The Xenia sentinel. [volume] (Xenia [Ohio]) 1863-186?, 1863-12-15
ZENAS CAREY'S REWARD.

Z the tangled depths OF the November HOOQsj
casting bloody lines of light across the
fallen trees, whose mossy trunks we're half
hidden in drifts of faded yellow leaves,
and evoked faint, sweet scents, like Ori-
ent sandal-wood and teak, from thousand
forest eensers, hidden away, who knows
how or where. And above that line of
dull flaming fire the sky frowned-a lead
en-gray cOncave, freighted, as the weather
wise could tell you, with snow-hakes sufh-
cient to turn that broken forest into a fairy
grove of pearl and ermine. So the day
light was ebbing away from this Thanks
giving eve.
"NoW I wonder where I amp said
John Siddons, pausiug abruptly in the
scarce visible foot. path that wound among
the trees. GAS completely turned round
as though I stood in the deserts Of Egypt
I wish had been sensible enough to keep
to the high-road these shortcuts gener-
ally turn out very long ones However,
if I keep straight ahead, must inevita-
bly, emerge from these woods sOmeWhere." q"
He sat down on a messy stump, lean
ing his head carelessly on one hand, while
the other played uncOnsciOusly with the
worn brim of his blue soldiers cap-a
slender, pieasant-faced young man, with
gray-blue eyes, and dark hair thrown
back from bronzed forehead, which had
been touched by the fiery arrows Of many
a Southern sun in lonely swamps, and
along the fever -reeking shores of sullen
rivers.
"HOuseless-homeless r' he murmured
to himself. "I wonder how many others
are saying the same thing this Thanksgiv-
ing-eve. To think that I should fight
through the campaign unhurt, and return
with an honorable discharge in my pocket
to place where nobody knows or cares
whether I am alive or dead, while so many
brave fellows were shot down at my side
with bullets that tore through score of
hearts at home, carrying sharper pangs
than death has to give It's a queer
thing to have only one relativein the world,
and he a total stranger. If I find this
second cousin of my father he'll probably
kick me out Of doors for a shiftless, sol
diering vagabond. Bat, hang it a man
can't live alone ike tortoise in its shell.
1 remember wondering, when I was boy,
why the Madeira vines over the porch
stretched out their green tendrils, and
seemed to grOpe through the sunshine for
something to cling to. 1 think 1 under
stand it now"
He rose up and walked on through the
russell leaves that rustled. ankle-deep be-
meath his tread, stiH musing-musing;
trying to study out the unknown quanti-
ties in life's great equation, while the sun
went down behind bank of lurid clouds,
and the chill night wind began to sigh sor-
roWfully in the tree-tops. And suddenly
the sturdy woods tapered off into a silver
stemmed thicket of white bircbes and the
white birches fringed a lonely country
road with a little red house beyond,
whose windows were agloW with fre-light
and whose door-yard was full Of the pecu-
liar perfume Of white and maroon-blossOm-
ed ehrysanthemums
Zenas Carey was leaning over the gate,
surveying the stormy sunset with critical
eyes.
81 told Melindy sol" calculated Zenas,
apparently addressing himself to the crook
ed apple-tree by the road. "Ill bet my
best steer we have a good old-fashiOned
fall of snow to keep Thanksgivin' with.
l smelt it in the air this mornin', but Wo-
men don't never believe nothin' until it
comes to pass under their noses, for"
This rather obscure sentence was nipped
in the bud by footstep at his side. Ze-
mas turned abruptly to reconnOiter the new
arrival. ........... -..
"Will you be kind enough to give me
glass of water, sir?" said John Siddons,
YEARLY.
"Sartin, Sirl" said .Zenas. $50 you're
a soldier, hey ?"
"a returned soldier" said Siddons,
draining the cool element from the cocoa
nut shell that always lay close to the we'll
curb at the side of the house.
Coin home to keep Thanksgivin' ?"
questioned Zenas.
Home! Sir, I HAVE no homeP
Siddons had spoken sharply, as if the
thought we're goading to him. zenas put
out his brown knOtted hand and grasped
the retreating mans arm.
'My boy" he said, with kindly abrupt
ness, "you're a soldier, and to tell by your
looks I should guess you were about the
age of him that's buried at Gettysburg
my only son I love that blue uniform for
Davies sake, and if there's soldier in
the world that hasn't home to 90 to on
Thanksgivin' eve, there's a corner for him
by Zcuas Carey's ireside. Come in, sir |!
! come in ! You're as welcome as flowers in
Mayl"
John looked into the wet eyes and
working face Of the old farmer an instant
and accepted his invitation without an
other word.
What cheerful change it was, from
the frosty air and chill twilight of the
lonely road to that bright kitchen with its
spotless board floor and fire of resinous
pine logs I And when Melindy Carey drew
a hump-backed rocking chair to the hearth
for him, and spoke a word or two of vel
come, John Siddons wondered if the eyes
of the mother, who died when he was a
babe had not beamed upon him just so
g. told mother so this very mornin' -
said Zenas with triumphant flourish Of
bis hand, as he stirred up the logs to a
waving, glorious sheet offame. "Says I,
Ne Indy will kill the biggest turkey, and
I'll pick out the yallerest pumkins on the
barn floor And says she, what for
Zenas, when there's only US two to eat
'em p and, says I, Mother, says I, Da-
vie was here with US last ThanksgiYin