; she looked like a sunflower, too, with her tanned face and light, curly hair.

All the girls had symbolical names given them. "Lark" was so named because of her sweet voice and because she loved to sing; "Sweet Tooth," on account of her love for candy; "Quick Silver," because she was quick, bright and witty; "Great Buffalo," a girl who was very strong; Elizabeth Schmidt, "Laughing Water," so named because she laughed and giggled at everybody and everything; "Babbling Brook," because it seemed an utter impossibility for her to stop talking; "Burr," because she sticks to ideas and friends; "Faith," quiet and reserved; "Comet," comes suddenly and brings a lot of light; "Black Hawk," always eager at first, but inclined to let her eagerness wear off: "Pocahontas," because she never can hurry; "Ginger Foot," a fiery temper, "Gypsy," so named on account of her black hair; "Bright Eyes," for her bright, blue eyes; "Rainbow," for her many ways, and because she is pretty.

As "Sunflower" took the matches and knelt by the pile of wood and lighted the fire, she recited the Ode to the Fire:

"Oh, Fire! Long years ago, when our fathers fought with great beasts, you were their protector. From the cruel cold of winter you saved. When they needed food, you changed the flesh of beasts into savory meat for them. Through all ages your mysterious flame has been a symbol of the Great Spirit to them. Tonight we light this fire in remembrance of the Great Spirit Who gave you to us."

Then the girls sang the chant or chanted:

Wohelo for aye, Wohelo for aye, Wohelo for aye, Wohelo for work, Wohelo for health, Wohelo, Wohelo for love.

Then they recited the Wood-gatherer's Desire:

"It is my desire to be a Campfire Girl and keep the law of the Camp Fire, which is 'To Seek Beauty, Give Service, Pursue Knowledge, Be Trustworthy, Hold onto Health, Glorify Work, Be Happy,'"

None had yet attained the highest rank, that of Torch Bearer, won by still greater achievement, the Camp having been organized so recently. Their motto was "The light which has been given to me, I desire to pass undimmed to others."

"Gypsy," the secretary, then read the "Count" for the last meeting and called the roll, and the girls handed in the list of honors they had won in the last month. Some amused themselves playing games, while others gathered more wood.

At five o'clock the corn and white and sweet potatoes were in the fire roasting. A jolly circle of girls around the fire were busily engaged toasting "Weiners" for the feast, which was finally pronounced ready to be partaken of. The hungry girls "fell to" and everything eatable disappeared as if by magic; and last, but not least, was the toasting of marshmallows, speared on the points of long, two-pronged sticks (broken from near-by trees), which were held over the fire until the marshmallows turned a delicate color. When everything had been eaten, with the exception of several cardboard boxes, corn cobs and husks, the girls quickly cleared up. Then, seated around the fire, told what they knew of Indian legends and folklore.

Noticing the sun slowly sinking in the West, they quickly gathered together their belongings and started homeward singing, "My Country, 'tis of Thee, Sweet Land of Liberty."

Thus broke up the second Council Fire, and in the heart of each girl was the thought of how much the Campfire was helping them to love God and His works.



CHAPTER XIV.

MARY MAKES "VIOLET" AND "ROSE LEAF" BEADS.

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary one day, "you promised to tell me exactly how you made those 'Rose Beads' you have."

"Yes, my dear, and you must make the beads before the June roses are gone. The process is very simple. If you would have them very sweet, get the petals of the most fragrant roses. I used petals of the old-fashioned, pink 'hundred leaf' and 'blush roses.' Gather a quantity, for you will need them all. Grind them to a pulp in the food chopper, repeat several times and place the pulp and juice into an iron kettle or pan. This turns the pulp black, which nothing but an iron kettle will do; cook, and when the consistency of dough it is ready to mold into beads. Take a bit of the dough, again as large as the size you wish your beads to be when finished, as they shrink in size when dried, and make them of uniform size, or larger ones for the centre of the necklace, as you prefer. Roll in the palms of your hands, until perfectly round, stick a pin through each bead, then stick the pins into a bake board. Be careful the bead does not touch the board, as that would spoil its shape. Allow the beads to remain until perfectly dry. If they are to have a dull finish, leave as they are. If you wish to polish them, take a tiny piece of vaseline on the palm of the hand and rub them between the palms until the vaseline is absorbed. Then string them on a linen thread. Keep in a closed box to preserve their fragrance. Those I showed you, Mary, I made many years ago, and the scent of the roses clings 'round them still.'"

"Did you know, Mary, that beads may be made from the petals of the common wild blue violet in exactly the same manner as they are made from rose leaves?"

"No, indeed, but I don't think the making of beads from the petals of roses and violets as wonderful as the beads which you raise in the garden. Those shiny, pearl-like seeds or beads of silvery-gray, called 'Job's Tears,' which grow on a stalk resembling growing corn; and to think Professor Schmidt raised those which Elizabeth strung on linen thread, alternately with beads, for a portiere in their sitting-room."

"Yes, my dear, the beads must be pierced before they become hard; later they should be polished. Did you ever see them grow, Mary? The beads or 'tears' grow on a stalk about fifteen inches high and from the bead or 'tear' grows a tiny, green spear resembling oats. They are odd and with very little care may he grown in a small garden."

"They certainly are a curiosity," said Mary.



CHAPTER XV.

MARY AND ELIZABETH VISIT SADIE SINGMASTER.

Farmer Landis, happening to mention at the breakfast table his intention of driving over to the "Ax Handle Factory" to obtain wood ashes to use as a fertilizer, his wife remarked, "Why not take Mary with you, John? She can stop at Singmaster's with a basket of carpet rags for Sadie. I've been wanting to send them over for some time." Turning to Mary, she said: "Poor little, crippled Sadie! On account of a fall, which injured her spine, when a small child, she has been unable to walk for years. She cuts and sews carpet rags, given her by friends and neighbors, and from their sale to a carpet weaver in a near-by town, helps her widowed mother eke out her small income."

"I'd love to go see her," said Mary. Elizabeth Schmidt also expressed her willingness to go, when asked, saying: "I am positive mother will add her contribution to the carpet rags for Sadie, I do pity her so very much."

"Yes," said Mary's Aunt, "she is poor and proud. She will not accept charity, so we persuade her to take carpet rags, as we have more than we can possibly use."

