Annals of our ancestors; one hundred and fifty years of history in the ...

THE OLD FARM ^^
benas of pretty colors. She took her knittinp; witli her to
market and in odd moments would ply her needles.
In midsummer it was dreadfully hot in the city, and by the
time of returning; the sun would just pour down his rays, but
we girls tried to have everything well done before their homecoming.
The boys had milked the cows, we had skimmed the
milk and done the day's churning, and salted the butter and
put it down in the cool, brick-lined cellar. The "loppered"
milk had been poured out for the fine hogs which fed and
rooted and slept down in one of the orchards. The crocks
were washed and placed in the sun to get sweet, and dinner
was all ready when the parents came home. We girls would
be looking for some new things — a lawn dress, a parasol, new
shoes and stockings, or even a mantilla. 1 here were fresh
supplies for the cupboard — tea, sugar, and coffee; things to
be untied and placed in the pantry; and what joy it gave us
sisters to look over the things from the city and put them away.
After a while we could wash the clothes while mother was
gone to market and have them flying on the line or spread
bleaching on the green grass when she returned. How happy
was the dear face when they came driving up to the gate.
True, she looked tired and her cheeks were often sunburnt,
but then she was the mother of children who loved her and
were glad to make life's burdens lighter for their parents. Our
father and mother were benevolent; their religion was not of
word alone but of deeds of kindness to the poor and unfortu-
nate. "Old Rock," the family horse, was slow and quiet
quite safe to take the little mother on errands of love. Three
miles away at the foot of a long hill and over Mill Creek was
the town of Carthage, where father and mother were charter
members of the Christian Church, and where the former often
preached unless some itinerant minister happened to be there.
Many poor people who were day laborers and had but scanty
fare lived in Carthage in those days; our mother "thought
upon them," and on Saturday afternoons when the week's
work was done we would load up the express wagon for her to
take to Carthage. Not only did she go to get the mail, but
to fulfil her errands of mercy.