University of South Carolina Libraries
X joe ^QjQj^Aj/S ^ T] I Swamp k-WVWW\ ^ A STORY OF 1 \f/ ^vwvwv By EBEN E * ***M Copyright by Robert Bonner's Sons. CHAPTER XYI. CONTINUED. "I know she don't," said Samanthy. "She feels awful about ye. Cries an' takes on the wust way, an' blames herself like ev'rything. But do be goin'. I git m6re narv'us ev'ry single minnit. I sha'n't draw a decent breath till I think ye've got to the corn-field." She lifted the pantry-window noiselessly, and Dick crawled through it and dropped lightly to the ground. She watched him make his way to the garden-fence, where he was lost in the shadows of night. She stood by the window and waited for some minutes. Nothing happened. "There, thank the Lord, he's safe fer a spell, I reckon!" she exclaimed, drawing a breath of relief. "Wonder what they'll say in the mornin', when they go to hang him an' find he's missin'?" Then she went back to bed; but the excitement of the night would not al low her to sleep, v lsions 01 escaping men came to her, followed by visions of men dangling from a rope, and then she would start up from the doze into which she had fallen only to fall into another doze, in which the same sights were repeated. "I hain't rested much," she said, with a grim smile, when daylight came. 51 ?? / .CHAPTER XVII. A POSTPONED HANGING. Morning broke. With the first streak of red in the east, the men who had been on guard were stirring. One of them came to the door of the milk-house and listened. "I reckon he's asleep," he reported. Va lioin't 'rntind." rrcj "Wall, let him have his snooze out," said Bill Green. "It's prob'ly the last one he'll enjoy fer a rightsmairt spell." As soon as it was fully light men began to arrive. They came from all parts of the sets' tlement, and before eight o'clock the entire male portion of the neighborhood was on hand. It was evident from the stern and resolute look on the faces of most of them and the determined air which characterized them that they felt that something of grave and weighty import was about to be done. "Wall, it's eight o'clock," announced Bill. "Sh'll we proceed to business?" "How're we goin' to git at it?" asked some one. "Why, go at it an' du it, same's ye would anv iob ve'd got on hand," an swered Bill. "There hain't 110 sense in standin' 'ronnd an' askin' how a thing's got to be did. That'll never du it. Git right down tu bisness an' it won't take long." "Well, then, fetch out the pris'ner an' le' 's hear what he's got to 6ay fer himself," said Deacon Snyder. "That's the talk," said Mr. Balcomb. "Let's hear his story, fust of all." "Yes, trot him out," chuckled Samanthy, who was an interested spectator and listener. "Trot him right out. * Fm jest achin' to see ye do it." Bill Green, as master of ceremonies, unlocked the door of the milk-house. "Come out o' that!" he called out, in "a tone that was meant to convey terror to the occupant ol the multhouse. Hearing it and watching the way in which Bill swelled up like a turkeygobbler as he delivered his order, Samanthy chuckled all over. No reply came from the milk-house and no person emerged therefrom. "P'r'aps he's asleep yet," some one in the crowd suggested. "Holler an' wake him up, Bill." Samanthy's amusement increased. Bill put his head in at the door very cautiously and looked around the room. "He ain't here!" he cried in dismay. "He's gin us the slip, fellers,as sure's ye live!" "I could ha' told ye that a'considerable spell agoef I'd felt like it," chuckled Samanthy from her post of observation by the pantry window. "He's gone, sure enough, Bill Green, an' I reckon ye won't git yer clutches ? v: :~i,i nniy.?. >> UJLi JUli-LL ngutowftj, UUIUC1. The excited and incredulous crowd made a rush for the door to see for themselves if Bill Green's statement was true. It hardly seemed possible that their prisoner could have eluded them after getting out of the milkhouse, to say nothing of getting out of it. But an inspection of the room satisfied them that it was empty. The bird had flown. "Who could have helped the critter to git away?" cried Bill, black with rage and disappointment. "I tell ye