Spirit of the age. [volume] (Woodstock, Vt.) 1845-1913, 1873-05-08
in various stages of doneness, were
standing around the kitchen.
!

ness. felt about beans as the old
lady's hired man did about liver He
liked it well enough for fifty or sixty
days, but didn't care about it for a
steady diet"
'Don't laugh, Ned" said poor Sue,
looking anxiously and exhausted.
'Ive had really dreadful time with
these things I positively believe
three beans would have been enough. I"
Susan usually had very good sue
cess with her bread. But one day
there arose an unforeseen complica-
ton. The sponge had soured in the
night.
"Ned," she said, "did you ever no
lice how much soda mother uses when
the sponge is sour? I'm sure | don't
know
"NorI. I guess she just stirs it in
till it tastes all right"
She put in 4 large teaspoonful Of
soda, Then she and Ned both tasted
and smelt oft.
"'Tain't right yet" said Ned, with
an air Of fwisdom and experience. ''Dab
in some more"
In went another spoonful, Another
tasting by the cooks,
"lt tastes smarty," said Sue. IL be-
lieve l shall put in another spoonful"
After getting in fourspoonfuls, they
concluded it would "do.'
The bread came out of the oven
deep yellow brown in hue, and exhal-
ing an overpowering odor Of soda.
Sue made biscuit for tea, and the pigs
reveled in new bread for supper that
night Ned, being implicated, swore
solemn secrecy; as he used afterward
triumphantly to observe, sit didn't
kill the pigs, either
But Susan's experience were not all
so disastrous. Mrs Whitaker was
quite astonished to see how well things
went on. She really began to think
Susan was a ''natural cook" Daughters
of such notable housekeepers as Mrs
Whitaker are apt to be natural cooks
Order and method is the rule of the
house, and they adopt, instinctively,
"mother's way of doing things. A
certain deftness and skill is hereditary
with them. Perhaps, if Susan had,
as she sometimes wished in the old
dreamy days, been an ''authoress, her
proudest triumphs would have given
her no deeper thrill of pleasure than
when her father said:
"Susan, this is really capital squash
pie. fyour mother don't look out,
you'll beat her yet. Just give me an
other piece
One day Ned astonished Sne with
bona 6de compliment.
you're growing handsome, Sue,
said he.
She thought Ned was making fun
of her, thereby, for once, doing him an
injustice. For there is no surer and
better cosmetic than housework, when
not carried to excess. No amount of
dumb bells, flesh brushes, "constitu-
tional' walks and drives gives the en-
ergy, the brisk circulation, the cheer
FIJI tone to body and mind that comes
from the vigorous, varied exercise of
housework. She flew briskly around
the house now, singing as she made
beds up stairs, with the fresh morning
air sweeping breezily through the
open window, now sweeping the sit
ting room, now kneading dough, now
out in the garden for vegetables, all
this varied work bringing every mus
Gle into play and more healthily, be-
cause not done deliberately and with
''malice aforethought."
"How do you feel to day, Susan?"
queried Mrs. Whitaker, anxiously.
81 really don't know, mother" re-
piled Susan, laughingly, 81 haven't
had time to think"
And so Sue had grown plump and
rosy, had buoyant step, light and
sparkle in her eyes, the radiance in
look and spirit that comes from a
sound mind in sound body.
One Monday, Sue was in the clothes
yard, trying to hang out the clothes.
She was short, and the line high up,
and the wind blowing a gale. 1t GER
tainly was provoking wind. 1t blew
Sues sun bonnet off, and her curly
brown hair into all sorts of wild tan
giles and tOusles, and the table cloth
she was trying to hang up, kept flap
ping back all over her. Sue stood on
tip-toe, straining her arms up, and
..,:tl, &l.o