The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1871-12-07
SISTER L0CKWG0D'S THANKSGIY-
ING.



1t was some years ago, less than forty
and more than four as the village bait
and Jester would have said: and it was the
night before Thanksgiving, in Vernon
puorhousc as we'll ;:s in the rest of New
England. \ bitter, livid November night,
too, snow lying ready to fall in the STROUD
like, darkcning folds Of cloud, moaning,
shivcring east wind crying about the caves,
and the last dead leaves speeding through
the air with direct course TO their final bed.
In one long room sat the few old and poor
inmates of the house, gathered about the
great wood fire that snapped and sparlled
in the open fire place. There were eight
or ten there tonight; one or two very old
men, the rest women aud children. But
our concern is with only two of the group,
who sat near together, with a whole wide
sea between them, the mighty gulf of diff
ferent natures. One occupied the corner
of the old settle, her feet on foot-stoye,
faded but warm shawl wrapped about her
shoulders, and stuff dress, whole and de-
cent enough, laid up against her knees to
guard against swapping Goals which would
fall harmless on the thick wooden quilted
skirt beneath. Her face was long, guant,
with hlgh-cheek bones and mighty nose,
mouth cavernous in size, and a heavy
chin; green gray eyes, with a fierce look of
hungry discomfort about them, and the
gray locks that were tucked away under a
dingy lace cap seemed to rise in rebellion
also against their fate, they struggled so
perversely over the scrawny neck, that
shadowed beneath them, adorned with
Granny Salisbury's last earthly possession
of any value-a string of gold beads.
Close by the settle, between it and
the corner of the fireplace,
in a low, ricketty rocking chair that
squeaked and squawked with every occilla-
ton of its occupant, sat Sister Lockwood,
little old woman, older, perhaps than her
neighbor; but her coarse blue print frock,
her plain white muslin cap, and the cotton
handkerchief folded over her neck and
bosom, were white as the fakes that began
to fll the bitter air without, end the queer
little 'prunell shoes she put out towards
the fire TO warm, were patched with exact
neatness. Her white hair was folded away
above round and wrinkled face that even
IN Its ruin told story of youthful bloom
and prettiness, her black eyes shone with
soft CLEANS of patience and cheer, and her
busy fingers wrought steadily at sca.,let
mitten while she rocked back and forth.
\ smell of baking, unusually spicy and
savory, came in from the half-open kitchen
door, and pretty soon a bright rosy girl Of
nineteen or. twenty passed through with a
waiter full of pumpkin pies, and deposited
them in the pantry. Ruth nodded cheer
| fully to Sister Lockwood as she passed,
and the old lady gave her a loving glance.
" Most Thanksgiving Day, amt it
Ruthy - Ruth laughed and colored.
Thanksgivin' Day, indeed !" growled
Granny Salisbury. Great times fol
| some folks, but don't see what vo'un I've
got to be thankful for, Mis- Lockwood
spendiu' ont in poor'us don't go dowr
with the Gov'nor's Proclamation !. .
"Why, Mis- Salisbury I'm sure We've
! got real good home. Mis- Sperry's al
good as need be, nd we've got fire, n,
vittles, nd clJthing. Why, we might hav
to die in barn-folks hev afore now,
returned Mrs. Lockwood in the genties
old voice.
q You her got heap to be thankful for
ha III ye? returned ,he other with Iii