what, there's been some underhand doin's summers, an' nobody needn't tell me there hain't. Ef we c'd only find out who 't was, I reckon we'd make it mighty interestin' fer him. I do so!" "But the trouble is, liow're ye goin' to find out?" chuckled the delighted Samanthy, to whom the sight of Bill's wrath was a pleasure too intense for description. Investigation succeeded in eliciting nothing satisfactory, beyond a knowledge of the manner in which escape had been made. Mr. Porter was accused of having -aided the prisoner in getting away. This he stoutly denied, and being a man m wnom ms neignoors na? implicit confidence, his assertion of in. nocence was generally believed. Mrs. Porter, as everybody knew who knew anything apout her, was too timid a woman to attempt anything requiring cool and steady nerve. Wayne, as rc v v, W-' ^SblGlOlOIOlOlOIOMbK H]B - 2 w Secret. | 'WWVWW W 7*\ :he frontier. u ^www. <J> REXFORD, W ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ hp* )k everybody knew, had no friendship for Dick, and no one suspected him of Having assisted mm m mauiij; mo escape. Suspicion seemed to centre on Samanthy for some reason, and she met many dark and angry looks as she took frequent observations of the crowd. The suspicion with which she was regarded gave her a sense of exultant pleasure which she could not keep from showing in her face. But none of them saw fit to say anything to her. Perhaps the neighbors were somewhat afraid of what the result might be if they roused her temper. Samanthy had more than once given those who interfered with her a foretaste of what might be expected if she "got mad." It is possible that they may have felt it unbecoming the dignity of a man to quarrel with a woman. It is possible that they hardly thought it hardly worth while, now that the bird had flown, to bandy words about the manner of his flight, Bince accusing anyone of complicity in the matter was not going to give him back into their hands. Be the reason what it miffht, Samanthy was not openly charged with having helped Dick to get away from them and the penalty of the crime of which most of them considered him really guilty. Mr. Porter was severely blamed for not having mentioned the underground passage between the milkhouse and cellar. Many were confident that if Mr. Porter or other members of the family had not helped Dick to make his escape, they had been sure that he would let himself out of prison by means of this passage, and therefore they had kept silent regarding it. It was plain to be seen that both Mr. Porter and Mr. Boone were glad that he was gone. Later in the day there was a little clash of arms between Samanthy and Bill Green. "There'sa nigger in the fence," said Bill, with a surly, glowering look at Sam&nthy. "Yes, sirree, agol-durned big nigger, 'n I'd like nothin' better 'n to git him by the wool. I would so! Ef Dick Brayton got out o' there alone, I'm a liar!" "Mebbe ye be, anyway," said Samanthy, dryly, exultant at the prospect of a set-to with her old enemy, to whom she had never "felt friendly disposed" since the time when he called her an old maid. That was years ago, but Samanthy had a good memory. "I wa' n't talkin' to you," said Bill, not relishing the idea of a quarrel with her when there was any one by to listen to it. He was rather fearful of coming out second best. "Oh, wa' n't ye? I thought ye was by the way ye glared at me," said Samanthy, coolly. "Butit don't make no diffrunce, one way or t'other. I'm goin' to give ye a leetle advice, an' ye can take it or not, jest as ye like. Don't go 'round the kentry huntin' fer fences with niggers in 'em. Some day, mebbe, ye'll find the nigger ye'r lookin' fer, an' 't won't be healthy fer ye." "Shaw, now, I want to know," said Bill, at a loss for anything else to say. "Sh'd jedge ye mought ha' had a tussel with a nigger, or suthin' ruther lately, by the looks o* yer face," said Samanthy, looking Bill's swollen and discolored countenance over critically. "Arniky's good fer bruises, after ye've got 'em, but the best medicin' fer 'em is to mind yer own bisness an' not fool with suthin' ye can't