Newspaper Page Text
SARAH’S
POT-CHEESE
VENTURE
(@© by D. J. Walsh.)
ARAH DAVISON stood with
clenched hands staring at the
door which Doctor Forrest had
just closed behind him. It was
a dingy door, with one cracked panel,
and she was at that moment acutely
conscious of the dinginess and the
crack, Her whole being, hitherto com
fortably sluggish, seemed to have been
aroused by what she had just heard.
From an inner room the sick man,
her busband, called to her.
“Sate! Sate!”
She unclenched her hands and went
to him, Standing at the foot of the
bed, she tooked down at him as he lay
there, a great helpless bulk with pa
thetie anxlety In his haggard eyes,
“What'd Doe say about me, Sate?”
Ira Davigon demanded.
“Why, he seemed to think you were
getting along all right,” Sarab an
swered,
“But when'd he say I'd be up?”
Sarah thought of the doctor's terse
last words, spoken low so that her
husband could not hear.
“He'll be all summer getting well,
and even then he's got to be careful
for a good while,” But she could not
tell Irn that,
“He didn't say,” she replied.
“It 1 have to lay here a month, hav
ing a doctor every day, it'll take every
dollar I've saved up,” fretted the man.
Sarah smiled,
“Oh, pshaw,” she sald. “You're see
ing a lot of trouble over nothing. Now
you go to gleep and when you wake
up we'll talk it over.”
Outside the door she stood until
ghe heurd him breathing long and
sofily in slumber, then she tiptoed to
the kitchen. She wanted to think, to
think hard. If Ira was all summer
recovering from the sickness that had
attacked him so suddenly and so vio
lently it wounld take every penny they
had, even perhaps necessitate putting
a mortgage on the house. They were
poor, yet they had always been frugal,
fra hand worked hard but he had
earned only enough for their needs
and the tiny rainy-day fund, which
would now 8o soon be dissipated. She
had kept the house. For fifteen years
the gentle monotony of their lives had
been broken by one event—the death
of their child, That event, however,
had merely proved a great . sorrow.
This event of Ira's sickness involved
a problem,
“It looks as If I'd have to do some
thing,” Sarah sald to herself. “But
what ean 1 do that won't Interfere
with my taking care of my man?”
She looked around the neat, plain
room helplessly., Her eyes foll upon a
bow! standing upon the table, She
had been on the point of 1+ ing that
bowl to Mrs. Swan's wh n the doctor
came, Mrs. Swan had boon se Kind
to Ira, bringing him broth and fruit,
that Sarsh had wanted to make some
slight return. e
“I'll have to take It right over If
ghe's going so have it for supper,” she
thought, and, snatching up the bowl,
she darted out of the house.
Her noxt.door neighbor was In her
kitchen and she opened the door smil
fng. i
“Here's a bowl of pot-cheese for
you, Mrs, Swan," Sarah sald. *1 made
some this morning, more than T need.
Ira won't touch it, yon know."” This
wits her excuse for her ‘offering,
Mrs. Swan looked at the contents
of the howl, :
“1 love pot-cheese,” she sald. “This
looks very nice, How Is Ira?®
“Doctor thinks he'll be a long time
getting well™ Sarah turned away.
She was prond and did not want to
say more than that.
When she returned home she bholled
the teakettle and made a pot of tea,
She could not eat any supper. Her
mind was too full of anxiety,
Two or three times she went softly
to look at Ira, He was sleeping, and
as sleep was what he needed, she
moved away without waking him
In order to keep the house qulet,
she flung a shawl about her and sat
down upon the back steps. The sky
was warmed by the spring afterglow.
It was a time for great peace and con
tentment for all save such troubled
ones as Sarah,
There Mrs, Swan found her when
she came to retorn the empty bowl,
She sat down heside Sarah so close
that thelr shonlders touched.
“The pot-cheese was deliclons,” she
sald, “1 mever ate such potcheese,
Mrs. Corbin bhad supper with me. and
she raved about it. She wanted me
to ask you If you would sell her some
every day. She takes It with cream
and sugar®
“Of course I'l make It for her”
Surah replied, “or any one else who
wants It It doesf't cost anything
but time. Mr. Armstrong gives me the
milk ™
“One has to have a knack for mak.