On reaching the Singmaster cottage, the girls alighted with their well-filled baskets, Mary's Uncle driving on to the "Ax Handle Factory," promising to call for the girls on his return. The sad, brown eyes of Sadie, too large for her pinched, sallow face, shone with pleasure at sight of the two young girls so near her own age, and she smiled her delight on examining the numerous bright-colored patches brought by them. Thinking the pleasure she so plainly showed might appear childish to the two girls, she explained: "I do get so dreadfully tired sewing together so many dull homely rags. I shall enjoy making balls of these pretty, bright colors."

"Sadie," Mary inquired, "will you think me inquisitive should I ask what the carpet weaver pays you for the rags when you have sewed and wound them into balls?"

"Certainly not," replied Sadie. "Four cents a pound is what he pays me. It takes two of these balls to make a pound," and she held up a ball she had just finished winding.

"Is that all you get?" exclaimed Elizabeth.

"Have you ever made rag rugs?" inquired Mary.

"No, I have never even seen one. Are they anything like braided mats?"

"Yes, they are somewhat similar to them, but I crochet mine and think them prettier. I have made several, with Aunt Sarah's assistance. I'll come over and teach you to make them one of these days, should you care to learn, and I'm positive you will find ready sale for them. In fact, I've several friends in the city who have admired the ones I have, and would like to buy rugs for the Colonial rooms they are furnishing. Sadie, can you crochet?"

"Oh, yes. I can do the plain stitch very well."

"That is all that will be necessary. You will become very much interested in inventing new designs, it is very fascinating work, and it will be more remunerative than sewing carpet rags. Aunt Sarah will send you more carpet rags if you require them, and should you wish dull colors of blue or pink, a small package of dye will transform white or light-colored rags into any desired shade, to match the furnishings of different rooms. I think the crocheted rugs much prettier than the braided ones, which are so popular in the 'Nutting' pictures, and the same pretty shades may be used when rugs are crocheted."

When Farmer Landis came for the girls, he found them too busily engaged talking to hear his knock at the door. During the drive home Mary could think and talk of nothing but Sadie Singmaster, and the rugs she had promised to teach her to make at an early day. Elizabeth, scarcely less enthusiastic, said: "I've a lot of old things I'll give her to cut up for carpet rags."

Reaching home, Mary could scarcely wait an opportunity to tell Aunt Sarah all her plans for Sadie's betterment. When she finally did tell her Aunt, she smiled and said: "Mary, I'm not surprised. You are always planning to do a kind act for some one. You remind me of the lines, 'If I Can Live,' by Helen Hunt Jackson." And she repeated the following for Mary:

IF I CAN LIVE.

If I can live To make some pale face brighter and to give A second luster to some tear-dimmed eye, Or e'en impart One throb of comfort to an aching heart, Or cheer some wayworn soul in passing by;

If I can lend A strong hand to the fallen, or defend The right against a single envious strain, My life, though bare, Perhaps, of much that seemeth dear and fair To us of earth, will not have been in vain.

The purest joy, Most near to heaven, far from earth's alloy, Is bidding cloud give way to sun and shine; And 'twill be well If on that day of days the angels tell Of me, she did her best for one of Thine.



CHAPTER XVI.

OLD PARLOR MADE BEAUTIFUL (MODERNIZED).

When John Landis came into possession of "Clear Spring" Farm, where his mother had lived during her lifetime, she having inherited it from her father, the rooms of the old farm house were filled with quaint, old-fashioned furniture of every description. "Aunt Sarah," on coming to the farm to live, had given a personal touch and cheery, homelike look to every room in the house, with one exception, the large, gloomy, old-fashioned parlor, which was cold, cheerless and damp. She confessed to Mary she always felt as if John's dead-and-gone ancestors' ghostly presences inhabited the silent room. The windows were seldom opened to allow a ray of sunlight to penetrate the dusk with which the room was always enveloped, except when the regular weekly sweeping day arrived; when, after being carefully swept and dusted, it was promptly closed. A room every one avoided, Aunt Sarah was very particular about always having fresh air and sunlight in every other part of the house but his one room. The old fireplace had been boarded up many years before Aunt Sarah's advent to the farm, so it could not be used. One day Mary noticed, while dusting the room (after it had been given a thorough sweeping by Sibylla, Aunt Sarah's one maid servant), that the small, many-paned windows facing the East, at one end of the parlor, when opened, let in a flood of sunshine; and in the evening those at the opposite end of the long room gave one a lovely view of the setting sun—a finer picture than any painted by the hand of a master. Mary easily persuaded her Aunt to make some changes in the unlivable room. She suggested that they consult her Uncle about repapering and painting the room and surprise him with the result when finished.

Aunt Sarah, who never did things by halves, said: "Mary, I have long intended 'doing over' this room, but thought it such a great undertaking. Now, with your assistance, I shall make a sweep of these old, antiquated heirlooms of a past generation. This green carpet, with its gorgeous bouquets of roses, we shall have combined with one of brown and tan in the attic. Your Uncle shall take them with him when he drives to town and have them woven into pretty, serviceable rugs for the floor."

"And, oh! Aunt Sarah," cried Mary, "do let's have an open fireplace. It makes a room so cheery and 'comfy' when the weather gets colder, on long winter evenings, to have a fire in the grate. I saw some lovely, old brass andirons and fender in the attic, and some brass candlesticks there also, which will do nicely for the mantel shelf over the fireplace. I'll shine 'em up, and instead of this hideously-ugly old wall paper with gay-colored scrawley figures, Aunt Sarah, suppose we get an inexpensive, plain, tan felt paper for drop ceiling and separate it from the paper on the side wall, which should be a warm, yellow-brown, with a narrow chestnut wood molding. Then this dull, dark, gray-blue painted woodwork; could any one imagine anything more hideously ugly? It gives me the 'blues' simply to look at it. Could we not have it painted to imitate chestnut wood? And don't you think we might paint the floor around the edges of the rug to imitate the woodwork? Just think of those centre panels of the door painted a contrasting shade of pale pink. The painter who did this work certainly was an artist. A friend of mine in the city, wishing to use rugs instead of carpets on her floors, and not caring to go to the expense of laying hardwood floors, gave the old floors a couple of coats of light lemon, or straw-colored paint, then stained and grained them a perfect imitation of chestnut, at small expense. The floors were greatly admired when finished, and having been allowed to dry thoroughly after being varnished, proved quite durable. I will write to my friend at once and ask her exactly how her floors were treated."

"Now, Mary, about this old-style furniture. The old grandfather clock standing in the corner, at the upper end of the room, I should like to have remain. It is one hundred and fifty years old and belonged to my folks, and, although old-fashioned, is highly valued by me."

