Decatur Democrat, Volume 45, Number 38, Decatur, Adams County, 28 November 1901 — Page 10

NOVEMBER’S /DOME. EY, you swelled up gobbler feller, Ts Struttin’ round k> big and proud. Pretty quick 1 guess your belter Won't be goin’ quite so loud. •■ 1 run an, i 1 ' y° u ’ * A: ' v ‘ i 1 I '' eJ: ' ! s:; "- Else the choppin' block'll get you. Don’t you know November’s come? $ Don’t you know that grandma's makin’ Loads of mince and punkin pies? I r Don’t you smell the goodi?s bakin’? Can’t you see ’em? Where’s your eyes? Tell that rooster there that's crow in’ (Cute folks now are keenin’ mum; They don’t know how fat they're growin’ > When they know November’s come. r ’Member when you tried to lick me; I Yes, you did, and hurt me too. • ‘ Thought 'twas big to chase and pick me; tWell, I’ll soon be pickin’ you. Oh, 1 know you’re big and hearty, | So you needn’t strut and drum; Better make your will out, smarty, ’Cause, you know, November’s come. b, •‘Gobble, gobble!” Oh, no matter! J By and by you’ll cnange your tune; t You’ll be dead and in a platter, pt And I’ll gobble pretty soon, x If I was you. I’d stop my puffin’, p And I’d look most awful glum. L Hope they’ll give you lots of stuffin’. Ain’t you glad November’s come? | Mrs. Blake’s i | Thanksgiving : XAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA “Oh. dear me, suz! If that bain’t too bad!” Mrs. Betsey Blake cried in almost tearful vexation as she stepped backward from the stove and with a rueful face regarded a thin stream of wate'- trickling from a crack low down on the side of the wash boiler and spotterins into a cloud of steam on the hot stove. “John.” she called in a voice full of trouble, “the b’iler's leakin’ like mad, an' it looks as if just nothin’ short of a tinker could stop it.” Her husband came into the kitchen from the woodshed at. a leisurely pace and with an air of confidence in his ability to cope with any number of leaky boilers. But as he examined the irregular fissure bis face took on a puzzled and then a more serious expression. “Maybe you might stick a rag into it” he suggested. “No, not in such a shaped hole as that.” she said decisively and began dipping the water out into a pail. “You’ve got to take it to the village an’ have it soddered, an’ that's al! there is about it. It'll just spoil the day, so I can't wash afore tomorrow, an’ that'll put back my Thanksgivin’ ■work. Hain't it too bad? Dear me, I most wish we hadn't asked father an’ mother an' Abigail to come.”

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“Well, I’m sorry it’s happened, so, but! never mind. You'll fetch things round all right. You gen’ally do,” said he. so ' ! confidently that her spirits rose abdfce the present disappointment. “1 can do some of tomorrow's work today an' be so much ahead," she said, I and before he was on his way she had half a pumpkin pared and stewing in j the place of the boiler. Next morning the mended boiler was reinstated. By noon the delayed washing was completed, and Betsy Blake looked out complacently from her belated dinner upon the long array of spotless clothes fluttering from the, swaying line like triumphant banners. I In the afternoon a part of the ironing was done, and the next morning she I I / —- ' fni i f. ■ MM ■ wfesM : ■ : I 1 I. i 1 r-- — I “two whole days afoke thanksgivin' TO GIT GOOD AX’ HEADY IX.” arose refreshed and with a sense of relief from one great labor of the week. "There!” she exclaimed, sitting down for a moment's rest after clearing the breakfast table, washing the dishes aud • sweeping the kitchen. "Thank goodness. washin’ day is over an' some of ' the ironin’ done, an' now it's only Tuesday. with two whole days afore Thanks--1 givin' to git good an' ready in.” 1 "Key? What?” John asked abstractedly. with bis eyes on the columns of ' the last paper, absorbed in an editorial on the Philippines. ' “Two more days afore Thanksgiv- ; in',” Betsey repeated. “Why. yes; so there is.” said he. looking up at the clock as if for conflrmaj tion. "1 was kind of thinkiu’ this was

