The hop pickers; girl life in the sixties

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I The Home Missionary’s Family . . 3

II A New Scheme 16

Chapter I The Home Missionary’s Family

>1' AM A, are we going to have the lamp lighted to-night?” asked Flora, hope so,” replied Mrs. Morton, looking np from her sewing and pressing her hand over her aching eyes. ^ ‘ I have some buttonholes to make in the baby’s apron, and I need a stronger light than candles for that.”

‘‘You’ll hurt your eyes if you try to sew in the dusk any longer,” said the daughter. “Why can’t I light the lamp just this once? I’ll be very careful.”

“No,” returned the mother decidedly. “I’m afraid to have any one but your father touch it. He’ll he back from the post-office before long, and I ’ll ask him to light it then. ’ ’

Flora said no more and began to pick up a number of toys scattered about the floor.

‘‘That’s right,” said her mother in a tired voice. “This room looks worse than usual to-day. Your father has been writing all the afternoon on his sermon and is so tired he’ll notice the disorder more than usual. You’d better straighten out the tablecloth and hang up the children’s hats. Jessie,” she called to a little girl who was reading by a window, “come and pick up the spools the baby has been playing with and put them in Mother’s basket.”

“Can’t Hattie help me do it?” asked the child, turning down a leaf at the comer to mark the place where she left off.

“Jessie thinks she can’t breathe without her twin,” said Flora, laughing.

“Hattie is setting the table for supper,” replied her mother. “She didn’t ask to have you help her do that.”

“All right,” returned the little girl in a resigned tone, falling on her knees to pick up the spools. “I’d just as soon do it, only Hattie can find them better than I can when they roll under the lounge and book-case. I don’t see how

THE HOME MISSIONARY’S FAMILY 5

Benny manages to scatter them so,” she went on in a grumbling tone.

Babies make a great deal of work, dear,” said her mother, as she folded up her sewing. ‘‘What do you suppose I did when you and Hattie were little?”

The child sat down on the floor with the workbasket on her lap and pushed her curly hair away from her round dark eyes as she exclaimed: “Oh, two of us at a time must have been awful. Mother! I don’t see how you got along!”

“Well, you were so sweet and cunning you paid for all the care and work you made, just as Benny does,” returned the mother cheerfully, as she picked up the fat ten-month-old baby and began kissing him.

By this time the two pairs of young hands had made the little living-room look neat and orderly. Wraps and books and playthings were put into a closet, bits of paper and thread were picked up from the worn rag carpet, chairs and stools placed where they belonged, and a small kerosene lamp containing a brownish yellow oil placed on a table with a box of matches by its side.

‘‘Here’s Papa,” said Jessie, as the door opened and a middle-aged man with iron gray hair came into the room with a quick step. He was of medium height, but so slim and straight that he looked tall.

‘ ‘ Why, how dark it is !” he exclaimed. ‘ ‘ Why don’t you have a candle?”

“I’d like to use the lamp a little while this evening if you think we can afford it,” said his wife. “I have some fine sewing to do, and the candle light tries my eyes.”

“Why, of course we will afford it,” said her husband, walking briskly to the table. ‘ ‘ Has the lamp been filled and cleaned to-day? ”

“Yes, it’s all ready for you to light,” returned his wife.

Mr. Morton took off the glass chimney and turned up the wick. He then applied a lighted match to it and put the chimney over the sputtering yellow flame. Hattie had come into the

THE HOME MISSIONARY’S FAMILY 7 room now, and the three sisters stood round the table to watch with breathless interest this wonderful lamp-lighting ceremony.

“Stand back farther, girls,” cautioned the mother. ‘ ‘ It might explode. ’ ’

“There’s no danger, Mary, I think, if you cleaned it well,” said the father.

“It’s thoroughly cleaned and trimmed,” said Mrs. Morton, “but I can never get over the feeling of danger from the stuff — it’s so terrible inflammable.”

“It’s not so dangerous as a camphine lamp, is it, Mama?” asked Flora. “Ada Fay has one of those to go to bed by.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t have one of them in the house,” exclaimed her mother, shuddering. “I don’t see how the Fays can take such risks.”

“My! How horrid this lamp smells!” cried Hattie, holding her tiny nose between her thumb and forefinger.

“I’d rather have a candle,” remarked Jessie. “That’s safe, and it doesn’t smell.”

