The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1919-02-06
Bread-An' Butter
-An'-App1e
Butter
By BARBARA KERR
Copyright, 1918, by Mcclure Newspaper
Syndicate)
BY BARBARA KERR

She was a little brown wisp OF a
thing, sitting in big chair prOpped
upon a box to make her just the right
height to stir the apple butter. She
could rest the long handle of the STIR
rer ON the arm of the chair so 1T
would not be SO heavy, then she could
keep the paddle moving over the bot
tom of the great copper kettle. TO
help keep the rich butter from stick
ing to the bottom of the kettle her
mother had thrown in number or
bright, new copper cents thoroughly
cleansed with hot vinegar and salt.
If the apple butter was not scorched,
Sarah Jane was to have all the pen
MES for her own, besides, of course,
all of the good bread and butter and
apple butter that she could eat all
winter.
1t was an ideal October day. Along
the fence was a riot of color, with now
and then sumach, like an immense
bunch of scarlet geraniums or clump
of goldenrod. The pokeberries with
their purple inkwells mingled with the
browns, russets and green's of summer
weeds and a great profusion of wild
grapevines. And Sarah Jane ap-
proved. The air was spicy with. the
fragrance of cooking apples and cider.
The great copper kettle hung over
slow outdoor fire near the spring
house, and the long stirrer moved
| rhythmically over the bottom, pushing
the pennies about ceaselessly.
Sarah Jane was droning an impro-
vised little song which she attuned
to the swish of the pennies and the
gurgle of the apple butter as it surged
| through the holes in the wooden pad
die of the stirrer:
'Peter-pitter- patter-putter-
Observation-Disclosures - apple butt
Too much hard cider will make you
"Well, hello, little poet! How do
you know? Tried it? I've brought
the rest of your cider from the mill,
but it's not hard. Where's your
mOther?"
Ashamed that anyone, especially
Milo Ward, the idol of her childish
heart, should have heard her silly lit
tie song, Sarah Jane hung her head in
modification. She would have run
away, but she was mindful that Dun
can farm was famous for its apple
butter, which had never been burned.
She tried to pull her little brown bare
feet up under her skirts and almost
upset her precarious perch.
"Look out for the throne!" cried
Milo, as he caught the chair and right
ed it on the box. Then, seeing her
embarrassment, he took the stirrer
from her hands, saying gently: Don't
mind me, little Say-Jane. Let me
give the stirrer few whirls while
you find your mother for me-"
Sarah Jane needed no second bid
ding. She found her mother, but
| would not return to her post till Milo
had delivered the cider and gone. She
heard him say to her mother as he
was leaving: 81 guess leased Say
Jane, Mrs. Duncan; tell her I'll have
better manners next time, for I'm go
| ing away to college,"
| October came and went in the val
ley. Other children, sons and daugh-
tiers of the farmers, went to college.
| Many of them, after finishing, returned
no more, but took up their lives in va
rious ways in other places. One who
did not return was Milo Ward, for his
family had moved away and the Ward
| farm was sold. But Sarah Jane could
not remain away; the old folks at
home needed her. She and her moth
er still made apple butter, but not in
the big copper kettle, for there were
so few now to eat it.
| Then war broke out, and Sarah
Jane, patriotic and sweet and whole
her bit. She would make apple butter
for the soldiers. She brought forth
the copper kettle, and as she sat pa
tiently stirring her thoughts reverted
to that other October day when she
was so mortified, and she and her
mother laughed over the memory.
When the apple butter was done and
set away to cool In great stone jars,
| Sarah Jane made market basket full
Of apple butter sandwiches and took
them In to the station, for she had
been warned that a troop train was
coming.
She delivered the delicious sand
wiches into eager hands thrust through
the windows till she had just one LETT,
when she saw soldier hurrying to
meet her. Thinking that he was COM
| ing for the treat she held it out to,
him, crying out her wares in her mu-
steal contralto: "Just one of my IA
nous apple butter sandwiches left.
Warranted pure cider. fresh from the
Duncan farm"
"Bread-an'-butte but
teri" mimicked the soldier. "And it's
little Say-Jane, too. Don't you tell me
/