Ing pot-cheese™ Mrs. Swan sald. *I
never had any luck with it. And you
can't buy It at the groceries. I've
often thought that a good trade might
be worked up on It [t's one of these
simple things that talke™
Was she trying to help Sarah, know
ing how great a need there was of
such help? Sarah did not know. But
the Iden had caught In Sarah's bar
assed braln. Potcheese! It seemed
ridiculons, but still, If Mrs. Corbin
wanted It others might. She would
see what she could do
“That's a lovely sunset,” remarked
the little nelghbor after an Instant
“Yes, lovely." responded Sarah,
Next morning Sarah rose not with
out hope Rhe gave Ira hix hreakfam,
ate some hersell. put her house In or
der and made ready for the street.
She told Ira as she kissed him good
by that she had an errand to do, and
he never questioned further,
Sarah stepped fast, There was a
glow on her plain, sweet face under
the shabby hat-brim. She went first
to the grocery, where she paid her
bills promptly, even in this time of
stress, then to the other groceries.
“Pot-cheese?” said genial Mr, Crum,
“Sure! Bring it right along. 1 often
have customers ask for {it, specially
those eity people over on Oak street.”
Sarah went home elated. It did not
seem possible! She had orders for six
dozen balls of pot-cheese. Bix dozen
was seventy-two, and five times sev
enty-two—""
* She laughed as she took off the
shabby hat, Ira heard her.
“What's up, Sate?” he asked in his
weak voice, “Something's tickled
you.”
“Ot course., You're getting well,”
returned Sarah with almost sprightly
wit,
That was a busy day, bargaining
with Mr. Armstrong for cans of the
skim milk which he found such a
nuisance to dispose of, bolling the
snowy curd, working in butter, pep
per, salt. Sarah sang like the wren
in the apple tree outside the open
window where she worked.
That night Ira had a bit of broiled
stenk for his supper. That night
Sarah looked half a dozen times iln
her purse to see if what was so for
tunate, so unbelievable, were really
true, ;
Sarah’s pot-cheese sold almost fast
er than she could make it. She grew
a little reckless, putting in cream,
streaking the suowy mass with pi
mento, Mr. Crum said it was amazing
what a taste folks had for pot-cheese.
“If you keep on like this,” he said,
“you’ll have to have an assistant.”
Sarah laughed. She could laugh at
anything now. Ira was much better,
Any day now he might be up and
around the house Then she would
have to tell him what she was up to,
divulge the secret which was keeping
her so happy.
“Now, Sate, you've got to tell me
what you're up to. You're up to some
thing,” Ira demanded a day or two
later,
Sarah brought a bank-book and
showed him an entry. She brought
her grocery bills, each one marked
paid; brought her purse, which was
comforting, if not plethoric,
“Everythin's paid, Ira—doctor and
all. I've never touched a penny of
our savings,” she said.
“You wonderful girl!” Ira's eyes
filled. *“And to think you did it all
with pot-cheese!”
Laborador Fir Forests
of Enormous Value
Labrador, since the definition of its
boundary with Canada, is being dis
cussed as a possible summer haven for
yachtsmen and a source of wood pulp.
Though the southern end of wcabrador
is In the latitude of London and the
northern tip opposite Petrograd, no
warm ocean current washes its shores
to produce the temperate climate of
northern Europe. Cold winter winds
sweep down from the Arctic across a
rocky and sparsely inhabited coast,
though explorers say the short sum
mers are delightful.
The entire region at present has
only about 3,600 population, about 500
less than forty years ago. North of
the settlement of Hopedale, half way
lip the coast from Newfoundland, the
country is peopled mainly by Eskimos,
who have been largely Christianized
and live in neat wooden houses, sup
porting themselves by seal and cod
fisheries. In the Inteior scattered In
dians and halfbreeds hunt the fox,
marten, bear, wolverine and other fur
bearing enimals which haunt ever
green woods stretching as far north as
the Arctic boundary of forestation;
This fir belt covers large arens of
the interior of Labrador in all but the
extreme northern part, but only
touches the rocky coast at the heads
of long narrow bays and the mouths
of rivers. As a futura course of paper
pulp this hitherto little regarded re
glon is of Immense value, and already
a few mills have been established and
concessions granted. Pulp forests are
one of the potential sources of wealth.
