There is something magical about the inner workings of pioneer homes. Books such as Laura Ingalls Wilder’s Little House on the Prairie or Katherine Worth’s They Loved to Laugh shine a light on the sheer amount of labor it took to keep a working farm running smoothly and how they could be so self-sustaining. As a young reader, I delighted in learning how head cheese was made, how early one had to rise to milk the cows, what it took to spin one’s own yarn and weave it into cloth, how one made a wooden yoke, and the importance of baking bread daily. Clearly, it was hard work, but I found the dedication and ingenuity inspiring and the scenes painted by each author to have a warm, meaningful feel to them. Indeed, that same feeling comes back when I read Kate Seredy’s cheerful, lovely tale, The Good Master.
Set not in America but on the Hungarian plains at the turn of the century, this award-winning book was published in 1935. Seredy tells the story of young Kate (though the tale is not autobiographical), a city girl who is sent to live with her aunt, uncle, and cousin on their ranch. Kate is a wild imp whose mother has died and whose father knows he cannot provide the strong, corrective hand she needs. This is amply, ably given to her by her uncle, Marton, the “good master” of the book’s title, and we see his wisdom and kindness transform his niece from a screaming, disobedient nuisance to a healthy, pleasing child.
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