handle." Bill turned away with what -was meant to represent lofty disdain expressed on his black-and-blue features. Samanthy put on her sunbonnet and ran over to Mr. Boone's. Vonm'o mof Vior of That young woman's eyes were red and swollen, and she looked as if she had passed a sleepless night. "Oh, Samanthy," cried Nannie, beginning to cry again, "they'll hang poor Dick, I know they will!" "They'll hev to git him first, I kinder reckon," said Samanthy, with a wink and a grin. "Oh, Samanthy, what do yon mean?" cried Nannie, eagerly. "Has anything happened? Have they found anything out?" "Yes, they've found him out," chuckled Sainanthv?"out o' the milk house!" "Oh! oh!" cried Nannie, all in a quiver of excitement. "Has he got away from them." "He has so," answered Samanthy. "They thought they'd got him where nothin' or nobody c'd git tu him when they shet the milk-house door on him las' night, but it seems as ef suthin' or somebody must ha' got tu him an' helped him tu git out o' their clutches, fer he's gone this mornin', that's sure." "Oh, I know how he got away," cried Nannie, flinging her arms about Samanthy's neck and giving her a great hug. "You helped him?I know you did! You're the best woman in the world, and I just love you for what > .1 ~ J. ~ n J^UU vc uuuc. And then Nannie mustered up courage to do what she had never known of any one else doing?she kissed Samanthy, who tolerated the caress, but didn't seem to enjoy it very much. She had been heard to say that she couldn't abide "huggin' au' kissin' "?it made her sick to see it? jest fairly turned her stomach?but in this case her stomach proved strong enough to endure the ordeal quite satisfactorily. "TVipre fhnt'11 fin fer nnot " rTib nnifl as there were indications on Nannie's part of an intention to repeat the operation. "Seems to me it looks kind o' curi's fer a gal tu be so tickled to think ! a feller's got away when 'twa'n't no j longer ago'n las' week that she'd skasely speak tu him. I sh'd jedge j ye'd met with some kind o' change."' ] "I have. I've changed my mind .1 ' */ v ' about the fellow," said Nannie, radiantly, her eyes so bright now that the tears dried rapidly in them. "Tell ma how you helped him to get away, Samanthy. I'm just dying to hear all about it." Samanthy took Nannie into her confidence and told her what the reader already knows. "I'll see that the gun is taken down to the hollow tree," Nannie said. "And I'll take a loaf of bread there every night, too. Dear me, Samanthy" ?with a sudden shiver and growing pale at the thought?"I almost know they'll catch him again if he stays about the neighborhood. Why didn't he go right away out of it?" "He's got idees in his head," said Samanthy, mysteriously. "Wait an' you'll se?." What the nature of those ideas might be she did not think it best to explain just then. It might be better to keep the suspicion regarding Wayne in the background for a time. After dark, Nannie took Dick's gun * to the hollow tree, along with "a loaf of bread that she had made that day and taken especial pains with;- also some fresh, sweet butter and a generous square of gingerbread. "He likes gingerbread," she said to herself, while a tear fell on the paper she was wrapping the eatables in. "And he used to like me, too. Once he told me he didn't know which was sweeter, gingerbread or kisses, and I thought it was an awful foolish speech to make; but someway it don't seem so now. Poor Dick! I wish he knew how sorry I am for having used him so. Maybe he'll understand that when he finds the gingerbread." From "which it will be understood that Nannie was becoming sentimental as well as repentant. CHAPTER XVm: THE IB FIRST CAMP-MEETING. Not a trace of the lost horses had been found. The search had been long and thorough, but at last it had been thought best by all ooncerned to abandon it, because there seemed nothing more to be done. Every possible effort to find a clew to the mystery had been made, and the mystery was more perplexing now than at the start. "We hain't got nothin' to work on," said Deacon Snyder. I wish we c'd find the critters, but we don't seem to be permitted tu