1 Wednesday, but couldn’t make it seem ' just right.” “Os course it's Tuesday, for I washed yesterday,” said! she. with convincing assurance” "An' now I'm goin' to make I my eramb'ry sass an' my mince an’ ap- ' pie pies. I shall leave my pumpkin pies for tomorrow, for I want ’em fresh. ! This arternoon you'd better kill the I turkey an' dress him, so't he'll have a g(H>d long spell to hang. They're heaps better so than they be to fly into the oven. An’ then tomorrow you can git Silas an’ go arter your load of wood. Mebby you can git two.” As John Blake drove his lumber wagon along the road the next morning on his way to the wood lot he noticed that an indolent atmosphere seemed to pervade the few farmhouses which he passed, but it only Impressed him as a rather early sign of the coming holiday. He found Silas Day cutting firewood at his door, looking somewhat surprised at his appearance and more so at the request to go to the woods. "Why. yes, I s'pose I can go an’ help you a spell,” he answered, "arter I cut Thebe a speck more wood. She'll want consid’able today.” “Yes. gettin’ ready so for Thanksgivin.’ Betsy is, too; busy as a bee in a tar barrel.” Presently they were jolting over the rough byroad, too much shaken for comfortable conversation until they came to a halt in the quiet of the bare November woods. "1 don't hardly see how you come to put off gittin' your wood till today.” said Silas, looking up through the netted branches at the climbing sun. "Well, I had a lot of things to tend to an’ couldn't get roun’ to it. I s'pose I might ha' waited till arter Thanksgivin’. but thought 1 might as well git it afore.” Silas stared at him and muttered. “Ruunin’ pretty clus to the wind, I should think.” After they had plied their axes awhile John stuck his into a log and. going to his coat, drew a package from a pocket. "I always did relish victuals in the woods, an’ so I fetched along some ■ bread an’ meat. Let's set down an' take a bite." “Well. I can most always eat.” Silas assented as be took his allotted share and sat down beside his companion, munching the bread and meat and let- | ting his eyes rove about as people are apt to do when eating out of doors. A company of chickadees were busy i gatber’ug their slender fare on a low branch before him. and on a higher one a red squirrel began rasping a butl ternut. "Eatin’ their Thanksgivin' dinner.” I Silas said, nodding at the little banI queters. i "Make 'em a tolerable long meal if : they keep it up till tomorrow arteri noon. Hush! What be they ringin'

the meetin’ house bell for?” John asked excitedly as the mellow tones of a “hurch bell were wafted to their ears. ’ “Why, don’t they always?” Silas asked, glaring curiously at his companion. . , ~ “Why. Silas, you know they don t never, only Sundays an' fast days an’ Thanksgivin’, except funerals, an' there ain't nobody dead, not as I know of.” “Look a-here. John Blake.’ said . b las. "be you crazy or be you foolin ? You act "all the time as if you was makin' b'lieve this wa’n’t Thanksgivin’ day. sot by the gov’nor an’ bein’ kep by everybody but you an’ I. Now. quit your nonsense an’ let's burry up. for I want to git home. We hain’t got no turkey, but Pbebe had three as neat chickens as ever you see all ready to go into the oven when I come away, an' the children's all goin’ to be there, an' I want to be on band to rights.” John’s face grew blank. His eyes stared, unseeing, into space. “Good gracious, Peter! If Betsy an me bain’t done it!” Then, springing to his feet: “Hurry up! 1 should say! Most noon Thanksgivin’ day, Betsy's father an' mother an’ sister a-comin’ an’ the turkey a-hangin’ up in the cellar, if she's kep' a-dreamin’ as long as I have. It all came of that plaguey ole wash b’iler springin’ a leak Monday, so she couldn't wash till Tuesday, an’ we counted from that. Never mind the tarnal wood. Onhitch the ho'ses an’ let's scoot” Five minutes later the team was tearing down the road, the bounding wagon sending far and wide its thundering echoes that brought forth alarmed inmates from many a farmstead, while Silas hung on for dear life, as disjointi ed pleas and protests were jolted from him. all unheeded by the reckless driver. Deacon Adams In his Sunday suit, less the coat, was standing in the midst of bis Sunday dressed household with j an open letter in bis hand and disapI pointment on his face that was repeati ed in various degrees in the faces of his family. Hearing the unwonted din, the deacon rushed forth to ascertain the cause. “Stop, stop! Hold on!” he cried, running out into the road, and John, impatient of delay, drew rein. “What on this livin' airth. John, is the matter? Is somebody sick or have I you bin takin’ more'n you'd ought to?” “No: there bain’t nobody sick, an' I hain’t bin a-drinkin',” said John, and he rapidly set forth the awkward situation. “You wait a minute, and I'll fix you I up right as a rivet.” said the deacon, still restraining his impatient neighbor. "I'll lend you a turkey ail roasted and ready to go ont’ the table. I’d liveser’n not. and so would Mis’ Adams. You see. ■we invited my brother Iry and all bis folks, and we'd got two rousin’ big turkeys int' the oven and half roasted, when there come a letter from ’em say-