"Of course," said Mary, "we'll certainly leave that in the room."

"Also," said Aunt Sarah, "allow the old cottage organ and large, old-fashioned bookcase belonging to your Uncle to remain. He has frequently spoken of moving his bookcase into the next room, when he was obliged to come in here for books, of which he has quite a valuable collection."



"Oh," said Mary, "no need of that. We will move Uncle John in here, near the bookcase, when we get our room fixed up. Aunt Sarah, we will leave that old-fashioned table, also, with one leaf up against the wall, and this quaint, little, rush-bottomed rocker, which I just dote on."

"Why, dear," exclaimed Aunt Sarah, "there are several chairs to match it in the attic, which you may have when you start housekeeping for your very own. And," laughingly, said her Aunt, "there is another old, oval, marble-topped table in the attic, containing a large glass case covering a basket of wax fruit, which you may have."

"No, Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "I don't believe I want the fruit, but I will accept your offer of the table. Well, Aunt Sarah, I know you won't have this old, black what-not standing in the corner of the room. I do believe it is made of spools, strung on wire, as supports for the shelves; then all painted black, imitation of ebony, I suppose. It must have been made in the Black Age, at the same time the old corner cupboard was painted, as Uncle John told me he scraped off three different layers of paint before doing it over, and one was black. It was originally made of cherry. It certainly looks fine now, with those new brass hinges and pretty, old-fashioned glass knobs."

"Yes, Mary," replied her Aunt, "and there is an old corner cupboard in the attic which belonged to my father, that you may have, and, with a very little labor and expense, Ralph can make it look as well as mine. It has only one door and mine possesses two."

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary, "you are a dear! How will I ever repay you for all your kindness to me?"

"By passing it on to some one else when you find some one needing help," said Aunt Sarah.

"Such a collection of odd things, Aunt Sarah, as are on this what-not I never saw. Old ambrotypes and daguerreotypes of gone and forgotten members of the 'freinshoft,' as you sometimes say. I don't believe you know any of them."

"Yes, the red plush frame on the mantel shelf contains a picture of John's Uncle, a fine-looking man, but he possessed 'Wanderlust' and has lived in California for many years.

"Oh, you mean the picture on the mantel standing near those twin gilded china vases, gay with red and blue paint?"

"Yes; and that small china and gilt stand with little bowl and pitcher was given me when a small child."

"Suppose I bring a basket and we will fill it with articles from the mantel and what-not," said Mary, "and carry them all to the attic, until you have a rummage sale some day. We'll burn these 'everlasting' and 'straw' flowers, and pampas grass, and this large apple stuck full of cloves. Here is a small china dog and a little china basket with a plaited china handle decorated with gilt, and tiny, pink-tinted china roses. And these large, glass marbles containing little silver eagles inside; also this small, spun-glass ship and blue-and-pink-striped glass pipe. Aunt Sarah, some of your ancestors must have attended a glass blowers' exhibition in years past."

"This branch of white coral, these large snail shells (when a child I remember holding them to my ear to hear a noise resembling the roar of the ocean), and this small basket, fashioned of twigs and tendrils of grape vine, then dipped in red sealing wax, certainly is a good imitation of coral, and this plate, containing a miniature ship composed of green postage stamps, we will place in your corner cupboard."

"And, Aunt Sarah, I suppose this deep, glass-covered picture frame containing a bouquet of hair flowers, most wonderfully and fearfully made, was considered a work of art in days past and gone, as was also the crescent in a frame on the opposite side of the room, composed of flowers made of various seeds of grain and garden vegetables. Those daisies, made of cucumber seeds with grains of red corn for centres, and those made of tiny grains of popcorn with a watermelon seed in centre, are cute. The latter look like breastpins with a circle of pearls around the edge. And this glass case on the table, containing a white cross, covered with wax tube roses, ivy leaves and fuchsias drooping from the arms of the cross, sparkling with diamond dust! The band of green chenille around its base matches the mat underneath, composed of green zephyr of different shades, knitted, then raveled to imitate moss, I suppose; and, no doubt, this marble-topped table has stood here for fifty years, in this same spot, for the express purpose of holding this beautiful (?) work of art."

"The hair flowers and the seed wreath were made by John's sister," replied Aunt Sarah.

"Aunt Sarah," exclaimed Mary, "I've an original idea. This oval, marble-topped table has such strong, solid legs of black walnut, suppose we remove the marble slab and have a large, circular top made of wood at the planing mill? Wait; I'll get my tape measure. About thirty-two inches in diameter will do. The new top we shall stain to match the walnut frame, and it could be easily fastened to the table with a couple of screws; and, after the marble top has been well scoured, we'll use it in the kitchen as a bake board on which to roll out pie crust."

Her Aunt as usual acquiesced to all Mary's suggestions.

"You're a dear, Aunt Sarah!" exclaimed Mary, as she gave her a hug, "and I'll embroider big, yellow daisies with brown centres of French knots on gray linen for a new table cover. Won't they look just sweet?"

"Yes, Mary, and I'll buy a large, new lamp with a pretty shade, as I feel sure your Uncle will like to sit here evenings to read his papers and farm journals."

"And don't forget the Shriners' little magazine, The Crescent, which amuses him so greatly. Aunt Sarah, I do wish those stiff, starchy-looking, blue-white Nottingham lace curtains at the windows had grown yellow with age. They would be ever so much prettier and softer looking, and they are such a pretty, neat design, too."

"Oh!" replied her Aunt, "that may be easily remedied. I'll just dip them into a little weak liquid coffee and that will give them a creamy tint, and take out the stiffness."

"Now," said Mary, "what shall we do with these stiff, ugly, haircloth-covered chairs and sofa?"

"Why," replied Aunt Sarah, "we shall buy cretonne or art cloth, in pretty shades of brown and tan or green, to harmonize with the wall paper, and make slip covers for them all. We could never think of dispensing with the sofa. It is a very important article of furniture in German households. The hostess usually gives the person of greatest distinction among her guests the place of honor beside her on the sofa."