do so, an' I s'pose 't was the Lord's will that I Bh'd lose 'em, so I dunn-y 's I sh'd grumble, but?" But he oould't help feeling that he would ha^ planned things differently had he been the Lord. "Hope oP Porter '11 hev his stole," Bill Green said more than once, smarting over his disappointment at Dick's escape. He felt as if it is safe to suppose a bloodhound feels when cheated of its victim. "It would sarve him just right to lose 'em, it would so, fer stickin' up fer Dick Brayton." "Dill TaH a??a oil olnnnr +.Vlftf. if JC UIT JJAXI iOll OUXO, Mil UI1WU&> M.WV ? Mr. Porter knew nothing of how Dick got away, he was glad that he was gone. And Bill was right about that. After the search for the horses was abandoned, a sort of still hunt for Dick began by those who believed that he might still be lurking in the neighborhood. It was not systematic, but it was kept UP persistently for a time. Dick had no trouble in eluding those who sought for him. It is not an easy matter to capture a man in a wilderness when he knows that he is being hunted. Knowing this, Dick could govern his actions in such a manner as to completely throw them off the scent. Bill Green and a few of his cronies i held to the belief that Dick was j ; still in the vicinity of Brownsville, but where they couldn't determine; but they meant to find out, if possible. , Therefore they kept up their search for at least a week, but finding nothing at the end of that time, they concluded that it was not advisable to neglect their farmwork longer, and : they, too, gave up the search in a measure, though Bill said they'd all i keep their eyes peeled, for they 1 "mought run onto suthin' when they wa'n't expectin' to." i "I'm dead sure o' one thing," said ; that astute individual, "an' that is, i that he won't dare to show his face i insi'e the settlement. Fer he knows 1 ef he did, it'd be a mark for somebody 1 to shoot at, the minnit they got a 1 glimpse of it." Two weeks went by, and then a new < excitement took the place of the old one. From secular matters the minds of 1 the residents of Brownsville turned to i spiritual ones. < [To be continued.] ] 1 Bacteria Have Usea. So much has been said about bac- J teria as causing and propagating dis ease that it is difficult to make the public regard these minute organisms j as anything but mischief makers. Nevertheless, an American scientist, J Professor Conn, of Wesleyan Uni- < versity, and Simon C. Keith, of Boston, are demonstrating by experi- 1 ments that they serve a useful pur- ' pose in nature, and contribute quite as i < much to one's pleasure as to one's dis- J 1 comfort. The outcome of their inveo- j 1 tigations is that it is to the develop- ! [ inent of bacteria in milk that the deli- i i cate flavor of butter and cheese is due, | an J that the reason some kinds of but- ] * ter and cheese have better flavors that) t others is that different species of bac- i teria have been developed. They have succeeded in isolating these dif- i ' ferent species. ' In 1891 Professor Vilhelm, of Copenhagen, succeeded in isolating certain c acid bacteria from ripened cream, anil c was able to cultivate and utilize thorn 1 in the creameries for accomplishing an f artificial ripening in the cream ami f consequent fermentation, in order thai t a more uniform and better flavored ' butter might be produced. But it was , ' not until two years ago, when Pro- > ^ * ^ -l-- 1 tnr. +1,? ' L lessor l^OIUl UlSCUVCICU a ^cim ivi mu ripening of cream which was radically ; ? different from any heretofore used, : 1 that the subject began to be studied , ^ in this country with the view of de* j P veloping its commercial possibilities. ! D Since then a laboratory has been fitted | o up in Boston by Orrin Douglass for . ? the separation, cultivation and inves- i ? tigation of bacteria from a commercial standpoint. Mr. Douglass has nsso- j ciated with him Mr. Iveith, who is a graduate of the Institute of Technol'1 A ogj.?New York Herald. .. .. ;'' I T was growing j dark when Miss Martie, with her T\ basket on her a&f arm, came into >W the coiner mar-jfv , ket to buy her Thanksgiving * dinner. The