Another asset is unlimited water pow
er of the numerous coastal rivers.
White settlements are mainly on the
southeastern coast of Labrador, There
n sparse but sturdy population of
Seoteh and Scandinavian extraction,
together with a few French Canadinns,
carry on cod and whale fisherlies. The
number of white Inhabitants !s quad
rupled in the summer months by New
foundlanders who go north for cod
fishing, the principal Industry. Of late
years the whale, seal and cod have all
decreased In numbers in Labrador
waters. This is thought to be one rea
son for the steadily diminishing pop
ulation of the coast. Anothe. factor
Is that covtact with diseases of clvill.
satlon hea proved fatal to whole com
munities of Eskimos and Indians. Mis
slonaries are making herole efforts to
save (he remainder of the native races
from extinetion by teaching them to
adapt thelr mode of living to changed
conditions, and these good offices have
met with considerable success.
“Traveling” Libraries
The first traveling library in Ames
lea was ostablished In 1002 at Hagers
town, Md. It is ealled the Washing
ton County Free library. There I 8 a
contral library In Hagerstown and sta
tlons (o the small towns In th ' county.
These latter are supplied with books
from the central library, and » book
wagon especiall; planned to earry
nearly a thousand volumes makes
teips throughout the county with
Fouseto house delivery of books
CHARLTON COUNTY HERALD
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For Thristmas
ov Thpist
By
NoniC.Bailey
MINDFUL of the icy air, Mollie
shook the great feather bed and
turned it over. Her black eyes
s sparkled as she sang, “Where
e’er we go, we'll not forget—"
“Mollie! Aln’t you ever comin’ to help
get breakfast? John Henry’s got the
chores done, I hear him comin’ with
the milk,” Sue, calling from the kitch
en, was skimming frozen cream—yel
low and thick—from earthenware
erocks, “Hurry, Mollie, take up the
sausage and put the eggs in the skil
let, Set the ples on or Johnnie won't
know he’s had breakfast; Here he
comes, open the door quick, Are you
‘most froze, Johnnie?”
“By golly, it is cold, Sue,” He de
posited the huge pail, pulled off his
frozen gloves, laid them on the stove
hearth to thaw and stood breaking
bits of ice from his mustache, Scrap
ing caked snow from his boots on the
edge of the wood-box, he said,
“Y’know, I've got an idee if this keeps
up we'll have a white Christmas.”
“You'd joke if you's gona be hung.
You know tomorrow’s Christmas an’
it’'ll spoil everything. Too deep for
sleighs now—sh—here comes Ma.”
“Ain’t breakfast ready yet?” com
plained Ma. Since Mollie and Sue
had grown up, Ma—old at forty-five—
had donned her lace cap, retired to
her chimney corner to smoke her pipe,
knit and piece quilts, Her husband
had been shot by bushwhackers; her:
youngest son had- never come back
from war; so she brooded and grieved.
Pretending preparations were for
their “singin’ school crowd” the young
folk had invited her brothers and sis
ters to “spend Christmas with her and
cheer her up.” “Do you think Uncle
Ike,” Mollie began; but, at a kick un
der the table, she turned to Ma, “do
you think Uncle Ike will ever come
back?”
“Land sakes, no, whatever put that
into your head, child? Who'd leave
Californy to come back here an’ freeze
to death?” i
“Well, I reckon most folks wanta go
to Californy some time,” commented
John Henry, “but I guess the old farm
ain't so bad after all, when the crops
js fair an’ that's most ‘generally.
They's still plenty o firewood and
they's apples an’ turnips an’ ’taters
an’ a few other ‘things in the cellar.
