Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled during Her Visit Part 16

"Rather monotonous, I should think," said Mary. "I am surprised his wife did not make him wear coat and trousers made from the same piece of calico."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OLD STORE ON RIDGE ROAD]

"The dry goods," continued Aunt Sarah, "retained the scent of coffee, cheese and dried fruits some time after being purchased but no one minded that in those days. I still remember how perfectly wonderful to me when a child appeared the large, wide-mouthed gla.s.s jars containing candy. There were red and white striped mint sticks, striped yellow and white lemon sticks and h.o.a.rhound and clear, wine-colored sticks striped with lines of white, flavored with anise-seed. One jar contained clear lemon-colored 'Sour b.a.l.l.s,' preferred by us children on account of their lasting qualities, as also were the jujubees, which resembled nothing so much as gutta percha, and possessed equally as fine flavor; also pink and yellow sugar-frosted gumdrops. In a case at one end of the counter were squares of thick white paper covered with rows of small pink, also white, 'peppermint b.u.t.tons,' small sticks, two inches in length, of chewing gum in waxed paper, a white, tasteless, crystalline substance resembling paraffine. What longing eyes I frequently cast at the small scalloped cakes of maple sugar, prohibitive as regards cost. They sold for a nickel, am I was always inordinately fond of maple sugar, but the price was prohibitive. I seldom possessed more than a penny to spend in those days, and not always that. Father raised a large family, money was never plentiful, and we relished the plain, cheap candies usually sold in those days more than many children of the present day do the finest and most expensive cream chocolates, to many of whom in this extravagant age a dollar is not valued more highly than was a penny by us in years gone by. And 'Candy Secrets!' I don't believe you know what they are like.

I've not seen any for years. They were small, square pieces of taffy-like candy, wrapped in squares of gilt or silver paper, inclosing a small strip of paper containing a couple of sentimental lines or jingle. Later came 'French Secrets.' They consisted of a small oblong piece of candy about an inch in length, wrapped in tissue paper of different colors, having fringed ends, twisted together at either end. These also inclosed a tiny strip of paper containing a line or two. Small, white candy hearts contained the words in pink letters, 'Little Sweetheart,' 'I Love You,' 'Name the Day,' etc. These were invariably distributed among the young folks at small parties and created no end of merriment."

"Mary, old as I am, I still remember the delight I experienced when a little, rosy-cheeked urchin surrept.i.tiously pa.s.sed me around the corner of my desk at the old 'Cross Roads School' a 'Secret,' with the words, 'Do you love me?' My grandmother always kept a supply of h.o.a.rhound and peppermint lozenges in her knitting basket to give us children should we complain of hoa.r.s.eness. My, but 'twas astonis.h.i.+ng to hear us all cough until grandmother's supply of mints was exhausted. I think. Mary, I must have had a 'sweet tooth' when a child, as my recollections seem to be princ.i.p.ally about the candy kept in my grandfather's store. I suppose in those early days of my childhood candy appealed to me more than anything else, as never having had a surfeit of sweets, candy to me was a rare treat. I remember, Mary, when a little child, my thrifty mother, wis.h.i.+ng to encourage me to learn to knit my own stockings, she, when winding the skein of German yarn into a ball, occasionally wound a penny in with the yarn. I was allowed to spend the penny only after I had knitted the yarn and the penny had fallen from the ball. What untold wealth that penny represented! And planning how to spend it was greater pleasure still. Many a pair of long old-fas.h.i.+oned, dark blue and red-striped stockings, were finished more quickly than otherwise would have been done without the promised reward. I became proficient in knitting at an early age," continued Aunt Sarah; "a truly feminine occupation, and as I one time heard a wise old physician remark, 'Soothing to the nerves,' which I know to be true, having knitted many a worry into the heel of a sock. I learned at an early age the value of money, and once having acquired the saving habit, it is not possible to be wasteful in later life."

CHAPTER XXV.

AN ELBADRITCHEL HUNT.

Fritz Schmidt, like many another Bucks County boy, had frequently heard the rural tale of a mythical bird called the "Elbadritchel,"

supposed to be abroad, particularly on cold, dark, stormy nights, when the wind whistled and blew perfect gales around exposed corners of houses and barns. 'Twas a common saying among "Pennsylvania Germans,"

at such times, "'Tis a fine night to catch 'Elbadritchels.'"

[Ill.u.s.tration: CATCHING ELBADRITCHELS]

For the information of those who may not even have heard of this remarkable creature, it is described as being a cross between a swallow, a goose and a lyre bird. Have you ever seen an "Elbadritchel?" No one has to my certain knowledge, so I cannot vouch for the truth of this description of it.

