The Abbeville press and banner. [volume] (Abbeville, S.C.) 1869-1924, 1895-11-27

HS time as just
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 confessedly
GLADYS man." the number OF them
at the "bee," and the unquali6edly
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 a story.
''You know that Mrs. Harney they
introduced you to, little bit ago."
he said ; and I admitted that I remem-
bered her.
did in a way. Even as he spoke
the woman passed laughing through
the room-large of figure, graceful,
fair snd handsome, with dancing eyes
and a 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 Chsffee. You
ought to remember Chris"
Someway, far back in my boyhood
memory. in the fair days when this
was my home neie ehborhood 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 I told him I re-
membered.
"That woman" he continued, "wilI
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.
"You know when Chris was boy,
along about fourteen years old, I
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 housekeepers
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
tumble. 1t Tas made from SIS 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 q wedding
present. She used it off and On all
her life after that, and there wasn't q
thing in the house she thought so
much of.
"It 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 q
quart cup and poured boiling water
over them.
'But the hop bag was pretty nearly
empty, That made her think of the
new crop. Chris had gathered them
about week before, and they were ly.
ing 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
might run out py fall, but they are
always stocked up again. And the bag
would last lifetime.
"While she was setting her yeast
she told Chris to go and split some
kindling and get the wood ready for a
fire in her outdoor oven. Lord! l
remember that old oven we'll. 1t was
of brick, of course, and with an arched
roof, plastered and whitewashed, and
she was proud of it. And she mad a
right to be, for the bread she made
there was the best in the country.
''Chris went to split the klndling
and Grandma Ellis went back to her
sewing; but she couldn't find her thim-
BILE. No, sir; she couldn't find it any
where, high nor low. That gold thin
BILE! Why, it wouldn't have troubled
her much more if the house had
burned down. She could have lost all
the COWS or the horses, or could have