Amanda by Anna Balmer Myers (popular books to read TXT) đ
- Author: Anna Balmer Myers
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âThatâs five, six years ago, Amanda.â
âYes, I was little then. I mind a story about that little rockinâ-chair, too, Mom. Itâs up in the garret now; Iâm too big for it. But when I first got it I thought it was wonderful fine. Once Katie Hiestand came here with her mom, and we were playinâ with our dolls and not thinkinâ of the chair, and then Katie saw it and sat in it. And right aways I wanted to set in it, too, and I made her get off. But you saw it and you told me I must not be selfish, but must be polite and let her set in it. My, I remember lots of things.â
âIâm glad, Amanda, if you remember such things, for I want you to grow up into a nice, good woman.â
âLike you and Millie, ainât? Iâm goinâ to. I ainât forgot, neither, that once when I laughed at Katie for saying the Dutch word for calendar and gettinâ all her English mixed with Dutch, you told me itâs not nice to laugh at people. But I forgot it the other day, Mom, when we laughed at Aunt Rebecca and treated her mean. But sheâs so cranky andâandââ
âAnd she helped sew on your dresses,â added the mother.
âNow that was ugly for us to act so! Why, ainât it funny, Mom, it sounds so easy to say abody should be kind and yet sometimes itâs so hard to do it. When Aunt Rebecca comes next time Iâm just goinâ to see once if I canât be nice to her.â
âOf course you are. Sheâs cominâ to-morrow to help with the apple butter. But now you must go to sleep or you canât get up early to see Millie put the cider on. Philip, heâs asleep this long while already.â
A few minutes later the child was in bed and called a last good-night to the mother, who stood in the hall, a little lighted lamp in her hand. Amanda had an eye for beauty and the picture of her mother pleased her.
âAch, Mom,â she called, âjust stand that way a little once, right there.â
âWhy?â
âAch, you look wonderful like a picture I saw once, in that gray dress and the lamp in your hand. Itâs pretty.â
âNow, now,â chided the mother gently, âyou go to sleep now. Good-night.â
âGood-night,â Amanda called after the retreating figure.
Amanda rose early the next morning. Apple-butter boiling day was always a happy one for her. She liked to watch the fire under the big copper kettle, to help with the ceaseless stirring with a long-handled stirrer. She thrilled at the breathless moment when her mother tested the thick, dark contents of the kettle and announced, âItâs done.â
At dawn she went up the stairs with Uncle Amos to the big attic and opened and closed doors for him as he carried the heavy copper kettle down to the yard. Then she made the same trip with Millie and helped to carry from the attic heavy stone crocks in which to store the apple butter.
After breakfast she went out to the grassy spot in the rear of the garden where an iron tripod stood and began to gather shavings and paper in readiness for the fire. She watched Millie scour the great copper kettle until its interior shone, then it was lifted on the tripod, the cider poured into it, and the fire started. Logs were fed to the flames until a roaring fire was in blast. Several times Millie skimmed the foam from the cider.
âThis is one time when signs donât work,â the hired girl confided to the child. âYour Aunt Rebecca says that if you cook apple butter in the up-sign of the almanac it boils over easy, but itâs the down-sign to-day, and yet this cider boils up all the time.â
âI guess itâll all burn in the bottom,â said Amanda, âif itâs the down-sign.â
âNot if you stir it good when the snitz are in. Thatâs the time the work begins. Hereâs your mom and Philip.â
âAch, Mom,ââAmanda ran to meet her motherââthis hereâs awful much fun! I wish weâd boil apple butter every few days.â
âJust wait once,â said Millie, âtill youâre a little bigger and want to go off to picnics or somewhere and got to stay home and help to stir apple butter. Then youâll not like it so well. Why, Mrs. Hershey was tellinâ me last week how mad her girls get still if the apple butterâs got to be boiled in the hind part of the week when they want to be done and dressed and off to visit or to Lancaster instead of gettinâ their eyes full of smoke stirrinâ apple butter.â
Mrs. Reist laughed.
âBut,â Amanda said with a tender glance at the hired girl, âI guess Hersheyâs ainât got no Millie like we to help.â
âAch, pack off now with you,â Millie said, trying to frown. âI got to stop this spoilinâ you. You donât think Iâd stand in the hot sun and stir apple butter while you go off on a picnic or so when youâre big enough to help good?â
âBut thatâs just what you would do! I know you! Didnât you spend almost your whole Christmas savinâ fund on me and Phil last year?â
âAch, you talk too much! Let me be, now, I got to boil apple butter.â
Philip ran for several boxes and old chairs and put them under a spreading cherry tree. âWe take turns stirrinâ,â he explained, âso those that donât stir can take it easy while they wait their turn. Jiminy Christmas, guess weâll have a regular party to-day. All of us are in it, and Aunt Rebeccaâs cominâ, and Lyman Mertzheimer, and I guess Martin Landis, and mebbe some of the little Landis ones and the whole Crow Hill will be here. Here comes Millie with the snitz!â
The pared apples were put into the kettle, then the stirring commenced. A long wooden stirrer, with a handle ten feet long, was used, the big handle permitting the stirrer to stand a comfortable distance from the smoke and fire.