“But the lamp gives a much stronger light.

you know/^ argued Flora. ‘‘This is just the same as six candles, isnT it, PapaT’

“Yes, iPs six or seven candle power. It’s a great invention. You know the oil comes right up out of the ground, and there’s a great deal of it. It’s cheaper and safer than camphine, and after a while they will learn how to purify it so the smell will not he so disagreeable, and it will give a better light. It will be cheaper too, so that everybody can afford to use it.”

The little lamp with its feeble light would have seemed a poor affair in these days, but sixty years ago, in the Middle West, petroleum was just coming into use, and in the little Wisconsin village of Minnichute, where the Mortons lived at that time, there were only a few families who had courage and money enough to burn it. It was considered a luxury as well as being a new, untried, dangerous thing and only to be used occasionally.

Mr. Morton was a home missionary, sent by an Eastern society to labor in the West. Half

THE HOME MISSIONARY’S FAMILY 9 his salary, of four hundred dollars a year, was given him by the society, and the rest raised by the little struggling church to which he ministered. This sum was usually eked out by boxes of clothing from the Eastern society and donation parties given by the friendly villagers. At the last one, which was supposed to be a surprise party, the lamp had been a gift from all the parishioners, who had ^‘clubbed together.’’ The Mortons would have thought it a luxury they could not afford.

Aifter supper Mrs. Morton put the younger children to bed, the twins washed the dishes, and Flora, after drawing the curtains to shut out the September evening dusk, brought out some paper, pens and ink, as she wished to write a letter. Her father sank into an old easy chair which creaked with his weight and wiped his spectacles before beginning to read a newspaper which lay folded at his elbow. Presently Mrs. Morton came with her fine sewing to complete the cozy group around the little lamp.

‘‘To whom are you writing, dear?’^ asked the mother, glancing at Flora’s flying pen.

“To Jennie Dill,” replied the young girl, looking up. “I promised to write her once a week, and IVe neglected her lately.”

“You must have a good deal to say to each other to exchange four long letters a month,” remarked her father, smiling. “But I suppose bosom friends have many important matters to discuss.”

“Jennie’s a nice girl. Papa,” remarked Flora, a little hurt at her father’s tone.

‘ ‘ She should be if she is a worthy daughter of Caleb Dill.”

“Rhoda is like her father — she is quiet and dignified. Jennie is lively and full of fun. I like both the girls, but Jennie suits me the best,” said Flora judicially.

“How old did you say those girls are?” asked Mrs. Morton, biting off her thread.

“Rhoda is twenty and Jennie was fifteen last month. She’s just six weeks younger than I ann”

THE HOME MISSIONARY’S FAMILY 11

“Rather young to be teaching school,” remarked Mr. Morton, looking up from his paper.

“She succeeds splendidly. Papa. You ought to see how well she manages those children, and you know there are a rough lot of boys in Atwood. I don’t know what the family would do without the money she earns. Mr. Dill hasn’t been able to do anything for a year, and Rhoda’s embroidery and Jennie’s wages are all they have to live on.”

“I’m afraid you were a tax on them during your long visit last month,” said the father.

“Oh, we lived mostly out of what they had in the garden, and I helped Rhoda a good deal with her embroidery while Jennie was away at school, so I guess they didn’t feel it very much.”

“It’s a pity Mr. Dill had to leave the ministry,” remarked Mrs. Morton. “He was doing so well, and the girls should have gone on with their education.”

“Jennie means to go to school again some time,” said Flora. “She’s very ambitious and has any amount of pluck. I wish I could have taught this summer,’’ she went on, idly balancing her pen holder on her finger. ‘‘I could pass an examination for a certificate as well as Jennie, and I think I need the money as much as she does.”

‘‘You weren’t well enough, dear, after your bad throat in the spring,” said her mother. “We’ll manage some way to get clothes for you so that you can go to school comfortably this fall and winter, and next summer when you are sixteen you will be better prepared to teach and will be quite young enough then. You know Nelly is almost seventeen.”

“Papa, shall we have a box this year?” asked Flora.

“Perhaps,” said her father, going on with his reading.

“If we do have one I hope they will send us something besides old silks and satins and wornout slippers.”

“I shall be thankful for anything in the wearing line,” said Mrs. Morton. “The twins are

THE HOME MISSIONARY’S FAMILY la growing so fast they have outgrown all their clothes. I can make over almost everything that comes.”

