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The Florida agriculturist. [volume] (DeLand, Fla.) 1878-1911, August 28, 1878, Image 2

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By the Stile.
A'l 8 *.y eat! ” said I. The sun droppedlow
And fd led the water with passing splen
dor,
An and lingered as if loth lo go,
Blessing the hill with kisses tender,
Too sweet she was 1 Flowers hung their
heads,
As it to do the maiden honor;
The little Triolets from their beds
With timid bine eyes gazed upon her.
So fair, with an ethereal grace,
With eyes like stars at midnight horning,
The pefect beauty of her face
Had tilled niv heart with seeret yearning.
I loved her. yet I dared not tell,
As by the stile we stood belated;
Iter words would make my heaven or hell.
What wonder that I longed and waited?
Oao little star peeped from the sky
And winked at us with visage wrinkled,
As it to sav," No w! On the sly! ”
And at my hesitation twinkled.
She leaned across the stile
How could the heart of inan resist her ?
I paused a very little while.
Anti then. 1 ended all, and—kissed her!
WILD STRAWBERRIES.
“More strawberries ?” said Mrs.
Wilde, with a preplexed contraction
on her brows.
“Yes,” said old Phillis, the cook.
“I’ve made two shortcakes and a pie
and dar ain’t nigb enough left to till
the big glass dish for tea.”
“Dear me,” said Mrs. Wilde, “what
shall wo do ? Lisette is dressing, and
Maud never could endure the sun.
Barbara”—lo a slender young girl
who was curled up in one of the deep
window seats reading—“you’ll have
to go.”
Barbara Wilde roused herself out
of an Arcadian dream of Dickens’
Little Nell, and fixed a pair of big
blue eyes upon her mother’s troubled
face.
“Go where, mamma V”
“Go down to the south pasture lot
for wild strawberries: The ground is
crimson with them there and—”
Barbara Wilde scrambled down
out of her high perch.
“Mamma,” said she, “what a nui
eanoe all this is! I don’t believe Capt.
Kllwood Severn is worth all this
trouble. I don’t believe be will
fall in love with either Maud or Les
ette. And I think preserved goose
berries are uuite-pod enough lor
“Hold your tongue, child,” said
Mrs. Wilde, sharply. “Take the ,
basket and go for the strawberries at ,
once.”
“But it iB bo hot mamma ’’ i
‘‘Put on your broad brimmed straw
hat.”
“And I haven’t finished my nov- 1
el,” pleaded Barbara, with her mind
reverting longingly to Little Nell.” i
“Nonsense,” said Mrs. Wilde, “you ,
read too many novels, a deal, for a
child of your age.”
And Barbara disappeared, unwil
lingly enough, iuto the apple orch- |
ard, across which a sinuous path,
bordered with buttercups and red
clover, led direct to the velvet slopes
of the south pasture, where the rip
ened fruit of the wild strawberry
shone like tiny rubies along the
course of a musical little brock, all
fringed with reeds and alders and
tall growing ferns.
“Strawberries indeed,” said Barba
ra to herself. “It’s dreadful to be
the youngest of a family of girls, and
have to pick strawberries for one’s
sisters’ be3ux.”
And she pushed the yellow curls
out of her eyes, and went to work in
lugubrious earnest, popping the larg
,e%t and sweetest into her little rose
bud pf a mouth, staining her dress as
slje knelt down to seek the sly treas-.
nrcs under the clustering green
leaves, and crimsoning her hands
with the haste she made.
t ‘ I wonder" which of them he’ll mar
ry t” said Barbara to.herself as she.
paused a minute to listen to the song
of a robin, which, perched on the
boughs of a feathery elm, beyond the
brook, trilled out Lis barcarelle of
music. “Lesette is the prettiest, of
course, and he can’t know what a
temper sue has got. But Maud is lit
erary and has read all the new books,
and can talk so well. 1 wish,” —with
a sigh—“that I was intellectual, gen
entlemen like intellectual ladies.”
