The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1880-08-26
BETsEY REMINGTONs QUILTING.

The huge outside doors of the great
Remington farmhouse stood wide open
to the morning sun. Motherly Glacs
looked cheerfully in at the open win
dows and armies of apple blossoms sent
in the compliments of the season on the
freshest breath of the day.
From the farm-yard came the familiar
sound of milking, mingled with an oc-
casional 80, Mollyr' and the wild eX-
element of the feathered tribe running,
flying and gathering in answer to the
shrill call for the morning meal.
Within the farm house kitchen the
"women folks were all astir and bust
ling with festive preparations.
The woman element in the Reming-
ton household was the masterful one.
There lived no one for miles around
who did not know the widow Reming
ton. She was woman guiltless of
poetry or ideality, but so rounded and
cOmpacted of thrift, forehandedness and
faculty. that no one was more noted
and quoted or commanded more esteem
than she.
When Betsey, her only daughter,
was turned of three" she was started
on the regular course of instruction at
the "deestrictn school hard by, said
course including sewing, knitting, the
marking Of samplers and the making of
work-pOc6ets. At five years old and
when Miss Sally Nash, the teacher had
been twice invited to tea in order that
the matter should be fully considered, it
was duly decided that Betsey should be-
gin a bedquilt and that the " butterfly
fashion" was, on the whole, the pat
tern best adapted to her youth and her
mothers materials. No matter that to
little Betsey it was at first, and long
continued 10 be, a most incOmprehensi-
bic affair She carefully overhanded
her basted patchwork an hour each
summer day. Each autumn it was
packed in the big red = chist'' contain
inc many another family treasure,
while each returning spring saw it re-
produced. counted over, measured and
calculated, and gradually another sum-
mer's patient labor was added there
unto, until finally it was pronounced,
bv Miss Sally herself to be complete.
Pretty Betsev Remington was now
eighteen, and mistress of her needle, as
squad of comforters and quilts gath
cred in her closet as the result of her
handiwork could attest.
However this baby attempt had lain
in blocks, as she had left it, and had
been shown to the Remington relations
far and wide as "our Betsey's fust
work" Now it had been put together
and tomorrow was to be quilted, and in
the preparation of the festal supper
that would follow, the household were
earnestly engaged.
To one unfamiliar with the thrifty
simplicity and the toothsome dishes of
the olden time, it is impossible to de-
scribe the results of those early morning
hours, or the odors peculiar to them
that rose up and made sweet SAVIOR be-
fore the makers of the feast. The oven
door had been set wide, and the sheet of
flame that went streaming up its sooty
flue contraSted strongly with the sub
dued blaze of the old-fashioned fire
place.
Mother Remington, in short gown
and stuff petticoat, with sleeves tucked
well above the elbow, stood on the
broad stone hearth, stirring the crisp
potatoes in the long-handled frying-pan
and slowly turning the rotary gridiron
on which steak was broiling over the
Goals.
"Come, Jim, whip up yer forrerd
horseS,n said she to her son, who at
that moment came in with hat full of
eggs and two wet and discouraged lit
tie ducklingS in an old tin pail, knock
ing each other down in their trembling
efforts TO stand on their feet. " Come,
come, we've all been to breakfast"
I'm on hand. mother, like q basket
of chips" said the boy, setting down
his load, and taking a hasty but severe
scrub from the tin basin ut the back
door. "A feller's got to ketch a bite
as he can git it, when the wimen folks
want anything in this house"
The food being now securely har-
vested on dish and platter was set be-
fore him smoking hot. After a hearty
meal the boy arose from the table and
slowly wiping his mouth on his jacket
sleeve and. leaning on the back of his
chair, watched his mother, who swept
with heavy tread from buttery to store
room, gathering a variety of things on
one end of the kitchen table, which she
was packing into a hamper.
Run Jim and bring me that piece o.
fresh, in the little tin pail in the well,
and haul up the butter box quicker"
Mother, who's goin to git all them
things anyhow said Jim as returning
he placed the dripping pail and box be-
fore her on the table.
Wei, give ear now, for | hain't no
time to talk twice
stop to old Miss Buckley'S and give
her this roll o butter, and tell her it's
the fust real out and out grass churnin'
I've he'd this spring; then go on TO wild
der Jones and leave this batch o spar
rowgraSs and this piece o roast and
that rhubarb pie; and git away, for con-
science sake, afOre she has time to think
where it comes from. I'd ruther be
whipt than to hear her talk it all over
to the Dorcas or the prayer meetin',
with the hull kit and Doodle on 'em
hearin' on her. / low the wilder Jones
is good neighbor, but she does hang
on like nor easter and her tongue runs
like a mill clack. Come, now Jim, make
tracks"
jim shook the hay seed from his het,
grasped the hamper and started for the
wagon house, but was not destined to
set forth so easily.
"Jim-Jim Remin' ton-where be
your ears?n
Jim was tucking a well-worn buffalo
over his ample load, and, without look
ing up, shouted: &" They're hitched on
all right, mother. Go aheadi'
" There's a lot O Grants l tended to
send by yer. Goround by Jim Busley's
and tell him he can hoop my barrels
any day and bring me up six more bee