hasket. was absurdlysmall, but m i( ' Miss Mattie was little herself, fisfi Iflu an<* 8^e MM * 1 I) set'it on the 1/ilJjJ high counter -kjLf and stood blinking in the bright liorVif fliA palf's VtAA.fl At hnr filhow O?) ~ ? seemed to be grinning at them both. ''Well, Miss Mattie," called ont the market man, in his hearty fashion, "I see yonr mind is not set on a turkey this time, but just wait till I start this basket off for Cap'n Lawson's and I'll show you the right thing?a plump little duck I clapped into the safe this morning, thinking to myself that's the very moral of a treat for Miss Mattie." Miss Mattie looked embarrassed and rubbed her forefinger uneasily over a small coin that lay in the palm of her hand under her glove. It was a silver five-cent piece, and she had taken it with muoh hesitation from a little store of pieces, most of them given her when she was a child. For herself she could have got along very well with bread and tea, but somehow THE JO it seemed a dishonor to all her happy past not to hare something special on Thanksgiving; and so she had a feeling of real pity for it, lying there warm and snug in her palm, and so Boon to go tumbling into the heap of clashing, jingling coins tossed about by the butcher's greasy fingers, or perhaps into the pocket of that horrible apron with blood-stains on it. Miss Mattie shuddered, but quickly recovered herself to say, cheerfully: "Oh, thank you, Mr. Simmons; but don't you think ducks are a sight of trouble, what with the stuffing and the roasting and needing to be looked UahIaJ T ?ma/7a nv\ ai LCI UUU uasbcu ic^uir.l A uiuvtw uy my mind io something simple, and I don't kno .v anything that's easier got or more relishing than lamb chops. Two lamb chops is about what I thought of, Mr. Simmons. Xou know there's only me." Mr. Simmons had not seen the fivecent piece, but he understood just as well as if he had, and'he began to cut the chops at once, talking all the time to relieve his own embarrassment and assuring Miss Mattie that "if folks only knew it, there was nothing like lamb chops to encourage your appetite and strengthen you up all over." "But you'll have to take three jhops," looking curiously atthe money Miss Mattie laid in his big hand, "or ['11 have to make change, and change is scarcer than hen's teeth to-night. 5Tou might have company unexpected, pou know, and an extry chop would ;ome in handy." vr:? ~ i 1U10Q xutibuo inu^ucu ou gciiian j that the market man ventured to slip i sweetbread and a bunch of yellow jelery into the basket on the sly. He yould have loved to put in the duck, but that would have looked as if he inspected her reason for not buying t, and, bless you, he knew better ;han that. Some people have feelngs, though their fpces are red and heir hands coarse and greasy. Miss Mattie went very happily down he street. She had lighted her lamp jefore she went out, and a cheerful ittle ray smiled encouragingly at her is she came to the gate. All the ither windows in the weather-beaten ild house were black and empty aud ooked to the lonesome little woman is if all sorts of hobgoblins might be >eeping out at her from the gloom betind them, for Miss Mattie's neigh>ors had gone away on a T" Ar1 sgivng visit and taken the w .mily. it least they said "the whole lu^iy," ?ut at the very moment Miss Mattie ame to the gate a member of the famly was huddled up in a corner of the ioorway, cold, hungry and much per ilexed to understand what had become j f all his friends and whv. in snite' of i lis pitiful plea, no one came to open he door for bim. He heard Miss lattie and ran hopefully to meet her, imping as he came, for he had a stiff i 2g- , "Why, Tommy Barnes," said Miss lattie, stooping to pat his rough yeljw head, "you don't mean to say . \ I ^C=^. fllh 1)4 of c she ^ gift aos * -=- 7- T >} 11 awi Bh; h ?