And onr little maid fell to work
at the strawberries again for full five
minutes. And then she shook her
basket and gazed down into the
depths with eyes of azure despair.
“Not half full,” said she to herself,
“not a quarter full. Oh, dear me!
bow I do wish someone would come
and help nte t And there is someone
stretched provokingly in tho shade
under Squire Dallas’ big oak by the
•tone wall where the sweet-briers
grow. People have no bnsm ess to
’ lie in the shade when other people
have to be working hard in the sun !
and Ido believe itr is Squire Dallas’
. new hired man, and he ought to be
at work in the hay field instead of ly
ing under the trees with a book.
And,” Barbara added, surveying the
distant faineant with resolute blue
eyes from beneath her uplifted hand,
•‘he shall work, he shall help me!’’
j “Young inan,” she called out. The
robin trilled on, the brook made a
cool, tumultuous splashing over the
mossy stones that formed its bed,
and no answer came back to Barbara
save the flutter of the leaves in the
the hazel copse under the hill.”
•‘Young man, I say,” she called out
again, this time with a certain accent
of the imperious in her tone. The
recumbent figure under the oak tree
straightened itself up at once, and
made haste toward * the stone wall
that separated Siuire Dallas’ do
mains from Deacon Wilde’s south
pasture lot,
“I beg your pardon,” said he, “but
—did you call V”
“Of course I called,” said Barbara,
thinking within herself how tall and
straight and darkly handsome, Squire
Dallas’ new hired man was. “Don’t
you think young mau that you ought
to be at work ?”
“At work y” asked tho Spanish
browed strauger. “Well, perhaps 1
ought.”
“Theri’g no perhaps about it,” said
Barbara brusquely. ‘Of course you
ought,•‘—And since you don’t choose
to work for your master, you may as
well be working for me.”
“My—master ?”
“Squire Dallas, of course," said
Barbara. “Dear me how stupid you
are.”
“And how, may I ask, did you
know who I was,” he questioned in
an amused sort of way.
“Oh, it didn’t require any great ex
ercise of brilliancy for that,” respond
ed Barbara, with a wise little nod of
the head. “I know Squire Dallas
has got anew hired man, and if you
are not he, who are you!”
“That is the question. said the
•‘But we must not stand talking
here,” went on Barbara, in a buaines-i
sort of way. Take the basket and
go to picking strawberries just as
fast as ever you can, because we’re
to have company at our house—l’m
Barbara Wilde you know, young man
—and I must get back with the ber
ries as quickly as possible.”
“All right, I’m tolerably quick at
this sort of thing, I believe,” said the
stranger.
•‘I hope you are,” said Barbara, in
tent upon extricating a tiny rose
pricker from the point of her stained
thumb—“and at other things too.
Because, if you are not Squire Dallas
won’t keep you.”
“He won’t eh ?”
Barbara shook her head. “The last
man went away fcecaiißO he couldn’t
endure the Squire’s driveling ways.
Oh, I was so sorry. He was nice 1
He used to lend me books and things
over the fence, and he taught district
school in the Winters. I used often
to eomo here and talk to him over
the fence, because, you see, it is lone
some up at the house, if I do have
tv. T o grown s’sters. Lisette is cross
with me if I ask to borrow any of
her books —she has a dreadful tem
per has, has our Lisette —and Maud
is too intellectual to trouble heiself
about a slip of a girl like me. Grown
sisters are dreadful,” with a solemn
shake of the head.
“And I suppose yon are not
grown,” said Squire Dallas’ hired
man with a curious gleam of amuse
ment around the corners . of bis
mouth.”
“No,” said Barbara, “I am only six
teen arid hav n’t, got trains to my
dresses yet. But perhaps when the
girls get, married and of them is sure
to marry this Captain Severn—Oh.
take care, you’re tipping all the ber
ries out upon the grass! Squire Dal
las won’t keep you a week if you are
as clumsy as that.”