^‘I’m tired of made-overs,” said Flora, dipping her pen in the ink. “I jnst long for a chance to earn money to get some brand new clothes all my own.”

She scribbled away at her letter after this for a half hour, writing in a rather careless, slovenly hand several pages of “sermon paper” her father had given her, and then decided to go to bed. The twins were there already and sound asleep.

Mr. and Mrs. Morton sat by the lamp a little longer for the chat they usually had after the house was quiet and the children asleep.

“Flora is very restless since her visit to the Dills,” said Mrs. Morton. “Jennie’s teaching has put the notion in her head that she ought to earn her living now. She does need a new dress and a hat and some shoes. I wish we could afford them for her.”

“Oh, she’U have to learn patience,” said the father. ‘‘She’s only a child yet. I can’t bear to have our girls go out into the world so young. I wish we could have kept Nelly at home another year.”

“So do I,” said the mother with a sigh. “But Flora is so pretty and so bright it would be hard to keep her back, especially as other girls of her age consider themselves young ladies.”

“I wish she had a little more perseverance,” said Mr. Morton. “There would be greater hope for her future if she had some of Nelly’s industry and stick-to-itiveness.”

“It wouldn’t be fair for one child to have all the gifts, would it ? ” asked his wife. ‘ ‘Nelly should have something to offset Flora’s beauty and talent.”

“Yes, there’s something in that view of the case,” assented Mr. Morton. “They’re both good girls and will turn out all right, thanks to their mother’s training.”

Mrs. Morton smiled as she went on with her sewing and her husband continued: “I think we may be able to get Flora a new dress.

THE HOME MISSIONARY’S FAMILY 15 Deacon Jones told me to-day they are talking of giving ns a donation this fallJ’

‘‘Oh, dear!” sighed his wife, dropping her work in her lap. ‘ ‘ I dread it. But I suppose it’s the only way of getting your salary paid, and we ’ll have to put up with it. I feel very much like our naughty Jessie, though, when she calls them ‘darnation’ parties.”

“She’s about right,” said Mr. Morton, laughing. “I don’t like to have what I have earned brought to me in the form of a gift. But, as you say, there seems to be no other way of getting my salary this year. Every one feels poor, and it seems easier to pay in potatoes and calico and hams than in money.”

Mrs. Morton rose and lighted a candle, for their nine-o’clock bed time had come. Mr. Morton carefully turned down the wick of the lamp until the flame went out in a puff, and as they went to their room with its clutter of big bed, trundle-bed, and cradle, Mrs. Morton remarked, “Well, hams and potatoes are very acceptable, but I do hope they will give us a little money too. We need it so much.”

CHAPTER n

T he next morning when Flora was dawdling about the house rather listlessly, she heard a knock at the front door. When she answered it a plain little man appeared, who asked if he could engage any hop pickers there.

‘ ‘ Hop pickers ! ^ ’ echoed Flora. ‘ ‘ I don ’t know what you mean, but if you will walk in I will ask my mother. I don’t believe we have such a machine though.”

The man laughed as he seated himself in the sitting-room where Mrs. Morton was, and explained that he was engaging girls to pick hops for men who raised them in large quantities for the market. The demand for pickers was great, as there was an unusually large crop this year, and he had been canvassing towns and villages 16 and even the cities to engage a sufficient number.

^‘What do they pay!” asked Flora, greatly interested.

‘^Well, pickers get paid according to what hops bring in the market. This year they fetch a good price, so pickin’ will pay well. A fair picker can easily earn two dollars a day besides keepin’.”

“Mama! Mama! Just think of that,” said Flora eagerly. “And the work certainly can’t be hard. It’s just the thing for me!”

“Hard! Nothin’ hard about it,” said the man. “Most girls call it play.”

“Where is this hop region!” asked Mrs. Morton.

“It’s up in Sago County, ma’m, about forty miles from here in a straight line. The girls from these parts will have to take ruther a roundabout way to get there. They go on the cars to Maddock Junction, then across the country in teams.”

“And are these hop growers nice people!”

“The folks up there are all well-to-do and respectable. Oh, yes, ma’m, you can be sure of that.’^

‘^And do they have good food and comfortable beds?’’

