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The dwellers of America are more enlightened now than in those old times when dancing and feasting were the sole amusements, so a library was instituted and formed by the same means as the church had been a load of potatoes, or a barrel of buckwheat, being given by each party to purchase books with.
If you use sweet milk, use two large teaspoonfuls of baking powder instead of soda. One quart of Graham flour, half a pint of Indian meal, one gill of yeast, a teaspoonful of salt; mix the flour and meal, pour on enough warm water to make batter rather thicker than that for buckwheat cakes, add the yeast, and when light bake on griddle not too hot.
They regarded each other through the iron framework until she shot from sight. At breakfast next morning Mrs. Blondheim drew up before her "small steak, French-fried potatoes, jelly omelet, buttered toast, buckwheat cakes, and coffee." "Well, of all the nerve!" she exclaimed to her vis-
The deep-glowing sumacs, the asters purple and white mixed with flaming goldenrod, in a splendid audacity of color such as only One artist dare venture on; the occasional dash of scarlet upon a maple, a first wave of the great tide that is sweeping up to cover the whole north country; the masses of yet unbroken green left neither dimmed nor dusty by the generous, moist summer; the oaks that will long hold their green flag in unchanging tint, as if "no surrender" were written on it, and then, last of all the trees, change to a hue of matchless depth and richness, like the life-blood of a noble heart that shows its full intensity only just before death's translation falls upon it; the separate tint of each leaf and vine, "good after its kind;" the soft whiteness of the everlastings in the hill-pastures; the reaped buckwheat fields heaped with their sheaves, stubble and sheaves alike drenched in a fine wine of color; the solemn interior of the woods, with the late sunlight touching the shafts of the pines; the partridge-berry and the white mushroom growing beneath, as in a cathedral one sees bright-faced children kneeling to say their prayers at the foot of the solemn pillars; the masses of light and of shadow one cannot say which is the tenderer lying on the cool meadows as evening draws on; the voice of unseen waters, the voice of the wind in the pines.
Near rocks of dazzling mica-schist was a miserable hut with a patch of buckwheat reaching to the stream. A man standing amidst the white flowers of the late-sown crop said, in answer to my questioning, that I could not possibly reach the village of Port-Dieu without walking upon the line and through the tunnels.
It was easy enough to see that he would have occasion for it before long. The schoolhouse was a grim, old, red, one-story building, perched on a bare rock at the top of a hill, partly because this was a conspicuous site for the temple of learning, and partly because land is cheap where there is no chance even for rye or buckwheat, and the very sheep find nothing to nibble.
Presently the pedlar, myself, and the innkeeper's son a young man who had received his education elsewhere, and had learnt much that did not chime in with his present surroundings were in a light cart, drawn by a lively horse, speeding along the road over the moors. Here and there, near the village, were small fields of buckwheat in the midst of the heather and bracken.
The rye, oats, millet, and buckwheat were carried into the corn-kilns and barns, and the fields lay stripped and bare. The corn had been harvested; there was enough and to spare till the fallow crop was reaped. The air in the peasants' cottages was bedimmed by the smoke from the stoves; Grandfather Yonov the One-Eyed climbed on to his, to tell his grandchildren fairytales and to rest.
Somehow, after the fashion of other years, they got their meager crops in turnips, potatoes and Hubbard squashes put up in the vegetable cellar; oats cradled; corn husked; the buckwheat ready for the mill; even Tom's crooked furrows for the spring sowings made. Somehow, Maw helping like a man and Tom obeying like a docile child, they took toll of their summer.
He seated himself at the table with a gesture which seemed to wave into some remote background the temptation of sausages and buckwheat cakes. "No trouble for me. Just set on the nuts and apples, same as our ancestors ate before they got wiser'n their Creator and learned to cook their victuals. We're the only animals that ain't satisfied with raw food.
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