Fritz Schmidt had never taught to question the truth of the tale. So, when one cold, stormy night several boys from neighboring farms drove up to the Schmidt homestead and asked Fritz to join them in a hunt for "Elbadritchels," he unhesitatingly agreed to make one of the number, unaware that he had been selected as the victim of a practical joke, and, as usual, was one of the jolliest of the crowd. They drove through a blinding downpour of rain and dismounted on reaching a lonely hill about three miles distant. They gave Fritz a bag to hold.

It was fas.h.i.+oned of burlap and barrel hoops, inside of which they placed a lighted candle, and Fritz was instructed how to hold it in order to attract the "Elbadritchel." They also gave him a club with which to strike the bird when it should appear.

The boys scampered off in different directions, ostensibly to chase up the birds, but in reality they clambered into the waiting wagon and were rapidly driven home, leaving Fritz alone awaiting the coming of the "Elbadritchel." When Fritz realized the trick played on him, his feelings may be better imagined than described. He trudged home, cold and tired, vowing vengeance on the boys, fully resolved to get even with them.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE OLD SHANGHAI ROOSTER.

Much of Aunt Sarah's spare time was devoted to her chickens, which fully repaid her for the care given them. She was not particular about fancy stock, but had quite a variety--White Leghorns, Brown Leghorns, big, fat, motherly old Brahma hens that had raised a brood of as many as thirty-five little chicks at one time, a few snow-white, large Plymouth Rocks and some gray Barred one. The _latter_ she _liked_ particularly because she said they were much, more talkative than any of the others; they certainly did appear to chatter to her when she fed them. She gave them clean, comfortable quarters, warm bran mash on cold winter mornings, alternating with cracked corn and "scratch feed"

composed of a mixture of cracked corn, wheat and buckwheat, scattered over a litter of dried leaves on the floor of the chicken house, so they were obliged to work hard for their food.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Old Egg Basket]

A plentiful supply of fresh water was always at hand, as well as cracked oyster sh.e.l.l. She also fed the chickens all sc.r.a.ps from the table, cutting all meat sc.r.a.ps fine with an old pair of scissors hung conveniently in the kitchen.

She was very successful with the little chicks hatched out when she "set" a hen and the yield of eggs from her hens was usually greater and the eggs larger in size than those of any of her neighbors. This I attribute to her excellent care of them, generous diet, but princ.i.p.ally to the fact of the elimination of all the roosters among the flock during the season between the "first of May and December first," with one exception. "Brigham," an immensely large, old, red Shanghai rooster, a most pompous and dignified old chap. A special pet of Aunt Sarah's, she having raised him from a valuable "setting" of eggs given her, and as the egg from which "Brigham," as he was called, emerged, was the only one of the lot which proved fertile, he was valued accordingly and given a longer lease of life than the other roosters, and was usually either confined or allowed to roam outside the chicken yard during the summer months; in the winter, being a swift runner, he usually gobbled up two shares of food before the hens arrived. That accounted for his great size. The old rooster was also noted for his loud crowing.

One day in early Spring, John Landis came into the house hurriedly, saying, "Sarah, your old Shanghai rooster is sick."

"Yes," answered his wife, "I missed hearing him crow this morning; he is usually as regular as an alarm clock."

She hurried to the barnyard, picked up poor Brigham, wrapped him carefully in a piece of blanket and laid him in a small shed. The next morning she was awakened by the l.u.s.ty crowing of Brigham, who was apparently as well as ever. The next day the same thing happened. Aunt Sarah found him, as she supposed, in a dying condition, and the following morning he was fully recovered. It was quite puzzling until one day John Landis came into the kitchen laughing heartily and said, "Sarah, I am sorry to inform you of the intemperate habits of your pet, Brigham. He is a most disreputable old fellow, and has a liking for liquor. He has been eating some of the brandied cherries which were thrown into the barnyard when the jug containing them was accidentally broken at house cleaning time.

"Well, Sarah, old Brigham was not sick at all--only 'ingloriously'

drunk." In the fall of the same year Aunt Sarah spied Brigham one day on top of one of the cider barrels in the shed busily engaged eating the pummace which issued from the bung-hole of the barrel. John Landis, on hearing of Brigham's last escapade, decided, as the rooster was large as an ordinary-turkey, to serve him roasted at Mary's wedding.

Fritz Schmidt remarked one day in the presence of Sibylla: "Chickens must possess some little intelligence; they know enough to go to bed early. Yes, and without an 'alarm clock,' too, Sibylla, eh?"