“But the hired man luckily suc
ceeded in righting the basket befot e
its crimson contents were irretrieva
bly lost.
“It’s all right,” said he. “See how
rapidly it is filling up. But suppose
this Captain—l forget what you said
his name was ?”
“Yon must not forget things Squire
Dallas will never be suited with that.
lie is a very particular old gentle
man. I mention these things, you
know”—with an air of mild patron-
THE FLORIDA AGRICULTURIST.
, . * V ,J • ' *
age—“because you seem like a nice
respectable young man, and I should
like you to keep your place.”
“I am much obliged to you said
the stranger hurriedly putting a
strawberry into his mouth.
“Now you arc eating the strawber
ries,” said Barbara severely. “You
shouldn’t do that.
“One or two is of no consequence,”
apologized Squire Dallas’ hired man.
“But I was going to 6ay, suppose this
company gentleman —"
“Captain Severn, his name is,” in
terposed Barbara.
"Yes—suppose that Captain Sev
ern should not fall in love with one
of. your grown sisters ?”
“Then he’d be a very great disap
pointment," cried Barbara, “because
Lisette is six-nml-tweuty, and Maud
says she will cut her throat sooner
than be an old maid.”
“He might i fall in love with you,”
suggested the young man, regarding
his pretty companion with a sidelong
glance from oeneath his long lashes.
“With me!” repeated Barbara.
“Me ! a little girl that wears dresses
without trains, and isn’t out of her
scales yet. That is a likely thing,
isn’t it V Now I’ll tell you what young
inan, you aro talking a great deal too
much, and working a great deal too
litilq? Perhaps a you are very smart
with the berries, ITi bring you one
of Phillis’ tans and put it in tho atom;
fence to-night. Phillis’ does make
the deliojousest strawberry tarts 1”
“That' would be delignti'ul,” said
the stranger promptly.
Barbara gave a scrutinizing glance
into the basket.
4 1 begin to think wo have got al
most enough,” said Barbara.
“Not yet," pleaded her compan
ion.
“Yes,"nodded Barbara. “Ana mam
ma will be in a hurry, and Maud
will scold dreadfully if I am not
there in time to do her back hair.”
4 lt strikes me,’’ said the stranger
with a nail senile, “that you are a
good deal ilka Cinderella in the sto
ry booki.” 1
Barbara considered the matter a
second or < ’* ♦•*•' i
••Ko J ehe, “I never
thought about it before; but I do be
lieve I am a little like Cinderella.
But, dear me, there’s no glass slipper
lor me. As for you young man,” re
lapsing all at once into the severe
Mentor again, “you had best get
back to your work as fast as possi
ble, and don’t let Squire Dallas catch
you loitering again, if you have any
regard for your place.”
The stranger stood with doffed
cap and attitude of chivalrons atten
tion.
“But you’il not forget the straw
berry tart,” said he.
“Certainly not; if once I can get
old Phillis’ back turned long enough
to steal it out of tho milk room,” said
Barbara.
And off she tripped with rosy
stained lips, golden hair floating reck
lessly in the wind, and light elastic
feet bowing down the buttercups and
red clover as she went.
“Dear me, chile,” said Phillis, as
she came into the kitchen rosy and
breathless with the haste she had
made, “what a time you’a been 1”
“Not half an hour,” cried Barbara,
flinging away her hat and splashing
her face with cool water from the
bucket. “Has lie come, Phillis ?”
“De company young man, miss ?”
said Phillis. “Nohe.ain.t. An’Miss
Lisette, she's a scolding because you
ain’t been io arrange de roses for de
big bokay in de middle ob de table;
ami Miss Maud, she done can’t fix her
hair to suit her; an— dar’s the mis
sus’ callin’ now. Run Miss Barby,
run.”