"These chairs have such strong, well-made, mahogany frames it would be a pity not to use them. Now," continued Mary, "about the pictures on the wall. Can't we consign them all to the attic? We might use some of the frames. I'll contribute unframed copies of 'The Angelus' and 'The Gleaners,' by Millet; and I think they would fit into these plain mahogany frames which contain the very old-fashioned set of pictures named respectively 'The Lovers,' 'The Declaration,' 'The Lovers' Quarrel' and 'The Marriage.' They constitute a regular art gallery. I'll use a couple of the frames for some small Colonial and apple blossom pictures I have, that I just love, by Wallace Nutting. Mine are all unframed; 'Maiden Reveries,' 'A Canopied Roof' and a 'Ton of Bloom,' I think are sweet. Those branches of apple trees, covered with a mass of natural-looking pink blossoms, are exquisite."

"Yes," remarked Aunt Sarah, "they look exactly like our old Baldwin, Winesap and Cider apple trees in the old, south meadow in the Spring. And, Mary, we'll discard those two chromos, popular a half century ago, of two beautiful cherubs called respectively, 'Wide Awake' and 'Fast Asleep,' given as premiums to a popular magazine. I don't remember if the magazine was 'Godey's,' 'Peterson's' or 'Home Queen'; they have good, plain, mahogany frames which we can use."

"And, Aunt Sarah," said Mary, "we can cut out the partition in this large, black-walnut frame, containing lithograph pictures of General George Washington, 'the Father of his Country' (we are informed in small letters at the bottom of the picture), and of General Andrew Jackson, 'the hero of New Orleans.' Both men are pictured on horseback, on gayly-caparisoned, prancing white steeds, with scarlet saddle cloth, edged with gold bullion fringe. The Generals are pictured clad in blue velvet coats with white facings of cloth or satin vest and tight-fitting knee breeches, also white and long boots reaching to the knee. Gold epaulettes are on their shoulders, and both are in the act of lifting their old-fashioned Continental hats, the advancing army showing faintly in the background. How gorgeously they are arrayed! We will use this frame for the excellent, large copy you have of 'The Doctor' and the pictured faces of the German composers—Beethoven, Wagner, Mendelssohn, Haydn, Schubert and Mozart, which I have on a card with a shaded brown background, will exactly fit into this plain frame of narrow molding, from which I have just removed the old cardboard motto, 'No place like home,' done with green-shaded zephyr in cross-stitch."



"Now, Mary, with the couple of comfortable rockers which I intend purchasing, I think we have about finished planning our room."

"If you are willing, Aunt Sarah, I should like to make some pretty green and brown cretonne slips to cover those square sofa pillows in place of the ones made of small pieces of puffed silk and the one of colored pieces of cashmere in log cabin design, I do admire big, fat, plain, comfortable pillows, for use instead of show. And we must have a waste paper basket near the table beside Uncle John's chair. I shall contribute green satin ribbon for an immense bow on the side of the basket. Oh! Aunt Sarah! You've forgotten all about this odd, woven basket, beside the what-not, filled with sea shells. I don't care for the shells, but the basket would make a lovely sewing basket."

"You may have the basket, Mary, if you like it. It came from Panama, or perhaps it was bought at Aspinwall by John's Uncle, many years ago, when he came home on a visit from California, by way of the Isthmus, to visit old friends and relatives. John's Mother always kept it standing on the floor in one corner of the room beside the what-not."

"Aunt Sarah, why was straw ever put under this carpet?"

"The straw was put there, my dear, to save the carpet, should the boards on the floor be uneven. My Mother was always particular about having cut rye straw, because it was softer and finer than any other. It was always used in those days instead of the carpet linings we now have. I remember sometimes, when the carpet had been newly laid, in our home, immediately after house cleaning time, the surface of the floor looked very odd; full of bumps and raised places in spots, until frequent walking over it flattened down the straw. This room happens to have a particularly good, even floor, as this part of the house was built many years later than the original, old farm house, else it would not do to have it painted."

"Aunt Sarah, may I have the old spinning wheel in the attic? I'd love to furnish an old Colonial bedroom when I have a home of my very own. I'll use the rag carpet you made me for the floor, the old-fashioned, high-post bed Uncle John said I might have, and the 'New Colonial' rugs you taught me to make.

"Yes, my dear, and there is another old grandfather's clock in the attic which you may have; and a high-boy also, for which I have no particular use."

"Aunt Sarah, we shall not put away this really beautiful old sampler worked in silk by Uncle John's grandmother when a girl of nine years. It is beautifully done, and is wonderful, I think. And what is this small frame containing a yellowed piece of paper cut in intricate designs, presumably with scissors?"

"Look on the back of the picture and see what is written there, my dear," said her Aunt.

Mary slowly read: "'This is the only picture I owned before my marriage. I earned the money to buy it by gathering wheat heads.'"

"It belonged to my grandmother," said Aunt Sarah. "In old times, after the reapers had left the field, the children were allowed to gather up the wheat remaining, and, I suppose, grandmother bought this picture with the money she earned herself, and considered it quite a work of art in her day. It is over one hundred years old."



CHAPTER XVII.

AN OLD SONG EVENING.

Aunt Sarah and Mary spent few idle moments while carrying out their plans for "doing over" the old parlor. Finally, 'twas finished. Mary breathed a sigh of satisfaction as the last picture was hung on the wall. She turned to her Aunt, saying, "Don't you think the room looks bright, cheery and livable?"

"Yes," replied her Aunt, "and what is more essential, homey, I have read somewhere, 'A woman's house should be as personal a matter as a spider's web or a snail's shell; and all the thought, toil and love she puts into it should be preserved a part of its comeliness and homelikeness forever, and be her monument to the generations.'"

"Well, Aunt Sarah," replied Mary, "I guess we've earned our monument. The air that blows over the fields, wafted in from the open window, is sweet with the scent of grain and clover, and certainly is refreshing. I'm dreadfully tired, but so delighted with the result of our labors. Now we will go and 'make ready,' as Sibylla says, before the arrival of Ralph from the city. I do hope the ice cream will be frozen hard. The Sunshine Sponge Cake, which I baked from a recipe the Professor's wife gave me, is light as a feather. 'Tis Ralph's favorite cake. Let's see; besides Ralph there are coming all the Schmidts, Lucy Robbins, the school teacher, and Sibylla entertains her Jake in the kitchen. I promised to treat him to ice cream; Sibylla was so good about helping me crack the ice to use for freezing the cream. We shall have an 'Old Song Evening' that will amuse every one."

Quite early, as is the custom in the country, the guests for the evening arrived; and both Mary and Aunt Sarah felt fully repaid for their hard work of the past weeks by the pleasure John Landis evinced at the changed appearance of the room.

The Professor's wife said, "It scarcely seems possible to have changed the old room so completely."