^~n p?fl ' to! sue your folks have gone off to Thanks- , giving and left you beeind. Well, if , lever! How dreadful?thoughtless? ,e,* and you a cripple besides!" .u Tommy kept on crying, but he had or his eye on the door while Miss Mattie was fitting her key, and the minute it as opened he darted in. ma "That's right, Tommy," said Miss coc Mattie; "just make yourself at home. ^ You and I'll have our Thanksgiving 8 together. That extra chop will be cot wanted after all, and I'm going to 8^? make riz biscuits." bae She put away her bonnet and shawl and hung the basket on a nail in the back-room without even looking at the *ai contents, though Tommy Barnes 8m| watched her keenly with a shrewd bus- an< picion of something good, and a faint T hope which nothing in his past expe- the rienoe justified that he might come in pre for a share of it. Miss Slattie was ac- Iom customed 'to being alone, and she the scarcely thought of Tommy, as she liv< trotted about, setting the sponge for mi< her biscuits in a pint bowl, putting a car little cup of broth on the stove to hai warm for her supper, making her tea, all toasting her bread, and at last sitting ten down by the table in the little green ani chair with a patchwork cushion. Up of to this point Tommy had sat quietly rea by the fire, having learned by many 1 severe lessons that little folks should wa. be seen and not heard, but when Miss ftel Mattie poured out the savory broth ful the delicious odor was too much for sht his fortitude, and with one bound he sac sprung into her lap. bra ?YS OF THANKSGI "Blesa me," said Miss Mattie, "if I ^ea hadn't clean forgot you, and you half- strj starved, I dare say. There, get down. I never could abide cats around my c^a victuals." ^8' She put Tommy gently on the floor, ^ea crumbled some bread into the bowl of the broth, cooled it carefully and set it kis down for him to eat. d?? "It's pretty rich for me anyway," ?^? she said, as she made out her supper knc with toast and tea. It was perhaps well for Tommy that 8U" he tools? an early promenade next con morning around the back yards of the 80^ neighborhood, and secured several * colntifiTa fid.hit.n fnr Miss Mattie had Pa^ very little to offer him. She baked cru her delightful little puffs of biscuits, ^ad and enjoyed them immensely, finding wa* them lighter and more digestible with- tori out butter. She read a Thanksgiving ' psalm and went about trying to sing r?P in a little chirrupy voice like a brown ain sparrow. She brought in the small ^as basket and flushed over the unexpect- ?e] ed treasuretrove, but took it kindly as *6llJ a bit of neighborly goodwill. The aa 1 sweetbread, white and plump and all *'0.8 ready for cooking, reminded her of old on.* Mrs. Morrison, just beginning to sit ?P(1] up and watch the people go by the *n window. What a toothsome dainty '3a.8 this would be for her, and what a de- mi8 light that she should be able to take it to her as she went to church, yes, tele and some of the celery, too, for a rel- AUU ish. The chops were transferred to a Je.e plate on the shelf, the ewet thread wrapped in a fine old napkin and laid back in the basket with the best half of the celery, and the biscuits Miss '^w Mattie had saved for dinner. a"~ "The cold bread will go just as well with chops," she reflected, and prepared for church with a glow of hap- Elli piness such as she had not known in a soni long time. ?om fete Thla Face all So Olain. her one uBERi WBw o ? o ^i^y^MiMj||PP|| Mar 2ut it and aance it and give us all some, "1 From lean skinny Joe to Tom Fat; into For 'tis Thanksgiving Day and this face all uom so glum, Was never cut out for one hat. gone ?Thomas Sherwood. SI . -v- ; - ' -V, V t helped to a real feeling of thankless, especially when she thought >ld Mrs. Morrison, and how pleased had been with the unexpected She laughed a little to herself jhe returned to her own door after nee, remembering how when Sally rrison had commiserated her on bealone Thanksgiving Day, she had ured her she had'company invited tommy Barnes, from the next door, o was spending a conple of days h her, the rest of' the family being ?y'I hope't wa'n't a sinful untruth," * said, smiling at Tommy, who lay tcefully sleeping on the braided rug, at if old Miss Morrison had set in have me stav to dinner. I shouldn't tnown how to get away, and she is h a talker." RTith a long, clean apron over her ;t frock, Miss Mattie began cheerly to make her