“There, mamma,T told you fo !”
said Mias Maud Wilde, the “intellec
tual” member of tho family. “It will
be an inconvenient crowd, if Barbara
comes to tiie table,”
“Let her wait,” said Lisette, se
renely.
“But I wont,” flashed out Barbara,
her blue eyes glittering with indigna
tion. “I will come to tho first table.
Alter arranging the roses and gather
ing the wild strawberries. Mamma
is it right to keep me in the back
kitchen, all my days.”
"My dear! my dear!” remonstra
ted Mrs. Wilde, “you are forgetting
yourself.’’
“And I do so want to see Captain
Severn I” added Barbara, resolutely
chocking down the big sob, that rose
in her throat.
“What nonsense!” said Lisette,
the dove eyed beauty „ with tho rip-
plinghair and the complexion of pink
and snow. “As if Captain Severn
would ever look at yon !”
“But I may look at him, I eup
pose ?” cried indignant Barbara.
‘‘And I’m sixteen years old and you
have no right to treat me like a
baby.”
“Children, children ! don't get to
quarreling," said Mrs. Wilde. “And
Barbara can just sit here behind the
tea urn. and I dare say we shall have
plenty of room ”
“There,” said Barbara, with a tri
umphant grimace at her sisters.
“Horrid little spoiled child!” said;
Maud. *
“Barbara always gets her own !
way,” commented Lisette.
“Hush !” said Mrs. Wyilde author
itively. “Here comes your papa up
the laural walk with Captain Se
vern.”
Lisette peeped irom behind the
folds of the fluted Swiss curtains,
Maud ran to the Venetian blinds of
the bay window, and Barbara climbed
with sixteen year old agility into a
••hair to peep over her sisters shoul
der.”
“O, good gracious!” cried she drop
ing from her aerial perch with start
ling suddenness.
“What is it ?” sai<l Maud.
“It’s Squire Dallas’ hired matt,”
gasped Barbara.
“What V” said Lisette.
“I—l don’t mind about the first ta
ble,” said Barbara, turning pink and
white, like a York and Lancaster
rose; “I’d rather eat in the kitchen
with Phillis.” And away she darted
like a scared young doe. before any
one could stop her.
“Go away!” cried Barbara iudig
nantly.
She had cried till her cyelaslieswcre
all glittering and her cheeks stained
with tears, to say nothing of the
crumpled state of her sash ribbon and
white dress, and now she sat crouch
ed under the shadow of the great
flowering almond bush, as it she tain
would retreat utterly out of the
world of Btfghjt. ami hearing.
Captain Severn stood before her
with folded arms and questioning
Spanish eyes.
“i shali not go away,’’said he, “un
til you have pardoned me.’’
“How can 1 ever pardon yon,”
flashed Barbara. “You have impos
ed upon n.e, you have practiced on
my credulity.”
“You asked me to help you gather
strawberries—and I helped you.”
“You al'ovved me to suppose that
you were Squire Dallas’ hired man.”
“I claimed no identity either one
way or the other,” pleaded Captain
Severn. “Was trying to find my
way by a short cut across the fields
to your fathei’s house, and sat under
the oak tree to rest. And when you
calk and me I came like a true knight
of old. Now if you can convict me
of*any offense in all this, I stand
ready to abide the consequences."
“You never never will be able to
forgive me,” sobbed Barbara, again
retiring behind the end of her blue
sash.
“Little Barbara,” said Captain Se
vern, falling upon his knees, as if it
were the most natural and convention
£ 1 tiling in the world, will you for
give me V”
And what could Barbara do but
say “yes.”
Captain Severn insisted upon his
strawberry, tart that evening, accord
ing to agreement, and he mid Barba
ra ate it together like two school
children, out on the lawn while Maud
yawned behind a book; and Lisette
acidly wondered, what on earth
Captain Severn could find to amuse
him in the chatter of a child like Bar
bara.”
And when the red leaves of late
October choked up the little stream
beside which tin y had gathered wild
strawberries, there was a wedding at
the Wilde homestead, and the bride
was not Maud, the intellectual, nor
the lovely Lisette, but little Barbara.