Aunt Sarah replied, "Paint and paper do wonders when combined with good taste, furnished by Mary."

During the evening one might have been forgiven for thinking Professor Schmidt disloyal to the Mother Country (he having been born and educated in Heidelberg) had you overheard him speaking to Ralph on his favorite subject, the "Pennsylvania German." During a lull in the general conversation in the room Mary heard the Professor remark to Ralph: "The Pennsylvania Germans are a thrifty, honest and industrious class of people, many of whom have held high offices. The first Germans to come to America as colonists in Pennsylvania were, as a rule, well to do. Experts, when examining old documents of Colonial days, after counting thousands of signatures, found the New York 'Dutch' and the Pennsylvania 'Germans' were above the average in education in those days. Their dialect, the so-called 'Pennsylvania German' or 'Dutch,' as it is erroneously called by many, is a dialect which we find from the Tauber Grund to Frankfurt, A.M. As the German language preponderated among the early settlers, the language of different elements, becoming amalgamated, formed a class of people frequently called 'Pennsylvania Dutch'."

Professor Harbaugh, D.D., has written some beautiful poems in Pennsylvania German which an eminent authority, Professor Kluge, a member of the Freiburg University, Germany, has thought worthy to be included among the classics. They are almost identical with the poems written by Nadler in Heidelberger Mundart, or dialect.

Mary, who had been listening intently to the Professor, said, when he finished talking to Ralph: "Oh, please, do repeat one of Professor Harbaugh's poems for us."

He replied, "I think I can recall several stanzas of 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick.' Another of Professor Harbaugh's poems, and I think one of the sweetest I have ever read, is 'Heemweeh.' Both poems are published in his book entitled 'Harbaugh's Harfe,' in Pennsylvania German dialect, and possess additional interest from the fact that the translations of these poems, in the latter part of the same book, were made by the author himself."

"Oh, do repeat all that you remember of both the poems," begged Mary.

The Professor consented, saying: "As neither you nor Mr. Jackson understand the Pennsylvania German dialect, I shall translate them for you, after repeating what I remember. 'Heemweeh' means Homesickness, but first I shall give you 'Das Alt Schulhaus an der Krick'."

[A]DAS ALT SCHULHAUS AN DER KRICK.

Heit is 's 'xactly zwansig Johr, Dass ich bin owwe naus; Nau bin ich widder lewig z'rick Un schteh am Schulhaus an d'r Krick, Juscht neekscht an's Dady's Haus.

Ich bin in hunnert Heiser g'west, Vun Marbelstee' un Brick, Un alles was sie hen, die Leit, Dhet ich verschwappe eenig Zeit For's Schulhaus an der Krick.

* * * * *

Der Weisseech schteht noch an der Dhier— Macht Schatte iwwer's Dach: Die Drauwerank is ah noch grie'— Un's Amschel-Nescht—guk juscht mol hi'— O was is dess en Sach!

* * * * *

Do bin ich gange in die Schul, Wo ich noch war gans klee'; Dort war der Meeschter in seim Schtuhl, Dort war sei' Wip, un dort sei' Ruhl,— Ich kann's noch Alles sch'.

Die lange Desks rings an der Wand— Die grose Schieler drum; Uf eener Seit die grose Mad, Un dort die Buwe net so bleed— Guk, wie sie piepe rum!

* * * * *

Oh horcht, ihr Leit, wu nooch mir lebt, Ich schreib eich noch des Schtick: Ich warn eich, droll eich, gebt doch Acht, Un memmt uf immer gut enacht, Des Schulhaus an der Krick!

[Footnote A: From "Harbaugh's Harfe." Published by the Publication and Sunday School Board of the Reformed Church, Philadelphia, Pa. Used by permission.]

THE OLD SCHOOL-HOUSE AT THE CREEK.

Today it is just twenty years, Since I began to roam; Now, safely back, I stand once more, Before the quaint old school-house door, Close by my father's home.

I've been in many houses since, Of marble built, and brick; Though grander far, their aim they miss, To lure heart's old love from this Old school-house at the creek.

* * * * *

The white-oak stands before the door, And shades the roof at noon; The grape-vine, too, is fresh and green; The robin's nest!—Ah, hark!—I ween That is the same old tune!

* * * * *

'Twas here I first attended school, When I was very small; There was the Master on his stool, There was his whip and there his rule— I seem to see it all.

The long desks ranged along the walls, With books and inkstands crowned; Here on this side the large girls sat, And there the tricky boys on that— See! how they peep around!

* * * * *

Ye, who shall live when I am dead— Write down my wishes quick— Protect it, love it, let it stand, A way-mark in this changing land— That school-house at the creek.

HEEMWEH.

Ich wees net was die Ursach is— Wees net, warum ich's dhu: 'N jedes Johr mach ich der Weg Der alte Heemet zu; Hab weiter nix zu suche dort— Kee' Erbschaft un kee' Geld; Un doch treibt mich des Heemgefiehl So schtark wie alle Welt; Nor'd schtart ich ewe ab un geh, Wie owe schun gemeldt.

Wie nacher dass ich kumm zum Ziel, Wie schtarker will ich geh, For eppes in mei'm Herz werd letz Un dhut m'r kreislich weh. Der letschte Hiwel schpring ich nuf; Un ep ich drowe bin, Schtreck ich mich uf so hoch ich kann Un guk mit Luschte hin; Ich seh's alt Schtee'haus dorch die Beem, Un wott ich war schunm drin.

* * * * *

Wie gleich ich selle Babble Beem, Sie schtehn wie Brieder dar; Un uf'm Gippel—g'wiss ich leb! Hockt alleweil 'n Schtaar! 'S Gippel biegt sich—guk, wie's gaunscht— 'R hebt sich awer fescht; Ich seh sei' rothe Fliegle plehn, Wann er sei' Feddere wescht; Will wette, dass sei' Fraale hot Uf sellem Baam 'n Nescht!

* * * * *

Guk! werklich, ich bin schier am Haus!— Wie schnell geht doch die Zeit! Wann m'r so in Gedanke geht. So wees m'r net wie weit. Dort is d'r Schhap, die Walschkornkrip, Die Seiderpress dort draus; Dort is die Scheier, un dort die Schpring— Frisch quellt des Wasser raus; Un guk! die sehm alt Klapbord-Fens, Un's Dheerle vor'm Haus.