The boiling was well under way when Aunt Rebecca arrived.
âMy goodness, Philip,â she began as soon as she neared the fire, âyou just stir half! You must do it all around the bottom of the kettle or the butterâll burn fast till itâs done. Here, let me do it once.â She took the handle from his hands and began to stir vigorously.
âGood!â cried the boy. âNow we can roast apples. Here, comes Lyman up the road, and Martin Landis and the baby. Now weâll have some fun!â He pointed to the toad, where Martin Landis, a neighbor boy, drew near with his two-year-old brother on his arm.
âBut you keep away from the fire,â ordered Aunt Rebecca.
The children ran off to the yard to greet the newcomers and soon came back joined by Lyman and Martin and the ubiquitous baby.
âI told you,â Lyman said with mocking smiles, âthat Martin would have to bring the baby along.â
Martin Landis was fifteen, but hard work and much responsibility had added to him wisdom and understanding beyond his years. His frank, serious face could at times assume the look of a man of ripened experience. At Lymanâs words it burned scarlet. âAch, go on,â he said quietly; âitâd do you good if you had a few to carry around; mebbe then you wouldnât be such a dude.â
That brought the laugh at the expense of the other boy, who turned disdainfully away and walked to Aunt Rebecca with an offer to stir the apple butter.
âNo, Iâll do it,â she said in a determined voice.
âGive me the baby,â said Mrs. Reist, âthen you children can go play.â The little tot ran to her outstretched arms and was soon laughing at her soft whispers about young chickens to feed and ducks to see.
âNow,â Amanda cried happily, âsince Mom keeps the baby weâll roast corn and apples under the kettle.â
In spite of Aunt Rebeccaâs protest, green corn and ripe apples were soon encased in thick layers of mud and poked upon the glowing bed under the kettle.
âAbodyâd think none oâ you had breakfast,â she said sternly.
âAch,â said Mrs. Reist, âthese just taste better because theyâre wrapped in mud. I used to do that at home when I was little.â
âWell, I never did. Theyâll get burned yet with their foolinâ round the fire.â
Her prophecy came perilously close to fulfilment later in the day. Amanda, bending near the fire to turn a mud-coated apple, drew too close to the lurking flames. Her gingham dress was ready fuel for the fire. Suddenly a streak of flame leaped up the hem of it. Aunt Rebecca screamed. Lyman cried wildly, âWhereâs some water?â But before Mrs. Reist could come to the rescue Martin Landis had caught the frightened child and thrown her flat into a dense bed of bean vines near by, smothering the flames.
Then he raised her gently. Much handling of his younger sisters and brothers had made him adept with frightened children.
âCome, Manda,â he said soothingly, âyouâre not hurt. Just your dress is burned a little.â
âMy handâitâs burned, I guess,â she faltered.
Again force of habit swayed Martin. He bent over and kissed the few red marks on her fingers as he often kissed the bumped heads and scratched fingers of the little Landis children.
âAchââ Amandaâs hand fluttered under the kiss.
Then a realization of what he had done came to the boy. âWhy,â he stammered, âI didnât meanâI guess I oughtnât done thatâI wasnât thinking, Manda.â
âAch, Martin, itâs all right. You didnât hurt it none.â She misunderstood him. âSee, it ainât hurt bad at all. But, Martin, you scared me when you threw me in that bean patch! But it put the fire out. Youâre smart to think of that so quick.â
âOh, yes,â Mrs. Reist found her voice, and the color crept back to her cheeks again. âMartin, I canât thank you enough.â
âUm,â Lyman said sneeringly, ânow I suppose Martinâs a hero.â
âSo he is!â said the little girl with decision. âHe saved my life, and I ainât forgettinâ it neither.â Then she sat down by her motherâs side and began to play with the baby.
âWell, guess the funâs over,â said Lyman. âYou went and spoiled it by catching fire.â He went off in sulky mood.
âMy goodness,â exclaimed Aunt Rebecca, âmebbe now youâll keep away from this fire once.â
Amanda kept away. The fun of the apple-butter boiling was ended for her. She sat quietly under the tree while Millie and Aunt Rebecca and Phil took turns at stirring. She watched passively while Millie poured pounds of sugar
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