Mary at the Farm and Book of Recipes Compiled during Her Visit Part 5

"This is a favorite little poem of mine, Aunt Sarah. I'll just write it on this blank page in your book."

There's a little splash of suns.h.i.+ne and a little spot of shade, always somewhere near, The wise bask in the suns.h.i.+ne, but the foolish choose the shade.

The wise are gay and happy, on the foolish, sorrow's laid, And the fault's their own, I fear.

For the little splash of suns.h.i.+ne and the little spot of shade Are here for joint consumption, for comparison are made; We're all meant to be happy, not too foolish or too staid.

And the right dose to be taken is some suns.h.i.+ne mixed with shade.

"Aunt Sarah, I see there is still s.p.a.ce on this page to write another poem, a favorite of mine. It is called, 'Be Strong,' by Maltbie Davenport."

Be Strong!

We are not here to play, to dream, to drift; We have hard word to do, and loads to lift, Shun not the struggle; face it, 'tis G.o.d's gift.

Be Strong!

Say not the days are evil--who's to blame?

And fold the hands and acquiesce--Oh, shame!

Stand up, speak out, and bravely, in G.o.d's name.

Be Strong!

It matters not how deep intrenched the wrong, How hard the battle goes, the day how long; Faint not, fight on! Tomorrow comes the song,

LIFE'S COMMON THINGS.

How lovely are life's common things.

When health flows in the veins; The golden suns.h.i.+ne of the days When Phoebus holds the reins;

The floating clouds against the blue; The fragrance of the air; The nodding flowers by the way; The green gra.s.s everywhere;

The feathery beauty of the elm, With graceful-swaying boughs.

Where nesting songbirds find a home And the night wind sighs and soughs;

The hazy blue of distant hill, With wooded slope and crest; The crimson sky when low at night The sun sinks in the West;

The thrilling grandeur of the storm, The lightning's vivid flash, The mighty rush of wind and rain, The thunder's awful crash.

And then the calm that follows storm, And rainbow in the sky; The rain-washed freshness of the earth-- A singing bird near by.

And oh, the beauty of the night!

Its hush, its thrill, its charm; The twinkling brilliance of its stars; Its tranquil peace and calm.

Oh, loving fatherhood of G.o.d To give us every day The lovely common things of life To brighten all the way!

(Susan M. Perkins, in the Boston Transcript)

ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.

Abou Ben Adhem--may his tribe increase-- Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace And saw, within the moonlight of his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold.

Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the presence in the room he said: "What writest thou?" The vision raised his head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered: "The names of those who love the Lord."

"And is mine one?" said Abou. "Nay, not so,"

Replied the angel. Abou spoke low, But cheerily still, and Said, "I pray thee, then, write me as one that loves his fellow-men."

The angel wrote and vanished. The next night It came again, with a great, wakening light, And showed the names whom love of G.o.d had blessed, And, lo! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.

LEIGH HUNT.

CHAPTER X.

SIBYLLA LINSABIGLER.

A very original character was Sibylla Linsabigler, who had been a member of the Landis household several years. She was Aunt Sarah's only maid servant, but she disliked being referred to as a servant, and when she overheard "Fritz" Schmidt, as he pa.s.sed the Landis farm on his way to the creek for a days fis.h.i.+ng, call to Mary: "Miss Midleton, will you please send the b.u.t.ter over with the servant today, as I shall not return home in time for dinner" Sibylla said, "I ain't no servant. I'm hired girl What does that make out if I do work here?

Pop got mad with me 'cause I wouldn't work at home no more for him and Mom without they paid me. They got three more girls to home yet that can do the work. My Pop owns a big farm and sent our 'Chon' to the college, and it's mean 'fer' him not to give us girls money for dress, so I work out, 'Taint right the way us people what has to work are treated these days," said Sibylla to herself, as she applied the broom vigorously to the gay-flowered carpet in the Landis parlor. "Because us folks got to work ain't no reason why them tony people over to the Perfessor's should call me a 'servant.' I guess I know I milk the cows, wash dishes, scrub floors, and do the was.h.i.+n' and ir'nin' every week, but I'm no 'servant,' I'm just as good any day as that good-fer-nothin' Perfesser's son," continued Sibylla, growing red in the face with indignation. "Didn't I hear that worthless scamp, Fritz Schmidt, a-referrin' to me and a-sayin' to Miss Midleton fer the 'servant' to bring over the b.u.t.ter? Betch yer life this here 'servant'

ain't a-goin' to allow eddicated people to make a fool of her. First chance I get I'll give that Perfesser a piece of my mind."

Sibylla's opportunity came rather unexpectedly. The gentle, mild-mannered Professor was on good terms with his st.u.r.dy, 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 n.o.body, 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 n.o.body 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. G.o.d 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 G.o.d 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 n.o.ble 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 b.u.t.ter 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 Vand.y.k.e:

"Hewing wood and drawing water, splitting stones and cleaving sod, All the dusty ranks of labour, in the regiment of G.o.d, 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 G.o.d.

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