* * * * *

Zwee Blatz sin do uf dare Bortsch, Die halt ich hoch in Acht, Bis meines Lebens Sonn versinkt In schtiller Dodtes-Nacht! Wo ich vum alte Vaterhaus 'S erscht mol bin gange fort. Schtand mei' Mammi weinend da, An sellem Rigel dort: Un nix is mir so heilig nau Als grade seller Ort.

* * * * *

Was macht's dass ich so dort hi' guk, An sell End vun der Bank! Weescht du's? Mei' Herz is noch net dodt, Ich wees es, Got sei Dank! Wie manchmal sass mai Dady dort, Am Summer-Nochmiddag, Die Hande uf der Schoos gekreizt, Sei Schtock bei Seite lag. Was hot er dort im Schtille g'denkt? Wer mecht es wisse—sag?

HOME-SICK NESS.

I know not what the reason is: Where'er I dwell or roam, I make a pilgrimage each year, To my old childhood home. Have nothing there to give or get— No legacy, no gold— Yet by some home-attracting power I'm evermore controlled; This is the way the homesick do, I often have been told.

* * * * *

As nearer to the spot I come More sweetly am I drawn; And something in my heart begins To urge me faster on. Ere quite I've reached the last hilltop— You'll smile at me, I ween!— I stretch myself high as I can, To catch the view serene— The dear old stone house through the trees With shutters painted green!

* * * * *

How do I love those poplar trees; What tall and stalely things! See! on the top of one just now A starling sits and sings. He'll fall!—the twig bends with his weight! He likes that danger best. I see the red upon his wings,— Dark shining is the rest. I ween his little wife has built On that same tree her nest.

* * * * *

See! really I am near the house; How short the distance seems! There is no sense of time when one Goes musing in his dreams. There is the shop—the corn-crib, too— The cider-press—just see! The barn—the spring with drinking cup Hung up against the tree. The yard-fence—and the little gate Just where it used to be.

* * * * *

Two spots on this old friendly porch I love, nor can forget, Till dimly in the night of death My life's last sun shall set! When first I left my father's house, One summer morning bright, My mother at that railing wept Till I was out of sight! Now like a holy star that spot Shines in this world's dull night.

* * * * *

What draws my eye to yonder spot— That bench against the wall? What holy mem'ries cluster there, My heart still knows them all! How often sat my father there On summer afternoon; Hands meekly crossed upon his lap, He looked so lost and lone, As if he saw an empty world, And hoped to leave it soon.

At the conclusion of his recital, Mary heartily thanked the Professor, and, at his request, obediently seated herself at the old, but still sweet-toned cottage organ, and expressed her willingness to play any old-time songs or hymns requested, and saying, "I know Aunt Sarah's favorite," commenced playing, "My Latest Sun is Sinking Fast," followed by "This Old-Time Religion," "Jesus, Lover of My Soul," "One of the Sweet Old Chapters," "Silver Threads Among the Gold" and the sweet old hymn, "In the Summer Land of Song," by Fanny Crosby.

At John Landis' request, she played and sang "Auld Lang Syne." "When You and I Were Young, Maggie," "Old Folks at Home" and "Old Black Joe."

Lucy Robbins, when asked for her favorites, replied; "In the Gloaming," "The Old, Old Home'" "The Lost Chord" and "Better Bide a Wee."

The Professor then asked his daughter Elizabeth to give them the music of a song from German Volkslied, or Folk Song, with the words of which all except Mary and Ralph were familiar. Professor Schmidt sang in his high, cracked voice to Elizabeth's accompaniment the words of the German song, beginning:

Du, Du liegest mir in Herzen Du, Du liegst mir in Sinn Du, Du machst mir viel Schmerzen Weist nicht wie gut ich Dir binn Ja, ja, ja, ja, Du weist nicht wie gut ich Dir bin.

The young folks all joined in the chorus. Fritz Schmidt asked Elizabeth to play "Polly Wolly Doodle" for little Pollykins, which Frit sang with gusto. Fritz then sang the rollicking German song, "Lauderbach," to an accompaniment played by Mary, and followed by singing "Johnny Schmoker," with appropriate gestures in the chorus commencing "My Pilly, Willy Wink, das is mein fifa," etc., ending with "My fal, lal, lal, my whach, whach, das ist mein doodle soch," which he emphasised by shrugging his shoulders, to the no small enjoyment of the young folks, who thought the silly, old German song no end of fun. This was followed by a favorite college song, "Mandalay," by Fritz.

Then Elizabeth Schmidt played and sang a pretty little German song called "Meuhlen Rad," meaning The Mill Wheel, taught her by her mother.

MEUHLEN RAD.

In einen kuhlen grunde Da steht ein meuhlen rad; Mein libste ist versch wunden, Die dort gewhoned hat; Sie sat mir treu versprochen, Gab ihr ein ring dabei; Sie hat die treu gebrochen, Das ringlein sprang entzwei.

She translated it for the benefit of Ralph and Mary: "In a cool, pleasant spot, stands a mill. My loved one, who lived there, has disappeared. She promised to be true to me, and I gave her a ring. She broke her promise and the ring broke in two."

Fritz then caught his little sister Pauline around the waist and waltzed her to one end of the long room, saying: "Mary, play the piece, 'Put On Your Old Gray Bonnet,' and Pollykins and I will do the cakewalk for you."

Polly, who had become quite a proficient little dancer under her sister's teaching, was very willing to do her share in the evening's entertainment, and it was pronounced a decided success.

Mary then said, "I'll play my favorite schottische, composed by our old friend, the Professor. I have not yet procured a copy of his latest piece of music, 'The Passing of the Dahlias.' I think it is still with the publishers."

Mary, after playing "Rock of Ages," left the room to see about serving refreshments, when Elizabeth Schmidt took her place at the instrument. After playing "The Rosary," she turned to Ralph, who had been greatly amused by the German songs on the program, all of which were quite new to him, and said: "What shall I play for you?"

He replied, "'My Little Irish Rose'—no, I mean 'The River Shannon.'"

"Don't you mean 'That Grand Old Name Called Mary?'" mischievously inquired Fritz Schmidt, who could not refrain from teasing Ralph, which caused a laugh at his expense, as all present were aware of his love for Mary. Elizabeth, to cover Ralph's confusion, quickly replied: "I'll play my favorite, 'The End of a Perfect Day.'"

The party was pronounced a success, and broke up at a late hour for country folks. Before leaving, Mary's Uncle said: "Now, let's sing 'Home, Sweet Home,' and then all join in singing that grand old hymn, 'My Country, 'Tis of Thee,' to the new tune by our friend, the Bucks County Editor."