“Bar’s no account in’ for true love,”
said old Phillis as she stirred the
wedding cake.
—A political orator, speaking of a
eerta.n general whom lie professed to
admire, said that on iho field of bat
tle he was always found where the
Indie.* weru thickest. “Where was
that?” asked one id his auditors.
In tlie amniuiiiiion wagon," yelled
tuotbe
RECIPES.
Scotch Broth. —Take four pounds of
mutton (part of the leg is best,) add
one gallon of water, one tcacupful of
pearl barley, two carrots sliced, two
turnips sliced, two onions cut small,
three carrots grated, the white part
of a large cabbage, chopped very
small and a small quantity of parsley.
Season with pepper and salt. Let
this boil very genj.lv for three hours
and a half, and at the dinner table it
will most likely, by all those who are
| fond of soups, be pronounced exeel
| lent.
Veal For Breakfast. Take a
round earthen dish and put in it a
layer of bread crumbs. Over thesi
put spots of butter; then a layer of
ininced cold veal, with salt and pep
per; then crumbs, butter, veal, salt
and pepper. When the dish is full,
with a layer of crumbs for the top.
pour over it an egg, beaten well, and
mixed in half a cup of milk. If you
have gravy it is better than milk
Bake until brown.
Cream Muffins. —One quart of rich
milk, or if you can get it, half cream
and half milk ; one quart of flour, six
eggs, one tablcspoonful of butter, one
of lard, softened together. Beat
whites and yolks, separately, very
light ; then add flour and shortening
and a scant teaspoonful of salt, and
stir in the flour the last thing, as
lightly as possible, and have the bat
ter freo from lumps. Half fill your
well battered muffin tings, and bake
immediately in a hot oven, or your
muffins will riot be good. Send to
the table the moment they are done.
Almond Custwrd Cake. —One lb.
of sugar, one half pound of butter
nibbed to a cream ; five eggs, beaten
very light, one cup of sweet milk,
ono pound of flour,' with two tea
spoon fids of anti-dyspeptic baking
powder sifted with it; flavor with
lemon : bake in three jelly pans. The
custard.—one cupful thick sour cream,
two cupfuls granulated sugar, one
pound sweet almonds blanched and
chopped fine; flavor with vanilla; mix
all well together and spread between
the layers of cake.
Confederate Pudding. —Rub thor
oughly into four te&oups of si tied
flour one teacupful of suet, sh reded
and chopped fine, one teacup of rais •
ins, seeded and chopped, the same
quantity of currants, washed and
dried the day previous, and one tea
spoonful of cinnamon ; stir into this
one tcacupful of molasses and the
same quantity of sweet milk. Poor
into a pudding bag, well floured, or,
belter still, a pudding mould and
steam for two hours. Eat hot, with
sauce. If there is any left, it may bo
heated well through, and will bo
found just as good as when fresh.
Bread Ball. —Break the bread in
small pieces, and moisten with milk
or a little warm water, season with
salt, pepper and nutmeg, adding a
little fine sage or parsley and a small
piece of butter, mix and form into
small cakes or balls; roast with beef
dr chickens, or fry after meat in a
skillet. '• .
I
Ginger Beer. —White sugar, five
pounds; lemon juice, one gill; honey,
one-fourth pound; ginger, bruised,
five oz: water, four and one-half gal
lons. Boil the ginger half an hour in
three quarts of water, then add all
the others and strain. When cold,
add the white of an egg well beaten
aim one tcaspoonful of extract of
lemon. Let stand four or five days
and bottle. It will keep for months.
Rosin. —lu caso a knife or fork
handle gets loose, set the handle up
on end, fill the cavity with pulveris
ed rosin, then warm the small part of
the knife or fork and insert it slowly,
crowd it down firmly, and bold it iu
right positiou until the rosin cool*
enough to set.

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