Rensselaer Republican, Volume 12, Number 10, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 November 1879 — A ROUGH DIAMOND: Or Farmer Joses’ Thanksgiving. [ARTICLE]

A ROUGH DIAMOND: Or Farmer Joses’ Thanksgiving.

The cold northern blasts had settled themselves down into legitimate winter business, bridging streams and locking up nature in fetters of ice. Everywhere through the broad and fertile land huge granaries were stored with the golden harvest, cellars actually groaned with their rich stores of fruit and vegetables, and the thrifty and industrious inhabitants were about to celebrate their annual thanksgiving to the Great and Bountiful Giver of such plenty, prosperity and peace: But nowhere did greater bounty prevail than in the homestead of Farmer Joel Jones. His broad acres lay but a mile from the thrifty Village of Centerville, where he found an easy market for all his produce, and where every Sabbath his round and ruddy face might be seen alongside of the thin and sallow one of his spinster sister Betsey, in the old family cam -all on their way to the village church, which ever found a willing heart and ready hand in the unsentimental Joel Jones, as its thrifty 'aspect fully attested. A few davs previous to the. one apEointed as Thanksgiving he came into is ample kitchen with a huge golden pumpkin in his strong arms. “ Here, Betsey,” he said, “is one of the real Yankee punktns, and I want ye to spread yerself a makin’ a batch of pies. And jest say when ye want that air turkey killed.”’ “ What fur, I’d like to know, Joel? You talk as es yer war goin’ ter feed a regiment, when thar is only yon and me and the hired man to eat the best Thanksgiving dinner ever invented.” “ I know as well as ye, Betsey, we hain’t got no folks to speak of, but that ain’t no sign we hain’t ter eat like other Christians on Thanksgiving Day, ’specerly when I’ve worked the hull year like everything, and been prospered beyond my desarts.” An hour later he looked in upon Betsey and her sullen preparation for the coming feast. , “ I'm goin’ ter town with er load c f oats, and I'll bring you some cramoerries to go Crlong with yer turkey, Betsey,” said he, “an' if yer want anythin’ else speak quick, fer I’m off.” The answer of the > spinster was a grunt of dissatisfaction as she continued kneading the snowy bread, while pumpkin stewed and sputtered on the stove in the most savage manner. “Betsey grows groutier every dav of her life, poor thing. She’s gittin’ old, and the work is tew heavy for her. But it hain t no use of speakin’ of gettin’ help. She’d fight me down on that forever,” soliloquized the old man as alo , n g- “Hey, bub,.want ter nde?*’ he called out to a small specimen of humanity, who was trudo-ino-along under a heavy load, and who most gladly accepted the kind offer. “ Yer W idow Burton’s boy, hain't ye?” he asked, in continuation, after' the boy had scrambled up behind and perched himself upon a bag of grain “ Yes, sir.” - B “ What ye got in yer sack, bub?” “Coal, sir, that I have been picking up along the track.” “Dangerous piece o’ business, and it s strange yer ms should send yer out on sich er errand. Ther cars will come erlong some day and chop yer inter mince-meat.” The poor, little pale-faced lad made no reply. He was too happy in the enjoyment of the unexpected ride to care for any anticipated danger. At the door of his humble home the farmer ■topped, and, to the surprise of the lad, E: down from the wagon and hitched horses. “I want to see yer ma. So Ell jest run in fer a mimt, if ye ’ll mind the team.” One of the children answered his summons and conducted him into the litle kitchen, where the widow sat sewing with her brood of little ones about the scanty fire. “ Don’t git up, Miss Burton. I can’t stop but ami nit. I give yer boy a lift as I come along, and he told me that he goes over on the railroad ter pick op coal, and I thought may be ye didn’t know it was dangerous.’ Ther lad is tu small fer sich work, and some day he’ll git killed. So I hope ye won’t take it amiss that I named it ter you.” Tears, were in the good woman’s eyes long before he bad ceased speaking, ana she answered: “ You are very kind/ sir, but what can I do? It is hard for me to keep my little family together simplj with my needle, ana the coal the children gather from the track keeps one comfortable, and leaves my scanty earnings for other needs.” “Ter girls hain’t any on ’em old enuff ter work out, be they. MI«« Burton? If so, I'd take one on ’em ter help Sister Betsey. That would be one leas mouth to feed, at anv rate, and she’d fare welL” “Janey is twelve years old, and has been brought up to be useful; can wash dishes, sweep, and do a great deal of the ordinary work of a household.” “ All right. Miss Burton. Have the girl ready when I come along back from town, and I’ll take her home with me.” * Again in his wagon. Farmer Jones communed with himself. Don t seem to be much of a show for a Thanksgivin’ dinner at Miss Burton’s. Poor thing! It’a agin natur that rich a pretty girl as she used to be should have married that shiftless, dnmken Jim Burton, only to be left with a lot of young ones ter slave for. *U Hiat day Fanner Jones seemed in an nnoommop grave mood. The town people missed a certain heartiness in his manner, and not once did his old

boy-like laugh ring oat to notify Centerville that Joel Jones was in town. It was almost dark when he reached the widow’s cottage, and a furious snow-storm had commenced. But, securing hit restless team, he stamped into the little kitchen. “It’s stormin’ terribly, Mias Barton, and I guess your little Janey better not think of going to-night.” “No, thank you. I fear it would be too tedious for the child. But will you not be seated, Mr. Jones, and get warm before you go on?” | “ Slim chance for that,” thought he. But after an awkward pause he answered: “ I would like to have a word with you in private, Miaa Burton.” With an expression of surprise she led the way into the cold and cheerless little sitting-room. s “Jane Burton,” began he, after clearing his .throat, “you and I have known each other since we war children. We war young folks together, and, though you war er pile above me, I always loved ye. But knowin’ I wara’t fit fer ye ter wipe yer old shoes on, I never said a word, and let yer marry Jim Burton, while I took Nancy Frice. Since then ther good Lord has taken both- on ’em, leavin’ you with an empty puree, and me with an empty house. Well, ter make a long story short, I hain’t had ye out of my mind since I war here this morn in’, and mv heart is chock full of ye. And now, Jane, if I am good ernuff fer yer, say so, and I’ll try and do my duty by ye end the little ones.” During his earnest, stammering speech the poor woman had blushed and grown like a full-blown rose, and actually looked youthful again, and like the fair young girl he had loved before; and tears dimmed her eyes as she answered: “ I cannot think for a moment of accepting so noble and generous an offer. Reflect what a burden you would assume. I can bring you nothing but a broken constitution and five helpless children. No, my good friena. I shall think of you ever as the kindest and best of men.” She broke down completely, and could-only extend her hand. The good man grasped it with a vise-like pressure, and, as the little woman began to sob, he took her in his great, strong arms and to his ample breast, whether she would or no, and talked so earnestly and long that the children grew tired of staying alone in the dark (for the mother had carried away the lamp), and the horses were stamping impatiently outside in the storm. “ God bless ye, Jane. Ye’ll come to a big heart and a warm, full house,” said the farmer, as the little woman at last smiled her consent, and blushed more than ever as he fervently kissed her and took his departure. If ever man walked on air, Joel Jones did for the next two days, and Betsey declared to the hired man that he acted “ jest like a crazy critter.” He was almost omnipresent—went in and out of the house m a state of mental disquiet, and mixed himself up with the domestic preparations for the coming feast in the most promiscuous fashion. He insisted upon an immense plum cake being made—stoned raisins, beat eggs—ana declared, with many a chuckle, when it was at length finished, “ that it looked for all the world like a bride’s cake!” And then when Betsey actually iced it, and placed a wreath of pressed and dried gorgeous autumn leaves upon its bulging top by way of ornament, he was in ecstasies. “ Wal, there it is, Joel, and I do hope you are satisfied for once. Ye will have a grand dinner, and no one tu it,” said his sister. “ Don’t ye believe that, Betsey. Jist set the table for a full half dozen beside you and me, and see if I don’t fetch along somebody ter fill their places when I come hum to-morrow from church.” Betsey gave a sniff of disapproval, but continued the completion of the preparations, thinking what an old fool her brother was getting to be. Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and bright though very cold, and the good folks of Centerville were quite surprised to see Farmer Jones come dashing up to the church door, in his fine new sleigh with a most jubilant chime of bells and the widow Bdrton, snugly tucked beneath the robes, by his side. And a little later they actually took away the breath of the congregation as they marched up the aisle—the little woman clinging to his arm, dressed in some simple gray material, with a rich shawl about her shoulders—the very one he had purchased the day before, and, as he said, “for sister Betsey.” A pretty little gray velvet hat, with a dash of lavender and white flowers and ribbons completed the delicate bride-like costume. They passed many unoccupied pews, and only paused when they h*d gained a position opposite the jpulpit. And then, before the wondering people realized it, Parson Doolittle was reading to them the marriage ceremony, and when it was completed the happy mau gallantly kissed the bride and led her to his own pew, now and forever Mrs. Joel Jones. If ever a Thanksgiving sermon failed to reach listening ears it did that day, for the little congregation were in the most blissful flutter. They had actually witnessed the knitting of two lives together, and, though they were not youthful ones, yet there was romance in the suddenness and surprise of the whole thing. Tne benediction said, how hearty were the congratulations, and how proud and happy the bridegroom, and how bright and blushing the > bride! Away they dashed at last, amid cheers and the merry chimes of the hells, y At the cottage they paused and “took in the little brood’ —as the farmer called them—and then drove merrily on, amid youthful shouts and laughter, to his great white farm-house, whose blue, curling smoke proclaimed warmth and good cheer within. “ As I live,” exclaimed Betsey, looking out of the window, “ if Joel hain’t brought that stuck-up Widow Burton and her brats to dinner. There yron’t be a hull piece of the old-fashioned chlney left on the table. If I had dreamed of his bringing them, I wouldn’t have got it oijC*even if Joel did insist on The Widow Burton Mid her brats—as ohe called them—were ushered into the parlor by the master, where a cheerful lire blazed, and where Miss Betsey stiffly received them and their persWhen dinner was announced, very much to her disgust the brother came out with the little woman upon his arm, and leading the youngest child by the hand. “If ye have no objection, Betsey,” said he, “I’d like to place this little woman at the head of my table, ’specially as it is the position she is likely to occupy the rest of her dayß, thank God.” “Joel, ye hain't goin’ tn git married?” screamed the Horrified spinster, and she almost dropped the “chiney” pot of scalding tea m her excitement. “Never again in this life,” he chuckled, as he seated his new wife at the head of the table, despite her protest; and, as he spoke he stooped and kissed her, while Betsey looked on in blank and horrified amazement, utterly speechless at such disreputable conduct, “fer this day, in Centerville Church, this little woman has promised to share my joys and sorrows fer the rest of her mortal days.” “ Married F” gasped Betsev; “ and all them ar’ children ?\ “ Yes, they all belong ter me, thank I’ve got some folks of my own

now, Betoay, and ■© non lonely days and nights for or cheerless Thanksgivings.” He DwUsd about and iwted each little child, rewarded by a tearful glance of gratitude foam their mother’s eyes. Then such a tremendous prayer of thanksgiving praise as ascended from that bountiful hoard, was rarely heard by men or angels. Then came the feast. And how everybody did eat, except Miss Betsey. She received the praise of her cooking in frightful silence, and actually refused to taste the bride’s cake. “No wooder,” thought she, “ that Joel was so sot on having It made. Fd a cut my right hand off before Fd have touched it, es I had only known what he Was about—the sly old fooL” ‘ The next day she packed her trunk and departed to find a home with some other of her relatives in Connecticut, positively refusing to share a home with the new mistress where she had so long reigned supreme. But peace and prosperity smiled upon her brother as the happy husband and father, and the “ little woman” blesses the day she accepted the rough diamond for a life partner—all of her days being those of thanksgiving.