She walked away without a word to Fritz. The alarm clock was a sore subject with her, and one about which she had nothing to say. Sibylla had never quite forgiven Fritz for the prank played on her. He, happening to hear John Landis tell Sibylla a certain hour he thought a proper time for Jake Crouthamel to take his departure Sunday evenings, Fritz conceived the brilliant (?) idea of setting the alarm clock to "go off" quite early in the evening. He placed the clock at the head of the stairs, and in the midst of an interesting conversation between the lovers the alarm sounded with a loud, whizzing noise, which naturally made quick-tempered Sibylla very angry. She said on seeing Fritz the next morning: "It was not necessary to set the 'waker' to go off, as I know enough to send 'Chake' home when it's time."

Fritz, happening to tell the story to the editor of a small German Mennonite paper, edited in a near-by town, it was printed in that paper in German, which caused Sibylla, on hearing it, to be still more angry at the Professor's son.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"A POTATO PRETZEL."

In the early part of September Mary's Aunt suggested she try to win the prize offered at the Farmers' Picnic in a near-by town for the best "Raised Potato Cake." Aunt Sarah's rye bread invariably captured first prize, and she proposed sending both bread and cake with Sibylla and Jake, who never missed picnic or fair within a radius of one hundred miles.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "POTATO PRETZEL"]

Mary set a sponge the evening of the day preceding that of the picnic, using recipe for "Perfection Potato Cake," which Aunt Sarah considered her best recipe for raised cakes, as 'twas one used by her mother for many years.

On the day of the picnic, Mary arose at five o'clock, and while her Aunt was busily engaged setting sponge for her loaf of rye bread, Mary kneaded down the "potato cake" sponge, set to rise the previous evening, now rounded over top of bowl and light as a feather.

She filled a couple of pans with buns, molded from the dough, and set them to rise. She then, under her Aunt's direction, fas.h.i.+oned the "Pretzel" as follows: She placed a piece of the raised dough on a large, well-floured bake board, rolled it over and over with both hands until a long, narrow roll or strip was formed about the width of two fingers in thickness and placed this strip carefully on the baking sheet, which was similar to the one on which Aunt Sarah baked rye bread; shaped the dough to form a figure eight (8) or pretzel, allowing about two inches of s.p.a.ce on either side of baking sheet to allow for raising. She then cut a piece of dough into three portions, rolled each as thick as a finger, braided or plaited the three strips together and placed carefully on top of the figure eight, or pretzel, not meeting by a s.p.a.ce of about two inches. This braided piece on the top should not be quite as thick as bottom or first piece of the pretzel. She then rolled three small pieces of dough into tiny strips or rolls the size of small lead pencils, wound them round and round and round into small scrolls, moistened the lower side with water to cause them to adhere, and placed them on the dividing line between the two halves of the figure eight. She placed an old china coffee cup without a handle, b.u.t.tered on outside, in centre of each half of the figure eight, which kept the pretzel from spreading over the pan. With a small, new paint brush she brushed over the top of Pretzel and Buns, a mixture, consisting of one yolk of egg, an equal quant.i.ty of cream or milk (which should be lukewarm so as not to chill the raised dough) and one tablespoon of sugar. This causes the cakes, etc., to be a rich brown when baked, a result to be obtained in no other manner.

When the pretzel was raised and had doubled in size 'twas baked in a moderately hot oven.

Mary's surprise and delight may easily be imagined when Sibylla, on her return from the picnic, handed her the prize she had won, a two-pound box of chocolates, remarking, "Mary, you and Aunt Sarah both got a prize--her's is in the box what Jake's got."

The box on being opened by Aunt Sarah contained a very pretty, silver-plated soup ladle, the prize offered for the best loaf of rye bread.

"Aunt Sarah," inquired Mary one day, "do you think it pays a housekeeper to bake her own bread?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE OLD STORE ON RIDGE ROAD]

"Certainly, it pays, my dear. From a barrel of flour may be baked three hundred or more one-pound loaves of bread; should you pay five cents a loaf, the bread which may be made from one barrel of flour if bought from a bake shop would cost you fifteen dollars. Now, you add to the cost of a barrel of flour a couple of dollars for yeast, salt, etc., which altogether would not possibly be more than ten dollars, and you see the housewife has saved five dollars. It is true it is extra work for the housewife, but good, wholesome bread is such an important item, especially in a large family, I should advise the thrifty housekeeper to bake her own bread and bake less pie and cake, or eliminate less important duties, to be able to find time to bake bread. From the bread sponge may be made such a number of good, plain cakes by the addition of currants or raisins, which are more wholesome and cheaper than richer cakes."

"I think what you say is true, Aunt Sarah," said Mary.

"Frau Schmidt always bakes her own bread, and she tells me she sets a sponge or batter for white bread, and by the addition of Graham flour, cornmeal or oatmeal, always has a variety on her table with a small expenditure of time and money."

[Ill.u.s.tration: A "BROD CORVEL" OR BREAD BASKET]