The Richmond palladium. [volume] (Richmond, Ind.) 1855-1875, 1870-08-20
ZENA CAREYS REWARD.
A soLDIER's THANKSGIVING STORY

glowed through the tangled depths
of the November woods, casting
bloody lines Of light across the
fallen trees, whose messy trunks
were half hidden in the drifts of
faded yellow leaves, and evoking
faint, sweet scents. like orient san
dal wood and teak, from a thou
sand forest censors hidden away,
who knows how or where. And
that line Of dull flaming fire, the
sky frowned-a laden gray con-
cave, freighted, as the weather
wise could tell you, with snow
fakes sufficient to turn the broken
forest into fair grove of pearl and
ermine So the daylight was ebb
ing away from this Thanksgiving
Eve
Now I wonder where I am "
said John Siddons, pausing alb
ruptly in the scarce yisable path
that wound among the trees. AS
completely turned around as tho
I stood in the deserts of Egypt!
1 wish l had been sensible enough
to keep the high road these short
cuts generally turn out very long
ones. However, if l keep straight
ahead, I must inevitably emerge
from these woods somewhere !
He sat down on a messy stump,
leaning his head carelessly on one
hand, while the other he played
unconsciously with the worn brim
of his blue soldiers cap-a slen-
der, pleasant faced young man,
with gray blue eyes, and dark hair
thrown back from a bronZed fore
head, which had been touched by
the fiery arrows Of Southern sun
in lonely swamps, and along the
fever reeking shores Of sullen
rivers.
Houseless. homeless = he mur-
INJURED to himself. Il wonder how
many others are saying the same
thing this Thanksgiving Eve /? To
think that I should fight through
the campaign unhurt, and return
with an honorable discharge in my
pocket to q place where no one
cares whether I'm alive or dead,
while so many brave fellows were
shot down oy my side with bullets
that tore score of hearts at home
carrying sharper pangs than death
has to give! It's q queer thing
to have only one relative in the
world, and he total stranger. If
| find this second cousin of my
father hell probably kick me out
of doors for q shittless, soldering
vagabond. But, hang it; a man
can lise e alone, like q tortoise in
the shell. / remember wondering
when I was boy, why the Made
ria vines over the porch stretched
out their green tendrils, and seem
ed to grope through the sunshine
for something to cling to, think
understand it now
He rose up and walked on thro'
the russet leaves that rustled, alike
deep, beneath his tread. still mus
ing-musing; trying to study out
the unknown quantities in life's
great eqution, while the sun went
down behind bank Of lurid
clouds, and the chill night wind
begua to sigh sorrowfully in the
tree tops. And suddenly the stur-
dy woods tapered off into silver
stemmed thicket of white birches,
fringed a lonely country road ith a
little red house beyond, whose
windows are aglow with freight.
and whose dooryard was full of
the peculiar perfumed maroon bios
somed crysanthmum.
Zenas Gerry was leaning over the
gate surveying the stormy sunset
with critical eyes.
' told Melindy 80 p CALCULATED
Zenas apparently addressing him
self to the crooked apple tree
by the road. q bet my best
steer we have good old-fashioned
tall of snow to keep Thanksgivin'
with. smelt it in the air this
but women don't believe
nothin' until il comes to pass right
under their nose
This rather obscure sentence was
nipped in the bud by a footstep a.
his side. Zenas turned abruptly
to reconnoitre the new arrival.
"Will you be kind enough to
give me glass of water, sir p
said John Siddons, wearily.
" Sartin, sir !! said Zenas. $50
you're q soldier, hey?
"A returned soldier said Sid
dons, draining the cool element
from the cocoanut shell that always
lay close to the well curb, at the
side Of the house.
"Goin' home to keep Thanks
giving 2 questioned Zenas.
g Home! sir, have no home Z"
Siddons had spoken sharply, as
if the thought were goading to him,
Zenas put out his brown, knot
ted hand, and grasped the retreat
ing mans arm.
My boy he said with kindly
you're soldier. and
to tell by your looks, should guess
you were abont the age Of him that
is buried at Gettysburg-my only
son love that blue uniform for
Davies sake, and if there's a sol
dier in the world that hasn't home
to go to on Thanksgivin' Eve,
there's corner for him by Zenas
Carey's fireside. Come in, sir
come in! You're welcome as the
flowers of MavD
John looked into the wet eyes
and working face Of the old farmer
an instant. and accepted his invi