Sullivan republican. [volume] (Laporte, Pa.) 1883-1896, 1895-11-22

one more reminder of my unfortunate
sex; my inability to thread needle,
and my ignorance of clog cabin" and
other quilting.
Dock recognized something of the
same thing. Though it was his own
house, and though he was confessedlv
a GLADYS man." the number of them
at the "bee," and the unqualifiedly
dominant manner in which they took
possession of the premises, tanned
him somewhat; and he was content TO
retire with me to quiet place in the
dining room, after the dinner things
had been cleared away, and there tell
me story.
"You know that Mrs. Harney they
introduced you to, little bit ago."
he said and I admitted that remem-
bered her.
did in way. Even as he spoke
the woman passed laughing through
the room-large of figure, graceful,
fair and handsome. with dancing eyes
and gracious presence, wherever she
went. She had left her place at the
blue quilt in the sitting room and
joined herself to the circle sewing on
red in the parlor.
"Well," said Dock, "she's Belle,
the daughter of Chris Chaffee. You
ought to remember Chris"
Someway, far back in my boyhood
memory, in the fair days when this
was my home neie hborhood and these
people were familiar figures in life,
there was Chris Chaffee. I could re-
member little about him beyond his
name, but that was clear enough.
Thirty years may erase much, but
memory holds to the names. Still I
fancied Deck had something to say
about the woman, and told him re-
,nembered.
"That woman," he continued, "will
be twenty-four next Thursday. That
is, she was born ON Thanksgiving
night ,twenty-four years ago. The
day of the month changes every year,
of course, but they always count
Thanksgiving as her birthday. Yes,
it was Chris's notion. He was an old
genius, if you remember him. Well,
he was.
lou hAOW WAOa OhA 10 Wd5 DOY,
along about fourteen years old, l
reckon, he made his home at Grand
ma Ellis's place. You know the farm.
Big, old-fashioned frame house, fire
places, and all that. Well, Grandma
Ellis was one of the best bousekeepers
in the country; made the best bread
-hop-yeast bread, you know. And
she was great sewer. When she was
married her husband gave her gold
thimble. It vas made from $5 gold
piece he earned driving cattle from
Ohio to Baltimore long, long ago
before there were any railroads.
''Of course she priced the thimble.
Five dollars was good deal of money
then; and, besides, it was a wedding
present. She used it off and on all
her life after that, and there wasn't
thing in the house she thought SO
much of.
'sIt was Wednesday, the day before
Thanksgiving, and of course it was
baking day. Wednesday was baking
day Just as much as Monday was wash
day. Grandma had been sewing some
buttons on Chris's jacket, and when she
got it done she called him to put it
on, and then she went out to get her
hops and scald them and set her
yeast.
''She kept her hops, just as all the
old housekeepers did those days, in a
bag that would hold about half bush
el, and it hung in the woodhouse just
outside the kitchen door. She put in
her hand, took up about the right
quantity, shook it free from the loose,
clinging hops, and put them in a
quart cup and poured boiling water
over them.
ssBut the hop bag was pretty nearly
empty. That made her think of the
new crop. Chris had gathered them
about a week before, and they were ~
ino spread out on the end of the work
bench in the woodhouse; SO she gath
cred them up and put them in the hop
bag. I suppose those old women
never run out of hops. The supply
:-ht run out by fall, but they are
says stocked up again. And the bag
would last lifetime.
.sWhile she was setting her yeast
she told Chris TO go and split some
kindling and get the wood ready for
20 in her outdoor oven. Lord!
har that old oyen we'll, 1t was