The Cambria freeman. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1867-1938, 1875-12-10
SWEET, RESTFUL HOME.
A "CoTTER's SATURDAY NIGHT IN DAN
BURY.


1t is Saturday night--the dear close of
tossing, struggling, restless week. To-
morrow is the Sabbath-when all labor
and care are held in aDeyance. Saturday
nigh. stands like rock before the day of
rest, and says to toll and worry: "Thus
far shalt thou come, and no farther
Blessed Saturday night. The weared
husband and father approaches lis home.
He looks ahead and sees the light stream
ing in cheerful radiance from the windows
and wonders If that boy has got in the
kindlings. He steps up on the stoop and
opens the door. His faith full wife meets
him at the entrance and greets him with,
"Why on earth don't you clean your feet,
and not lug the house full of mud?'' And
thus he steps into the bosom of his family,
grateful for the mercies he has received
and thankful that he has a home to come
to when the worry and care and toll of the
week are done. Yes, be is hcme now, and
has set his dinner pail on one chair and
laid his coat and hat on another, and with
his eyes full of soap from the wash, is
shouting impetuously for the towel Sat
urday night in the household What
beautiful sight The bright light, the
cheerful figured carpet, the radiant stove,
the neatly laid table, with the steaming
teapot, the pictures on the walls, and spot
less curtains, the purIing cat and bright
eyed children rubbing the plates with
their fingers and looking bungrily at the
canned cherries. Even the weary wife is
visibly q fected, and as she steps to clos
ct with his hat and coat she unconscious
ly observes to her husband
''Will you never learn to hang your
things up? or do you think I've got moth
in else to do but chase after you all the
while you are i'm the house? ?''
He makes no reply, but as he drops into
his seat at the table, with sigh of relief,
he says:
"What's the matter with that Internal
lamp? Is the oil all out, or amt the Chin
ney been cleaned? 1t don't give no more
light than a fre-bug."
"Turn it up, then,' she retorts. sIt
was right enough when I put it on the ta-
ble but I suppose the children have been
fooling with it. They never can keep their
hands out of mischief for an instant"
"I'll fool 'em," he growIs, 'ff they don't
keep their fingers off'n things"
After this sally a silence reigns, broken
only by rustling of plates and cutlery.
Then comes a whisper from one of the
youth, which is promptly met in a loud key
by the mother.
''Not another mouthful, tell you. You
have had one dish already, and that's
enough. I amt going to be up all night
wrastling around with you, young womani
and the quicker you straishten that face
the better it'll be for you.''
The offender looks with abashed inquiry
into the faces of her brothers and sisters,
and gradually steals glance into the face
of her father, and finding no sympathy
there, falls to making surreptitious grima-
ces at the mother, to the relief of herself
and the intense etlification of the other
children.
The tea is finally over that delightful
Saturday nights meal, and as the appeased
father stretches back in his chair, and
looks dreamly at the flame dancing in the
stove, he says to his first born:
''Is them kndlngs cut, young man ?"
OF course they have not been, and the
youth replies
"rm going right out to do it now," and
steps about lively for his hat.
"You'd better; and if | come home again
and find them kindlings not cut, 1 won't
leave a whole bone in your body. Do you
hear me ?'
eyes, pa"
''Well, then, start your boots.''
They are started, and the relieved father
comes back with his eyes to the glad flames,
and dwatches it abstrac ely, while his thot's
are b' 3 with the bright anticipations Of
the coming day of rest.
"Ain't you going down street or are you
going to sit there all night ?'' asks his
wife. He turns ar ,und and looks at her.
It's sort of mechanical movement with
out any apparent expression. ''There's
got to be something got for dinner to-mor-
row, and | want you TO go to Adams an
see if my hat is done, an Thomas must
have pair of shoes, an there amt a bit
of backing in the house," resumes the
mother. "YOu can tell Burroughs that
that last butter he sent up ain't fit for a
hog to eat, an if he amt got anything
better than that we don't want it. You'd
better get a small piece of pork while you
are down, an if you see Parks ask him
when he's coming here to fix that wall.
He has got the plaster off, an there it
stands, an there's no use of trying to put
the room 20 rights until the wall is fixed.
to leave a room like that
Hereupon the head of the house gets
upon his feet, takes a brief, longing glance
at the pleasant stove, and wants to know
where in the thunder his coat and lat are.
and if nothing can be left where it is put.
Then she tells him that il he looks where