Sabbath morning would not have seemed like
itself without a clean house, a clean skin, and tidy and spotless
clothing.
The Saturday's baking was a great event, the brick oven being
heated to receive the flour bread, the flour-and-Indian, and the
rye-and-Indian bread, the traditional pot of beans, the Indian
pudding, and the pies; for no further cooking was to be done
until Monday. We smaller girls thought it a great privilege to be
allowed to watch the oven till the roof of it should be "white-
hot," so that the coals could be shoveled out.
Then it was so still, both out of doors and within! We were not
allowed to walk anywhere except in the yard or garden. I remember
wondering whether it was never Sabbath-day over the fence, in the
next field; whether the field was not a kind of heathen field,
since we could only go into it on week-days. The wild flowers
over there were perhaps Gentile blossoms. Only the flowers in the
garden were well-behaved Christians. It was Sabbath in the house,
and possibly even on the doorstep; but not much farther.
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