American citizen. [volume] (Canton, Miss.) 1864-1890, 1873-03-29

it's the modern recipe for pandowdy; bu
Ii ain t no more like my mothers thar
swan are like geese. Well, well, cooking
amt the art it used to be- l amt seen {
pumpkin pie that deserved the name
these dozen years, and buckwheats dom
taste as they used to cold mornings when
l was Il boy, and mother fried EN-"
"1'm SO sorry" said Peggy; "but the
decei;ful old thing isn't half done. Wher
the top looked so promising, who would
suspect that there was only raw apples
and dough floating in molasses under
neaths It's downright hypocrisy! shall
never believe in pandowdies again"
'How did you bake it?" asked Uncle
John, disconsolately.
I'm the stove oven, to be sure. Per
haps you thought that baked it in the
sun?''
''Ah, that's it. My mother always used
the brick oven; and SO did" And then
Uncle John pushed his chair back and
left the room.
81 never thought of the brick oven,'
said Peggy to herself. at hasn't been
1 wonder if it would be safe? I'll try ii
tomorrow if Pm alive
The brick oven was in the winter kitchen
| at Briefly Farm, and, as Peggy said
had never been used or disturbed since
the day of Aunt Brierly's shock. The
kitchen itself had fallen into disuse as a
| Kitchen since her time. having been turn
ed to account as storeroom. So when
tomorrow came Peggy made her pan,
dowdy ready, and went into the old
kitchen to light fire in the brick oven,
matches and kindlings in hand. The
rusty door OF the oven grated on its
| hinges, as if loath to be called into ser
vice again after SO many years of idle
ness, and disclosed newspaper twisted
together carelessly, and a handful of
kindlings thrown upon il, just as Aunt
seized her. Wondering what scrap
of forgotten news she might find
in an old daily of ten years
back, Peggy took the newspaper
up with sort of shudder, shook and
smoothed it out, and let fall from among
its folds letter, yellow, and torn, and
crumpled. She picked it up without
much concern, saw that it was addressed
| to "Miss Margaret Briefly" opened it,
and read a few imprisoned lines from
Matthew Royston-a few lines imploring
her to forgive his miserable exactions,
and to send him some ign of her favor.
He feared that he might have forfeited
her regard; but if she still loved him,
would she write line in answer, or
send message by the bearer, or meet him
at the stile in Lovers Lane at twilight, or,
/
BILE would she set light in a win
dow of the best room, which, being sell
dom used, would signify to him that he
would be welcome at Briefly Farm?
| And all this dated ten years ago! And
she had not written the line he asked for,
nor sent the message, nor set the light in
the window, nor met him in the soft
spring twilight at the stile in Lovers
| Lane.
| No wonder he had married Patty Pratt!
| Peggy came near having a shock herself
| at this revelation of the old brick oven,
and it was after twelve by the kitchen
| clock before she came to her senses, and
vaguely remembered that she had been
meaning to heat the brick oven and bake
| the pandowdy. Was it yesterday or the
day before?
Just then Uncle John came in to his
dinner, and found the table not set, not a
vegetable on the fire, the tea-kettle dry,
| the mutton black as a coal, and the PAN
dowdy waiting for baking! Had Peggy
run away? And then he stepped into the
old kitchen, and found her with the yell
| low letter spread out upon her lap, her
hands folded over it, and her eyes staring
gy, what's the matter, child 2" he called
twice before she needed. Then she was
| on her feet in a trice, rubbing her eyes as
if she had been dreaming.
"Pm heating the brick oven for the PAN
dowdy," she answered, gathering her
kindlings.
Didn't you know it's after twelve,
Peggy." he mildly suggested, picking up
the letter that had slipped to the floor.
"What's this, eh?"
Its mine; give it to me-" she cried.
''It's nothing-only scrap of old paper,
you see. It's my own. l found it in the
oven. Do give it to me. l have right
to it ~ But Uncle John was already adj
justing his spectacles, conscious, in a sort
| of haZy way, that something had troubled
Peggy, and that this yellow rag was the
| something, which it was his duty to look
into.
"Nobody's going to eat it, child ~ he
said. "And you found it in the oven,
eh Pretty place for a love-letter. I
wonder it didn't heat the oven without
any kindlings or other fuel. Iou didn't
answer it, reckon %
''Answer i'll 1 never laid eyes on it
before to-day" said Peggy, with eyes that
struck fire.
cts been good while on the road,
ehe April 90. 1862. Why, that's the
same day as Sophy had her shockl All,
Oh. Humph! And he married Patty
Pratt! Ahem! Amt it most dinner
time. Peggy"
DINNER! Bless me, yes. And there's
the pandoWdy done TO crisp. NO; what
am l talking about? 1t hasn't seen the
oven" And Peggy was alert and busy
in half minute.
Uncle John made no further reference
to the letter; but about a month later,
when Peggy sat knitting in the twilight,
and wondering what her twiights would
have been like if Aunt Briefly had not
been unkind. somebody opened the
door, came to her side, and stopped and
kissed her on the brow.
''Is it time to light the lamps, Uncle
John?' size asked.
"Uncle John has brought about great
illumination already" said voice that
seemed an echo from the past, but which
in reality belonged to Matthew Royston
himself. Uncle John wrote me all
about that precious pandowdy, and the
brick oven, and a love-lettcr that had
been ten years on the way to you. Peggy
dear, we have been long while making
up our quarrel. Shall we end it with a
wedding -ring:"
And they did. But think they owed
it all to the wdy!-Harper's Maya
ztRe.
An Unpleasant Visitor.
THE Paris Soir relates the following