Bossy an’ Baldy ain't failed us yet an’
they's plenty o' meat in the ‘smoke
house, Oranges an’ fresh lettuce is
mighty fine, but they don't lay heayy
on yer stummick” o ;
“Sour grapes,” chided Sue; “You
know you'd 'love to go out there an’
see all them. purty flowers an' go
swimmin’ at Christmas time an’ never
have to go out in the cold to do the
chores.” “Danged if I would,” re
sponded the loyal one, “the old farm’s
good enough for me, Christmas ain't
no proper time fer swimmin’, nohow,
an' I ain't never been hurt doin’
chores,” kgt
Throughout the meal, the youn*tr
ple continued their banter; then John
Henry followed the girls to the kitch
en, “They's tracks around the barn,”
he confided; “don’t scare ma, but it
might be that half-wit hired man I
fired last fall—-up to the Lord knows
what! You gals keep to the house
an' don't let no stranger in.” Appre
hensive of the worst, they promised,
Presently the sky cleared. Sunshine
and melting snow were making roads
more impassable throughout the day,
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“Ain't Breakfast Ready Yet?"® Com.
plained Ma, .
frhat night as they sat around the fire
place, a gust of wind ‘overburdened
the snow on the roof and a portion
slid to the ground with a thud and the
rattle of breaking icicles, "The girls
screamed. Realizing thelr nervous
ness was due to the tracks around the
barn, John Henry laughed heartlly, set
some apples roasting on the hearth,
by way of diversion, and eracked
black walnuts on the side of a flat
fron, Sue fretted about “all them
mince ples:” Ma sald it was a shame
they'd killed both turkeys, and Mollie
declared she was never “so put out In
her life”
Suddenly the wind howled angrily.
“Golly, Ma, it's gettin' cold again.
Bet ' 'l crust the snow over to
night” “Like as not," Ma agreed, and
the driving wind continued. John Hen
ry added a log to the fire and began
shelling popeorn. Sue nudged her sis
ter, “He means ‘make the popcorn
balls' * Mollie began to slng “Al
though we cross the ocean blue, no
friends we’ll find one-half so true.”
John Henry carried a shovel of
glowing coals to the kitchen and
started a fire. Going to the door he ex
amined the gun and set it near. “He
don’t like them tracks, Mollie,” Sue
confided over the boiling sirup. “I'll
bet it is that half-wit.,” Their eyes
grew big and round.
Early to bed and whistling wind
brought restful sleep and with morn
ing came sleigh bells, Mollie scratched
a peep-hole in the fantastic frost for
est on the window pane, “It’s''Uncle
Jimmie and- Mary Ann. Meet, ’em
quick an’ tell ’em not to let Ma catch
on.” “Bet y' we're first ones here,”
he began, but Sue cautioned him as he
gave her a snowy hug. :
By the time Uncle Hiram and Aunt
Betsy and their Ethelbert and Aunt
Emerine and Hannah had arrived, Ma
had begun to surmise; but at the next
familiar jingle, she actually arose and
peered out the window herself. “Fer
the land sakes, if it ain’t Sister Cath
erine and Sary Jane and Billy all the
way from Pike county. Johnnie, what
are you children up to anyhow? Who
else is comin’?”
“Depends on the weather, Ma. Reck
on you've guessed it's your party.”
Ma dropped into her chair, speechless,
and began puffing vigorously on her
pipe. Her eyes told them she was al
most happy.
By noon they were there, those
brothers and sisters and their chil
dren, Some had traveled many miles.
Of course, they couldn't expect Ike;
but he was often in their thoughts
and conversation, “Guess Ike's about
forgot what Christmas back home ig
like,” some one ventured.
But Ike had not forgotten. He had
long been yearning for a “sight of
God's country and some real snow.”