CHAPTER XVIII.

A VISIT TO THE "PENNSYLVANIA PALISADES," AS THE "NARROWS" OF THE DELAWARE RIVER ARE CALLED.

All hailed with delight Aunt Sarah's proposal that the Schmidt and Landis families, on the Fourth of July, drive over to the Narrows, visit Aunt Sarah's old home at Nockamixon, and see the "Ringing Rocks" and "High Falls," situated a short distance from the rocks, near which place picnics were frequently held. John Landis readily agreed to the proposed plan, saying, "The meadow hay and clover are cut, and I'll not cut the wheat until the fifth day of July."

The third of July was a busy day at both farm houses, preparing savory food of every description with which to fill hampers for the next day's outing. Small Polly Schmidt was so perfectly happy, at the thought of a proposed picnic, she could scarcely contain herself, and as her sister Elizabeth said, "did nothing but get in every one's way." Little Polly, being easily offended, trudged over to the Landis farm to see Mary, with whom she knew she was a great favorite.

The morning of the Fourth dawned bright and clear. Quite early, while the earth was still enveloped in a silvery mist, and on the lattice work of filmy cobwebs, spun over weeds and grass, dewdrops, like tiny diamonds, sparkled and glistened, until dissolved by the sun's warm rays, the gay party left home, for the "Palisades" were quite a distance from the farm, to drive being the only way of reaching the place, unless one boarded the gasoline motorcar, called the "Cornfield Express" by farmers living in the vicinity of Schuggenhaus Township.

There is something indescribably exhilarating about starting for an early drive in the country before sunrise on a bright, clear morning in midsummer, when "the earth is awaking, the sky and the ocean, the river and forest, the mountain and plain." Who has not felt the sweet freshness of early morning before "the sunshine is all on the wing" or the birds awaken and begin to chatter and to sing? There is a hush over everything; later is heard the lowing of cattle, the twitter of birds and hum of insect life, proclaiming the birth of the new day. Passing an uncultivated field, overgrown with burdock, wild carrots, mullein, thistle and milk weed, Mary alighted and gathered some of the pods of the latter, inclosing imitation of softest down, which she used later for filling sofa pillows.

"Look at those pretty wild canaries!" exclaimed Aunt Sarah, "yellow as gold, swinging on the stem of a tall weed."

"Professor Schmidt, can you tell me the name of that weed?" questioned Mary. "I have always admired the plant, with its large leaves and long, drooping racemes of crimson seeds.

"That," replied the Professor, "is a foreign plant, a weed called Equisetum from 'Equi,' a horse, and 'Setum'—tail. The country folk hereabout call it 'Horsetail.' It belongs to the Crptogamous or flowerless plants. There are only four specimens of this plant in America. I, too, have always greatly admired the plant."

The Professor was quite a noted botanist. There were few flowers, plants or weeds of which he was ignorant of the name or medicinal value. Another bird lazily picked seeds from the thistle blossoms. "See," exclaimed Aunt Sarah, "one bird has a spear of grass in its mouth!"

"Yellow star grass," said the Professor, "with which to make a nest. They never mate until the last of June, or first part of July. The tiny, little robbers ate up nearly all my sunflower seeds in the garden last summer."

"Well," replied Mary, "you know, Professor, the birds must have food. They are the farmer's best friend. I hope you don't begrudge them a few sunflower seeds, I love birds. I particularly admire the 'Baltimore Oriole,' with their brilliant, orange-colored plumage; they usually make their appearance simultaneously with the blossoms in the orchard in the south meadow; or so Aunt Sarah tells me. I love to watch them lazily swinging on the high branches of tall trees. On the limb of a pear tree in the orchard one day, I saw firmly fastened, a long, pouch-like nest, woven with rare skill. Securely fastened to the nest by various colored pieces of twine and thread was one of smaller size, like a lean-to added to a house, as if the original nest had been found too small to accommodate the family of young birds when hatched. The oriole possesses a peculiar, sweet, high-whistled trill, similar to this—'La-la-la-la,' which always ends with the rising inflection."

Fritz Schmidt, who had been listening intently to Mary, gravely remarked, "An oriole built a nest on a tall tree outside my bedroom window, and early every morning, before the family arise, I hear it sing over and over again what sounds exactly like 'Lais Die Beevil!' which translated means 'Read your Bible'."

"Even the birds are 'Dutch,' I believe, in Bucks County," said Fritz. "I think these must be German Mennonites, there being quite a settlement of these honest, God-fearing people living on farms at no great distance from our place."



As they drove along the country road, parallel with the Delaware River, just before reaching the Narrows. Mary was greatly attracted by the large quantities of yellow-white "sweet clover," a weed-like plant found along the Delaware River, growing luxuriantly, with tall, waving stems two to four feet high. The clover-like flowers, in long, loose racemes, terminating the branches, were so fragrant that, like the yellow evening primrose, the scent was noticeable long before one perceived the flowers. And, strange to tell, sweet clover was never known to grow in this locality until the seed was washed up on the bank of the river some ten or twelve years previous to the date of my story, when the Delaware River was higher than it was ever before known to be.

"The first place we shall visit," said Aunt Sarah, "will be my grandmother's old home, or rather, the ruins of the old home. It passed out of our family many years ago; doors and windows are missing and walls ready to tumble down. You see that old locust tree against one side the ruined wall of the house?" and with difficulty she broke a branch from the tree saying, "Look, see the sharp, needle-shaped thorns growing on the branch! They were used by me when a child to pin my dolls' dresses together. In those days, pins were too costly to use; and look at that large, flat rock not far distant from the house! At the foot of that rock, when a child of ten, I buried the 'Schild Krote Family' dolls, made from punk (when told I was too big a girl to play with dolls). I shed bitter tears, I remember. Alas! The sorrows of childhood are sometimes deeper than we of maturer years realize."

"Why did you give your family of dolls such an odd name, Aunt Sarah?" questioned Mary.

"I do not remember," replied her Aunt. "Schild Krote is the German name for turtle. I presume the name pleased my childish fancy."

"Suppose we visit my great-great-grandfather's grave in the near-by woods. I think I can locate it, although so many years have passed since I last visited it."