“Prime, ma’m! Couldn’t get better livin’ at first-class hotels. I’m engagin’ hands for Dick Johnson’s folks now, and they take pride in setting the best table in the country for their pickers.”

“I have heard,” said Mrs. Morton, “that in New York a very rough, low class of people are employed to pick hops. How is it here?”

“Well, ma’m, there’s all sorts of people in a hop yard. You can pick your own crowd and let the rest alone. Besides, look here, I’ve got on my list twenty-five of the nicest girls in this town ! ’ ’

“Oh, read it, please,” said Flora eagerly.

The agent produced his book, when it was found that most of Flora’s acquaintances in the village were going, and she exclaimed wonderingly: “I don’t understand how Ada Fay and the Becket girls should be on that list. I thought there was no reason for them to earn money. ’ ’

The agent shook his head. ‘‘IVe made a had bargain there, I reckon,^’ he said. “I have orders not to take that kind. But they want to go for the sake of the adventure. They teased and hung on so I couldn’t get rid of ’em. Mr. Fay wants his girl to go on account of her health. ’ ’

‘‘Yes,” said Mrs. Morton, “I have heard that picking hops in the open air is very healthful and is often recommended to invalids. I expect it would be a good thing for you, dear.”

“Oh, I’m not an invalid now,” said Flora. “I would go for the money.”

‘ ‘ That ’s right. Y ou ’re the kind I want, ’ ’ said the agent, approvingly, again opening his book. “How many names shall I put down from this house?”

“Four,” said Flora, promptly, looking to her mother for approval.

“I don’t see how I can spare all of you,” said Mrs. Morton, a little hurt that Flora had not thought of this herself. ‘ ‘ I have been counting on you and Nelly to help me with the sewing. ’’

^‘But just think of the money we can earn!’’ exclaimed Flora. ‘‘And we can do the sewing when we get back. ’ ’

“But there are Arthur and Katie to take care of, and the baby is so fretful with his teething. I don’t see how I can get on alone.”

“Well, the twins would better not go,” said Flora hastily.

Mrs. Morton looked reproachfully at her daughter. The twins had been kept out of school to take care of the younger children and help their mother so that Flora might go awa37 for a visit, and if any one needed a holiday they did. They were not here to plead for themselves, but Flora knew they would be indignant if they were left at home, and Nelly, whose heart was set on going away to school in the fall, would not be willing to lose the chance to earn all the money she could for that purpose. The family sewing, always behind, had accumulated to such an extent that there was pressing need for more than one industrious needle. Flora knew she ought to stay at home to help her mother and let the rest go.

‘‘Well/^ she said, in answer to her mother look, ^‘I’ll give it up. I see I ought not to go.” But she could not speak cheerfully, for her quick fancy had conjured up such gay and jolly times with a crowd of fun-loving girls, to say nothing* of the chance to earn some money, that she felt as though she could not he left out of the excursion. But she said no more about herself, and began planning for the others, trying hard to hide her disappointment.

Her mother was silent for a moment and then said: “After all, dear, I think I could manage to let you go, if your father is willing. I can’t bear to have you miss it. It would do you so much good, and you would have the chance to earn some money. You will need every penny you can get if you have any new clothes.”

“But how, mother dear?” said Flora, anxiously. “I really don’t see how you can get on alone with the babies. I was selfish to think of such a thing. ’ ’

managed with you and Nelly when you were little, and I guess I can do as much now,” answered her mother, looking up and smiling. ‘‘Besides,” she went on, “you won’t be gone so very long, I imagine. ’ ’

“A month or six weeks at the outside, ma’m,” said the agent, with his note-book open in his hand.

“K that is all, I can easily spare you, dear,” said the mother. “And perhaps the washwoman’s little girl will help me occasionally.”

It ended by the agent taking the four names, Mr. Morton gladly giving his consent to have so many noisy children out of his hearing for a while. The agent then told them how to prepare for the trip, and was about to go when Flora was struck with an idea. “Mama,” she said, “wouldn’t it be splendid to have the Dill girls go in our company? I don’t supx>ose Rhoda could leave home, but I think Jen would. Her school closes by that time and she is crazy to earn money, and mercy knows they need it enough. May I write to some friends to go with me 1 ^ ’ she asked, turning to the agent.