small preparations the Thanksgiving feast. She had ditated leaving one chop for breakt, bnt her walk and happiness had de her hungry and she decided to ik them all. But where did she put these chops he was getting so forgetful?she Lid have sworn she put them on the ilf?could she have left them in the iket after all? Her perplexed eyes from the shelf to the floor, and re, just peeping from the wood-box 3 the plate, and two small, very all, bits of bone, gnawed quite clean 1 white. Jngrateful Tommy Barnes, lying re in peaceful slumber, with those icious chops rounding out your yelr sides, if justice had befallen you in and there you might not have 3d to steal again. But into the 1st of Miss Mattie rignteous wratn ae the reflection that Tommy must re been hungry, and the fault after was partly her own for putting lptation in his way, "though how rthing could have been further out his way than that shelf, I don't ,lly see," she added, dolefully. V.t that minute Tommy Barnes ked from his nap, transformed himf into a camel, yawned in a frightly tigerish fashion, and proceeded to irpen his claws on the rug, the ired rug into which had been dded some precious old garments VING. it to Miss Mattie's heart. It was a iw too much to have insult added injury, and springing from her ir, she cuffed Tommy in such orous fashion that three or four xty blows found their mark before astonished sinner could withdraw claws and bound oat at the back r, left ajar in the searoh for the ps. At that instant a resounding ick on the front door sent Miss 1 L A- T ^ me a 11 earl WJ uer luunt nmu a den leap, as if justico were already ling to take her in band for unxeaable cruelty. Then Miss Mattie was peacefully tering abont, unconscious of the el trick fate and Tommy Barnes [ played her, Mrs. Deacon Giles i surveying ber husband with a disbed and tearful face.' 'You don't mean to tell me," she eated, "that the minister's folks 't comin' at all, and you and me got to eat this big dinner alone? re, I stayed home from church to d to it. Oh, you needn't to look f you thought it was a judgment, iah I wouldn't be such a hipper; as to pretend to be thinkin' of ritooal things when I was wonderif Sarah Ellen would remember to te the turkey. Seems to me they ;ht let us know sooner." But I told ye, mother, it was a gram come just before church. l can't regerlate telegrams like the kly newspaper, or stop folks from a' unexpicted." Then, why didn't you rush round get somebody else? Mercy sakes! on't seem like Thanksgiving at 99 Didn't Beem to be anybody to ask old Mis' Morrison and Marthy son. I drove round by the Morrij, but the old lady was just having ething relishing Miss Mattie had hed in. They said they invited to dinner, but sne naa comp ny; of them Barneses next door." Fiddlesticks!" said the deacon's i, in a very disrespectful tone, "You drive straight back and bring thy Ellison up here to dinner. her I don't take any excuse, and, le can't come otherways, she can ig her comp'ny along, though the them shif'less Barnesses impose ter is a mortal shame." ood Deacon Giles had learned lity in many years of experience, the double knock at Miss Mattie's followed as quickly as could be onably expected. Miss Mattie atpted neither excuse nor hesitation, accepted her good providence with ant, rlelicht. Q. Mother aaid to fetch your comp'ny ' g," said the deacon, glancing i Dtfully about the small room. "We d you had one of the Barneses. I [er hope 'tain't the cross-eyed one stole my pears." 3h," said Miss Mattie, laughing the little mirror, as she tied her let, "he's had his dinner and he's s out." le didn't say that he had eaten hers also, but at Mrs. Giles's hoofl pitable table, under the genial influ^H ence of generous fare and pleaurfH old-time reminiscences, she told'tJji^H story of Tommy Barnes and the chops in a way that made the deacbg^H lose his breath with laughter. An<f when she was tnoked into the yeUti^fl sleigh for the ride home, HrvGiuSfl stopped at the door to!say: flj "I putsome bitsof bones and things I in a basket nnder the seat for Tommy. 9 TkViio a airrVif. nf ofnff Ia Mai* All TTYI *)?