Passing through fields overgrown with high grass, wild flowers and clover, they came to the woods. Surprising to say, scarcely any underbrush was seen, but trees everywhere—stately Lebanon cedars, spruce and spreading hemlock, pin oaks, juniper trees which later would be covered with spicy, aromatic berries; also beech trees. Witch hazel and hazel nut bushes grew in profusion. John Landis cut a large branch from a sassafras tree to make a new spindle on which to wind flax, for Aunt Sarah's old spinning wheel (hers having been broken), remarking as he did so, "My mother always used a branch of sassafras wood, having five, prong-like branches for this purpose, when I was a boy, and she always placed a piece of sassafras root with her dried fruit."

The Professor's wife gathered an armful of yarrow, saying, "This is an excellent tonic and should always be gathered before the flowers bloom. I wonder if there is any boneset growing anywhere around here."

Boneset, a white, flowering, bitter herb, dearly beloved and used by the Professor's wife as one of the commonest home remedies in case of sickness, and equally detested by both Fritz and Pauline.



Mary gathered a bouquet of wild carrot, or "Queen Anne's Lace," with its exquisitely fine, lace-like flowers with pale green-tinted centres. Mary's Uncle could not agree with her in praise of the dainty wild blossoms. He said: "Mary, I consider it the most detested weed with which I am obliged to contend on the farm."



After quite a long, tiresome walk in the hot sun, they discovered the lonely grave, covered with a slab of granite surrounded by a small iron railing and read the almost illegible date—"Seventeen Hundred and Forty." Ralph said, "If he ever sighed for a home in some vast wilderness, his wish is granted." It certainly was a lonely grave in the deep woods, and gave all the members of the party a sad and eerie feeling as they wended their way out into the sunlight again, to the waiting carriages, and were soon driving swiftly along the Narrows, as they have been called from time immemorial by the inhabitants, although I prefer the name of Pennsylvania Palisades, as they are sometimes called.

Said Professor Schmidt: "Numerous tourists visit the Narrows every year. The Narrows are said to resemble somewhat the Palisades on the Hudson. I have seen, the latter and think these greatly resemble them and are quite as interesting and picturesque."

"The name Narrows is derived from the fact that at this place the Delaware River has forced itself through the rocky barrier," continued the Professor, "hedged in on one side by cliffs of perpendicular rock, three hundred feet high, extending some distance along the river, leaving scarcely room at some places for the river and the canal. Some quite rare plants grow here, said to be found in few other localities in the United States. You see the highest flat rock along the Narrows? It is called 'Top Rock' and rises to a height of more than three hundred feet. We shall drive around within a short distance of it; then, after passing a small house, we are obliged to walk across a field of ploughed ground; follow the well-beaten path between trees and undergrowth, and 'Top Rock' is before us. Stepping upon the high ledge of rock projecting out over the road beneath, we discover it may also be reached by following a precipitous path and clinging to bushes and trees, but none of the party venture. Recently the body of a man who had been searching for rare birds' eggs on the side of this self-same rock was found dead on the path below the rocks. What caused his fall is not known. No wonder Aunt Sarah says it makes her dizzy when you boys skip stones across the river while standing on the rock."

The beautiful view of the Delaware River and the scenery on the opposite side was something long to be remembered. While the party were going into raptures over the beautiful sight, Professor Schmidt turned to Mary and remarked: "In those rocks which rise in perpendicular bluffs, several hundred feet above the level of the river, are evidence that prehistoric man may have inhabited the caves in these same walls of rock along the Delaware. From implements and weapons found, it does not require any great effort of imagination to believe the 'Cave Man' dwelt here many centuries ago."

Fritz Schmidt was much interred in his father's conversation, and from that time on called Ralph Jackson Mary's "Cave Man."

Leaving Top Rock, the party wended their way back to the waiting carriages in the road, and drove to the "Ringing or Musical Rocks." They had been informed that their nearest approach to the rocks was to drive into the woods to reach them. Passing a small shanty at the roadside, where a sign informed the passerby that soft drinks were to be obtained, the party dismounted and found, to their surprise, a small pavilion had been erected with bench, table and numerous seats composed of boards laid across logs, where camp meetings had formerly been held. As the large trees furnished shade, and a spring of fresh water was near by, they decided to "strike" camp and have lunch before going farther into the woods.

Aunt Sarah and the Professor's wife spread a snowy cloth over the rough wooden table, quickly unpacked the hampers, and both were soon busily engaged preparing sandwiches of bread, thinly sliced, pink cold ham and ground peanuts, fried chicken and beef omelette; opening jars of home-made pickles, raspberry jam and orange marmalade.

"Oh!" said Pauline, "I'm so hungry for a piece of chocolate cake. Let me help shell the eggs, so we can soon have dinner."

"Here's your fresh spring water," called Fritz, as he joined the party, a tin pail in his hand, "We had such an early breakfast, I'm as hungry as a bear."

The party certainly did full justice to the good things provided with a lavish hand by Frau Schmidt and Aunt Sarah. All were in high spirits. The Professor quoted from the Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam—

Here with a loaf of bread beneath the bough. A flask of wine, a book of verse and thou, Beside me singing in the wilderness, And wilderness is Paradise enow.

Ralph cast a look at Marry, unnoticed by any one else, as much as to say, "The old tentmaker voiced my sentiments."



After the hampers had been repacked and stowed away in the carriages, they with the horses were left in the shade while the party walked to "High Falls," at no great distance from the camp. "High Falls," a beautiful waterfall about thirty feet high and fifty feet wide, is situated several hundred feet east of the Ringing Rocks. The water, before dashing below, passes over a large, solid, level floor of rock. After gazing at the Falls and picturesque surroundings, they searched through the woods for the Ringing Rocks, a peculiar formation of rocks of irregular shape and size, branching out from a common centre in four directions. The rocks vary in size from a few pounds to several tons in weight. Arriving there, Aunt Sarah said: "Ralph, you will now find use for the hammer which I asked you to bring." Ralph struck different rocks with the hammer, and Fritz Schmidt struck rocks with other pieces of rock, and all gave a peculiar metallic sound, the tones of each being different. The rocks are piled upon each other to an unknown depth, not a particle of earth being found between them, and not a bush or spear of grass to be seen. They occupy a space of about four and a half acres and are a natural curiosity well worth seeing. The young folks scrambled over the rocks for a time, and, having made them ring to their hearts' content, were satisfied to return to camp and supper.



"Not far distant from High Falls," said John Landis, when all were comfortably seated near the table, with a sandwich in hand, "is a place called Roaring Rocks, also a freak of nature. I remember, when a boy, I always went there in the fall of the year, after the first hard frost, to pick persimmons. The water could he distinctly heard running underneath the rocks at a considerable depth."