As soon as he heard of the reunion he
decided to eat turkey back home, Ike
had gone out West with the forty
niners—hadn’t found much gold; but
the city had spread out all over his
land and he had “got rich in spite of
himself,”
Down on the farm the dinner table
presented a typical feast of the early
eighties, “Turkey’s-: done,- . Where's
Johnnie?” said Mary Ann, taking up
a hot mince pie. “I'll get 'im.” Ime
pulsive Mollie, forgetful of his warn~
ing, ran to the barn. No sooner had
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In the End All Agreed With the Scotch
S Proverb. :
she stepped inside than she saw the
“half-wit” dash out into the corral
She scréamed. A moment later she
heard..an 'intensified “gosh” and a
scuffle in the frozeén smow. “Grasping
‘& pitchfork, she started to follow when
a rough hand caught her and pulled
her back. Blindly she fought—like a
young tigress—biting and scratching.
Through the barn door came John
Henry half dragging his victim,
“See, you don't need no help,” said
the man who held Mollie in his grasp.
“Was comin’ but this young wildcat
gave me too much to do. Reckon
you're John Hernry and this one o
Samanthy's gals. I'm your Uncle Ike
~—just dropped in for that Christmas
dinner, But that varmint you're
draggin' in, you'd oughta finished
him.” “You don’t say so! You know
who he 1s?” asked John Henry. “Reck
on if you'd took a second look you'd a
knowed yourself.,” With a loud guffaw,
he caught the now reviving young man
by the arm and said, “George, meet
your affectionate brother and acknowle
edge your hearty welcome home.”
“Well, I'll be gol dinged! Thank the
Lord I didn't have the gun!” Hugging
and shaking his brother alternately,
John Henry added, “It's sure one on
us, Mollie,” He explained how he had
been “layin’ fer the barn loft boarder"
when he heard her scream and caught
the man whom he fully expected to be
the “half wit.” Mollie sald she'd “a
swore it was him.”
After the war George had heard that
the family were driven out by Order
No, 11, Not knowing where to find
them, he went to California hoping to
find his uncle and obtain news, His
long search ended just as lke con
summated his plans for Christmas; so
they decided to make the trip together
and “glve 'em a big surprise.” Arriv
ing aforetime, theéy slept in the hay
and spent a day bm&; down by the
river, “Our horses W ithe
old corn crid,” he eofla& “and
here we are—a fine looking pair to
present at the banquet table.,”
Disheveled they were—but oh, how
welcome !
Ma looked twenty years younger.
Uncle Ike told his-dreams of remodel.
fng the old home; Ma sald she
wouldn't have “none o' them new
fangled things” in her house. Ike and
George finally decided to stay and help
harvest the spring wheat. John Henry
conceded he might go back with them
and pick some oranges off the trees,
So; home and California went round
the long table. In the end all agreed
with the old Scotch proverb, “East or
West, home's best™ But many a
grandchild heard the tale of the wane
derers’ unusual welcome home for
Christmas,
(@ 1925, Western Newspaper Unlon.)
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3% /- /il - CAGAIN the bells ring out to
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The story angels told.
gs i The blessed tidings of His
' | birth,
’ That never can grow old.
& o
Again the world is thrilled and i
stirred,
9 With gladness men rejoice,
¥4 And happy thoughts and wishes | |4 |
true {3‘
In every heart find voice. Y
2 -
W '| With smiling face friend calls [&,
to friend |
L ,ff,r? A greeting most sincere, "
F‘; b And friendship ties and ties )
b of kin
% [ ?3' Have grownmorestronganddear.
Once more the joy of Christmas } | # .
o .
.| The hearts and souls-of men, %
| Once 'more in Bethlehem’s little :
% - town. . .. :
& | A Child is born again. .
(C), 1928, Western Newspaper Union) ‘
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5 )Ry ERFORD /BT
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o\ GNES LOWDEN looked from her
second-story bedroom window in
the downtown district upon a
typical Christmas eve scene.
The street was aglow with its
myriad lights. Snowflakes were flurry
ing past as the sharp, crisp December
wind blew it fiercely into the faces of
hurrying last-minute shoppers whose
arms. were laden with mysterious
packages. . -
“How lovely!” she murmured, and
then added, “but ‘what a mockery! So
much happiness mingled with dire un
happiness. *Oh, God, help me not to
lose faith!™ . .