/i777ffflwJLJma jiwoSji "she was tuckhd rs the tkulow^ cat far 'noagh to give his moral prin^vM pies a fair showin'." --:V Tommy was on the Btep^vaitjffg to ? he got as mnoh as was goodforhi^^ oat of the basket onder the fceit, MiiaiflH Mattie very wisely concluded that tW^H mince pie, roast chicken and berry sance conld hardly have beenj| meant for hiB delight, so she locked 4 them in the capboard, saying. cidedly: "This time, Tommy Banies^ Fli'' give your moral principles a fair show-?/ ; ing." Emily Hoktinoton Mtt.t.ttrO HEART, GIVE THANKS. 0 heart, give thanks for strength, to-toy* ' To walk, to ran, to work, to plftyl f Qii For feasts of eye; melodloo* ammd: y:~r, Thv pulses' easy, rhythmic bound; ' v Ten servants that thy will obey; A mind clear as the sun's own ray. A life whloh has not pawed it? Ma.; I That allthybeing tnusiserownad, 7V* O heart, give thanlcs! . Feet helpless lie that once were gay; | Eyes know but night's eternal away; I Bonis dwell In silence, dread, profound; B Hinds live with olouds enoLroUng round; v| In face of these, thy blearing* weigh! 'J 0 heart, give thanksl ^ ^ ^ ^ . The Honiewlft'i Holiday Flans. '-^3 Make the home bright and cfceer- . J ful for Thanksgiving and Christina*, "e writes a farmer's wife. Plan the work. , j so that the holiday will not flndyoa i*t j the kitchen every moment or And yotj weary from overwork. Pies, puddings^, cake and bread may be made two day?i? before the event; sweeping, dnat^at^l and decorating may occupy the day :m previous, and the turkey or chickegM should also be cleaned and staffed at V this time, in order to go into the oven 9 early the'next day. This method 1 gives a little time on the morning of I the holiday for the extra toilet- and the I reception of guests. Boasting the turkey and preparing and cooking the J vegetables will take up the remainder of the morning, so that no time fan really be found in which to prepare 1 desserts, etc. Garlands of evergreen, ;; dotted here and there with wild immortelles and pressed 'ibtumn leavee/tr; will brighten the rooms wonderfully; This is easy work for the young peo- .: pie, who always want to help at such a ^ time. Have some green upon 't^y table. If you have no flowers in bloom, use the handsomest plants among* vnnr window collections. If no jardi- - - niere is forthcoming, conceal the otdi- ' nary flower pot with evergreen or v autumn leavel. - Chrysanthemums keep out of doors until the first of ~ December, and are effective as decora- v tions, if one does not object to thsir j odor. .1,. y Let me describe the table decoration at our first Thanksgiving six years ago. I had only a few carnation > blossoms, red and white ones. These % pat into a tall glass vase with some, , drooping sword ferns that I stole from ' my one jardiniere. I placed the vase . upon a large antique pewter platter, covered with a pretty doily and heaped " with fruit, apples, grapes and bananas. J The base of vase was almost concealed, I and the result charming, as my guests J declared. J On Deaert Air. . Winthrop?"If Freddie is going to V spend Thanksgiving with his grand- I mother, perhaps you'd better bay him 1 that tin horn." Mrs. Winthrop?"I spoke to him 1 about it, my dear, but he said it would do no good to him, as grandmother is deaf." 2 ? A Sacking Pig For Thanksgiving. There are some old-fashioned people who prefer a sucking pig to turkey at Thanksgiving, and to have this dish in perfection an old saying goes that the small animal must be three weeks "under a moon." The Kid'a Harvest. Now he is as pleased as pleased can be, And has no cause to sigh. With ail hia heart he savs: "To me Thanksgiving time is pie." The Turkey on the Wall. f HE opening of the chet^nut burs, The leaves, yellow and Told beyond a peradThat Thanksgiving Day was near. But, to my childish The surest sign of all. Mm Of the nearness of Thanksgiving, ] Was the turkey on the wall. i It plainly toldthe'story That we had not long For the ^ath from wall ?\ - on/1 afi>a 4 r?V?* was very auvtv <?"<* "'wgut. It hung all plump and golden In the pantry near the door For a day or two before the feast, And then was seen no more. J