in’ bow Iry’d up and btrike his leg, and they wouldn’t none of ’em come. I don't want to be eatin’ cold turkey for a week after Thanksgivin’. and ft’s providential 'at yourn missed fire.” Suitable provision was made for the safe transportation of the hot turkey the short distance, and John Blake went his way with it relieved in spirit. Meanwhile Betsey had spent half the j forenoon leisurely preparing for the morrow s festivity, glad to be unembarrassed by the presence of men folks and uninterrupted by any visitors until a timid rap called her to the door, and she opened it to Silas Days little | daughter. “Why, Mandy, is this you? Is there anything the matter to your house?” Betsey asked in evident surprise. "No, ma'am; yes. ma'am, I mean, some matter.” Mandy stammered. “The cat got int’ the buttry an’ eat up a whole punkin pie, all but the erust, an’ ma wants to know If you can't lend her one, ’cause there ain't enough left to go round.” “A punkin pie? Come in an’ set down. Why. I hain’t got none baked. —7b r~\ \ r I K JI if \ter 1 1 41 IV k y f LUU JI y,' \ “WHY, MANDY, IS THIS YOU?” Wa’n’t goin’ to till this arternoon. Y'our ma can have one tomorrow, an’ I s'pose that's wiiat she wants it for.” Mandy stared at her. round eyed and open mouthed. "No. ma'am, she wants it today.” “Well, she can't have it of me afore night. Hew comes it you bain’t to school?" “.The’ hain't no school today.” “Hain't no school? Is the schoolma'am sick?” “No. ma'am: she went home to Thanksgivin'.”

“What! Lose two whole days f or Thanksgivin’? That’s rldic’lous,” Mrs Blake declared with emphasis. “Why. no; she’s cornin’ back tonight or in the mornin’.” “An’ not keep Thanksgivin’ | n h Pp own home? That’s rldic’louser.” “Why. Mis’ Blake, she’s keepin’ It f O . day ,*it her own home," said Mandv staring with still wider eyes at her hostess. "This is Thanksgivin’ (j a y». “It hain't!” Mrs. Blake made th|» assertion stoutly, but she was beghe nlng to feel sickening qualms of doni» “It sartiu is. Mis’ Blake, ’cause ma’s roastin’ three chickens an’ we’re uli to home, an’ oh. my, you'd ought to smell it to Deacon Adamses as 1 by!” "My land o’ goodness!” the poor woman gasped, sinking into a chair i tt complete collapse as the mistake became undeniably evident. ’ I’ve skip, ped a day. I do b'lieve. It all come o’ that nils’able b’iler leakin’ so't I couldn't wash Monday." The rumble of wheels caught lierear I She cast an appalled glance out of the window. "And there, if there hain't mother an’ father an' Abigail a-drivhr up this minute, an’ the turkey not singed nor the stuffin' made nor a | punkin pie mude! Thank goodness | ’tain’t his folks! There's mince an’ ap- ' pic pies enough. Mandy, you git one of i each kind an’ take 'em home. But | what shall I do?” She put on a brave face to mask her j mortification as she went out to meet ! her guests, whom she wished to see ‘ away in spite of her longing to see them. But when she invited them into the unready bouse aud tried to make a joke of her mistake and saw the look of disappointment steal over the faces of her sharp) set travelers her feigned laughter broke into genuine sobs. Just then John Blake suddenly ap. peared in the midst of the depressed group) bearing the borrowed turkey which in the nick of time made a joke of the mistake and turned fasting to feasting.—Forest und Stream. ThankdKtvinK. Who murmurs at his lot today? Who scorns his native fruit and Lloom Or sighs for dainties far away Besides the bounteous board of home’ —M hittier. Mr. Turkey*! First Appearance. The real origin of Thanksgiving is a day specially set apart for prayer and rejoicing must be attributed to Governor Bradford, the first governor 1 of Massachusetts colony. In gratitude 1 for the plenteous harvest in IG2I, following up)on a period of great depression, lie proclaimed a day of thanks*i giving to be observed on Dec. 13 (old style) of that year. Four men were sent out in search of game. They re- '; turned loaded down with wild turkeys. Thus did the great Americu * bird make his first appearance.