Turning to her bed she threw her
self upon it face downward and burst
Into violent weeping, So this was the
disappointing close’. of . the. day/ for
which she had so long wilted—the day
Rob Roy was to come to claim her as
his wife—his Christmas gift. Six
months before Agnes had sent him
Lo ® away that both
P‘-’J & might learn
‘ l" Y through long
! separation if
W X each meant to
) the other all that
' ‘.” was needful to
& / insure their fu
' N ! ture happiness,
. And she had told
H!‘,f him to come;
Yl MHUl[[| that at tast she
b, i l‘;‘ | Xknew her heart's
i\’ desire; that on
J )‘{ Christmas eve
51 B she would wel-
AN come him and go
with him to the
dppesd very end of the
) €arth.
In vain had she listened through the
long hours of the day for a telephone
call, a telegram, or his ving at the
doon, of her boarding house. Nothing
qu":nd all this merry-making about
b‘&'h mocked Her M her misery.
« When Agnes awoke with the dawn
of. a. clear Christma®s morning she
looked out uponm a far different scene
than that which the glowing lights
of the night before had presented,
The streets seemed deserted, and but
for smoke curling wut of chimneys,
one might suppose that no one cared
enough for the day's celebration to
quit comfortable beds to spread the
glad tidings
But hark! There broke upon the
alr clarion notes of eathedral chimes
proclaiming to the world the birth of
the Christ. The grand old hymn
with ite martial = .raln brought to the
mind of every listener the glorious
wordr :
*Joy to the world, t
h?nrth rmln‘iuh.kmb:“ " N
Agues stood with bowed head until
the last note of the lost stanza had
died away, struggling hard to grasp
the true spirit of the day, though her
torn heart was unable to entirely cast
aside the bitterness of the great dise
appointment she had suffered. A lite
tle later, from a near-by church the
crowd of early worshipers came pour
ing out, and as she looked, came tha
thought :
“All of those people are happy.
With joy they can think of their Lord
and King, their loved ones, little tok
ens of affection and appreciation to
cause their hearts to swell with un
bounded joy. But what have I? Only
emptiness and hopelessness. Ah, Christ.
mas but mocks me with its revelry.”
Determining to fly at once to some
unknown address where Rob would
never find her, Agnes arrayed herself
hurriedly for the street. But every
minute or two, between garments
slipped on, she would draw aside the
curtain again for one more searching
glance into the street below. At last
she pulled her nobby, close-fitting lite
tle hat becomingly into place, drew on
her gloves, and turned for her coat
when the screech of colliding cars di
rectly under her window called her
back once more,
“oOh, some one
SN v". is hurt!” she al
(] ‘ most screamed,
:- . and her nurse's
| 1 1‘ instinct to offer
G i first aid sent her
L& '_ ) rushing pell-mell
" ! down the stairs
s | end out into the
0 street where a
=A7 4 crowd had al
i | already gathered
‘ f 422" about a wrecked
’ /1” < A@Vg car,
| W Agnes forged
o/ e} ahead to the
R | side of the ma-
LS s chine just as a
v taxi arrived to
.-r'¢§"' recelve the in-
Jured person,
“Oh, Agnes, is it really you?"
“Rob 1"
Without a word of explanation to
anyone the frightened but happy girl
climbed into the taxi by the side of
Rob, forgetful now of everything ex
cept getting him to the hospital as
quickly as possible for the dressing of
wounds which he declared could not
be serious. ‘
“Didn’'t quite make It on time, dear,”
he sald with his head on her shoul
der, “but I was doing my level best.
Aund to think this should have hap
pened right in front of your house”
“And to think I was about to run
away from you when that truck struck
you, No, I didn't know It was you,
but something just made me fiy to the
scene and—"
“You were watching, Agnes?”
“Yes, dear, I was watching, but had
glven up hope. I thowght you didn't
care; that I had called to you In valn,
I was erushed.”
“So none of my messages reached
you. Too bad! I had to trust them
to others. But now that we are to
gether, dear, you will not leave me
for a single moment, will you, until
we are man and wife?
“Never! It is going to be such &
wonderful Christmas after all, Roby
and I had thought It so desolate,
“Yea, dear, a wonderiul Christmas|®
(@ 1920, Western Newspaper Unlon)