‘‘Well, I guess so,’’ said he, looking over his note-book. “I haven’t canvassed Atwood yet. I allowed to get pickers there for another man, but probably it won’t make any odds.” So the matter was left until Flora could write to her friends to see if they would go. She was to let the agent know at once by mail, for the picking was to commence in about ten days, and it was necessary to make sure of the right number as soon as possible.

The letter was at once sent, with a full and glowing account of the enterprise and an urgent entreaty that all of the Dill girls would go if possible, and that Jennie must not fail them. When it was received there was much discussion as to which of the elder sisters should stay at home to keep house for the father and brother. But in the midst of it a neighbor, good-hearted 'Mrs. Jones came in and said: “What’s to bender the hull kit and bilin’ of you

THE HOP PICKERS from goin’? I’ll take care of things for ye. Your pa and Johnny can take their meals to our house. Oh, I’ll make ye pay fur it,” she went on, as Rhoda opened her mouth to speak. ‘‘I shan’t do it fur nothin’. Ye needn’t be alarmed, and I think ye might give a poor, old woman a chance to make a little money, too.”

Rhoda smiled. She had had no vacation from indoor work and care for a long time. The prospect of weeks of out-of-door life seemed blissful. She could hardly believe it had come to her so suddenly and delightfully.

Jennie and Kitty took the matter less calmly. They were wild with excitement and delight, and hugged Mrs. Jones until she was out of breath and then ran off to bring their father into the council. As they expected, after reading Flora’s letter, he readily gave his consent to all the arrangements, and seemed especially pleased that Rhoda was to have a vacation.

Preparations for the journey were begun at once in both villages. According to the agent, each ‘‘picker” was limited as to baggage to a small bundle or satchel. No trunks or boxes were to be taken. Gloves, large aprons, heavyshoes, and big sunbonnets were necessary, but they were not expected to carry any ‘‘good clothes,’’ “though we are going to smuggle in a little finery in spite of Mr. Agent, for who knows what may happen,” wrote Flora, in one of her numerous letters of instruction and advice to the Dill family.

A lady living in Minnichute had once picked hops in New York, and her experience and counsel were worth a good deal to the girls in preparing their outfits. She had an excellent pattern of gloves, with long gauntlets reaching to the elbows. This was circulated among them, and each one made a pair for herself of heavy bed-ticking. Then large-sleeved aprons and “slat” sunbonnets were made, dresses were shortened, and thick shoes and wraps provided.

Nelly Morton closed her country school in time to come home and share the exciting preparations. She was fair and plump like Flora, and the sisters were thought to look alike though their temperaments were different, Nelly

being quiet and persistent.

The twins were in a fever to help, but their nine-year-old fingers were too bungling to be of much service. It was the mother who made them all comfortably ready, sewing many nights until after midnight, while her four rosy daughters slept soundly.

CHAPTER in

T last the eventful day came for them to

^ start, and twenty-two happy young creatures collected in the little station to wait for the train which was to take them on the first stage of their journey.

Mrs. Morton’s tired eyes and pale cheeks, as she lovingly kissed her daughters good-by, haunted Flora, and she felt half -inclined, on her way to the station, to turn round and give up going. But the generous impulse was nipped in the bud when Tilly Mickells came bounding up to her, swinging her sunbonnet by the string, and shouting: ‘^How are you, hop picker?” A foretaste of the coming fun was in the air, and in an instant the twinges of conscience were forgotten, and Flora plunged into the spirit of the adventure. The girls thought it would be great fun’^ to wear their uniform of sunbonnet, apron, and striped gloves, on the journey, so the passengers stared as they trooped into the cars, their smiling faces hidden under their deep sunhonnets, and they might have been taken for some fantastic sisterhood but for their giggling and chattering.

When they arrived at Maddock Junction they found Mr. Johnson himself waiting for them. He was a quiet, bashful man, and looked as though he wanted to run when the girls flocked around him and deafened him with their questions. But he finally marshalled them into line, and they marched to a hotel close by where a bountiful dinner was ready for them, and where they were to stay till the Western train came which was to bring the Dill girls.

The dinner was not fairly over before they heard the roar of the incoming train, and soon the Dill girls, together with many other hop pickers of every age and condition crowded out of the cars and fiUed the station with commotion. Half a dozen ‘‘hop growers’’ were there

“A month or six weeks at the outside, ma’m/’ said the agent with his note-book open in his hand.

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