The Monmouth inquirer., 1921-06-23
CHAPTER w
S Milking

Milking
Betty, my love:
can imagine that Just about this
time you have finished your dinner,
and are enjoying your after-dinneI
coffee in the library with your father.
I would give all that possess, though
heaven knows that is mighty little, to
be with you and get you to talk to me
and let me tell you all that has hap
pened since left you. But instead OF
that am alone in my room with your
picture on the table while l write,
and it is the middle Of the evening
with us on the farm. have a bright
wood fire on the hearth, as it's a bit
chilly tonight.
Today I have almost completed my
first round of parish visits, and the
experience has been revelation to
me of the mixture of pathetic narrow
ness, hardship, and self-denial of the
people up here in the mountains. One
minute 1 am all out of patience with
their stupidity, and the next am
touched to the heart by their patience
with unendurable conditions, and their
generosity and kindness to each 9TH
er. / hope to be able to adjust my
mental equilibrium to the situation be-
fore long and to learn and undeIs stand
them better; / find that country
parson must be man of many ac-
complishments, and that | have to
learn my profession all over again.
Yesterday l called on poor shrivel-
ed old woman who, was told, was
In trouble When I asked her what
could do for her, she frightened up
and informed me that her apple tree
were full of wormsi So there was
nothing for it but to take off my coat
and vest, roll up my sleeves, and burn
out the worms. must have Destroy
ed about bushel. more or less. 1t
took most of the afternoon; but she
was pleased, and appeared in church
this morning for the first time in six
years.
have learned q lot about the rota-
ton of crops, helped to dig well, and
attended a barn dance. / have eaten
pickles by the score at teas given in
my honor, rather than offend the hos
tess; and have had horrible nights
in consequence. Every morning Nick
ey and / take the milk down to the
creamery before breakfast. am SO
tanned that you would hardly recog-
nize me; and / must confess with
shame that I am never more happy
than when / am able to put on my
soiled working clothes and do man
ual labor on the farm, ! suppose 1t is
the contrast to my former life. and
the fact that it takes my thoughts
away from the longing for you.
The men up here seem to think l
know mighty little. It's very humiliat-
ing! But since they discovered that
| am neither "ristocratic' nor ''pious"
they seem to be friendly enough.
often find myself wondering if much
in the seminary wasn't sheer waste
| of time, when / am brought up against
the practical, commonplace, everyday
| life of these people. My friend Mrs.
| Burke has a fund of common sense
and. worldly wisdom which is worth
more than any Ph.n or STD. repre-
sents, to help man to meet the hard
| facts of life successfully; and she has
been very nice and considerate in
making suggestions to me-always
wrapped up in humor all her own.
have found it practically impossible
| to get into touch with the farmers of
the neighborhood without becoming
more or less of farmer myself, and
| learning by actual experience what
the life is like. One man was SO open
ly supercilious when he found out
that / did not know how to milk, that
Mrs. Burke. who is nothing If not prac-
tical. offered to show me.
have acquired suit Of overalls,
and q wide brimmed straw hat; and
80 attiring myself in the most ortho-
dox fashion, Mrs. Burke. and went
to the shed yesterday where Louise,
the Jersey COW, abides. and took
my first lesson in milking. Mrs. Burke
carefully explained to me the modus
operandi was to pursue; and so. TAX
ing the tin pail between my knees,
seated myself on the three legged
tool BY the side Of Louise, and timid-