The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1876-07-28
THAT HOMEMADE ICE CREAM.

THAT HOMEMADE ICE CREAM.
"Good gracious, mari" said Angel
lea Crane to her overworked parent, at
nightfan of memorable day-a day
that marked the beginning of the young
Squirrels Christmas holidays at home, and
every minute of it cramme5 and crowd
ed with labor for the entertainment in
his honor Of the Crane homestead
"good gracious you amt going to
have some homemade cream, surely p
The young lady's nose, which was ex-
ceedingly retrousse already, was perched
high in the air with disdain. eff there's
anything can't abide" she said, "it's
frozen corn starch and that's all you
can make of homemade cream any way
you fix it %
"Hold your tongue, Angy," said her
mother; you're the most onfeelin'
creetur ever see. You'd have me har-
ness up the team and drive away to
town and pay out a mint of money,
when l kin just as well hev it for nothin'
Haint we got a prime new freezer.
and cream and eggs and ice, without its
costin' a cent What more do you
want ?"
"A prime new freezer" scornfully
echoed Angy. "Youll want half a
dozen of 'em |"
"Well, can't borry 'em9" said her
prudent parent.
And who's going to hang over 'em?"
sail the young lady, whose stay at
boarding-school had not obliterated the
home dialect. "They need to be turned
and turned, and everybody worn out.
It's nearly time to dress now, and you
want little coolin off yourself. You're
as red as beet"
"I'H stay if L can be of any service. ="
said voice in the doorway.
Why, Sally" said Mrs. Crane,
%'youll want to return home and dress,
won't youG
"Oh, Ia rather not, said the voice,
this time trembling little. g. 1 don't
feel fit for any fun, Mrs. Crane. 1t
don't seem to me ever viii again."
81 spose not, deary," said the farm
er's wife, with an expression of pity,
mingled with relief. 9TH be dreadful
convenient to hev you STAY, Sally, if you
kin. There's power to do yet, and
only one pair o hands to do it. / s'pose
you wouldn't keer to go up in the par
lor ; but the freezers'll be in the cellar,
aud the heater keeps it nice and warm
down there; and while your a-makin'
the cream you kin listen to the music,
and hear the noise and all. It'll come
kind o nice to you that way, won't it,
Sally 2"
GOOD life, MARI laughed the viva
cious daughter; sis that what you call
NIECE 1t reminds me Of the little hun
CRY boy who went to smell the steam at
the pastry cooks.
"You don't know nothin' about the
way Sally feels" said Mrs Crane, "nor
1 don't think you could if you tried.
believe you'd dance and whis 'le about be-
foIe the grass took root over your pappy's
grave; but Sally loved hern, poor child,
and she can't help thinkin' of the poor
school aster lyin' out there in the snow,
when here he was, only a bit ago, as
click and smart as anybody. It's no
KNOWN whose Gurn it'll be next"
Whether the good woman had any rea-
son of her own for thus dwelling upon q
melancholy subject, it decided poor little
SallY's aversion for the merry. making,
and put to flight the gay Angelica, who
was in no hurnor for red eyes and noses,
when the young Squire would shortly
come, and it behooved these features to
be at their best.
But Sally fell to sobbing outright, not
giving thought TO the deletcrious eff
feet of tears upon her beauty. although
once upon n time it was bright and bon
ny enough to ensnare the young Squire
himself Long ago, when he drew her
to school on his handsome sled, he made
many a stumble over the ice in looking
4. Il &c
let hood, the little cheeks all aglow, and
Che yellow curls wantOning about with
the brisk wintry air. Sally's was always
the niggest apple from the finest tree IN
the orchard; the most luscious grapes
from The grapery found their way to Sal
Tvs desk; and ia the intervals OF his pos
sessing a Ien-knife young Master Ran
dali left DO blunt pencil in Sally 8 sachel.
Whcn II became necessary that ne
should ne sent TO place of instruction
befttiug his station in life, and the fiat
had go,r, iurth that the dear old days at
the village school should become part
aud parcel of the past; when he must
bid good-by to his romps in the new
mown bay, his races with the young colts !
IN the ten-acre field, his berrying and |
pic-nicing, his coasting down the glo- |
rious cid hill; when he must part with his
dog Lancer, and his gun, and his pony
above all. with Selly-it was heart
rending time. Whatever grown-up folks
may think IF these childish griefs, they |
are as tough to bear as the heavier ones |
that come later, and they leave great
ugly ecars that are sometimes only half
healed over.
When Will Randall cut Sally's name
and his own deep into the bark of the