Whig and tribune. [volume] (Jackson, Tenn.) 1870-1877, 1872-01-27
THE HAPPY SURPRISE.
vos Tbanksofying eve.

It was Thanksgiving eve.
Thanksgiving eve, with its lovely
sun setting behind q bank ofpurple-
black clouds, and throwing long
hars of orange light athwart the
drearv pasture fields and down the
valley that skirted the slow ripple
of the Housatonic river. Thanks
giving eve, with a moaning, restless
wind that stirred the drifts Of yell
low leaves in the chestnut-copse,
long AGO rifled of its glossy trea--
sures and rustled among the dead
fronds of the sweet-fern on the
"huckleberry lots; where the Igol-
den rod and the blue-fringed astar
had faded, and the sharp Irosts hau
touched the vines with a crimson,
as vivid as if every leaf had been
dipped in blood !
Yet, Notwithstanding the keen
| touch of the bleak November Dlast'
| growing keener still as the sun olp-
bed lower, behind those violet mas
ses of cloud, Elan Barstow stood
| leaning againsb the stile OF moss
enameIed bars, just where you leIt
| the road and struck into "tbe cross
CUT through the woods. 1t was o
sylvan SPOT in summer time, full OF
dense shadow and vague, delicious
scents, nor was it entirely without
. certain rude fascination, even or
the very outskirts of winter. The
old trees, with their moss grown
and lichened trunks-the carpet o.
rustIing leaves, instinct with arc
matte ordor, and the sweet, mourn
full hush of the November tWillgh
-FIam Barstow could scarcely hay'
defined all these influences, yet h
felt them stirring the depths of hi
soul as he stood there, whistlini
softly to himself, and watching
bright eyed squirrel as it glided n
the trunk OF a gigantic old chestnu
l tree beyond. And then Elan shsc
ed his ewes with a broad snnburI
palm. and looked eagerly oil to th
westward. -
at beats all she don't come ~ t
muttered, uneasily.
He was a tall, athletic man som
what past the boundaries OF mldd
ape. with rude yet not uncomel
features, thick black hair, odd
l waved and crimpled, and an e!
q keen rs q falcon's-an eye Whl'
lighted suddely up as light hgu
became outlined for an lnsta
J, against the western gold of the SIX
where the woodland path opene
2 far away, and disappeared into L
valley.
Yes, it was Rachel Rivers comil
from her daily work in the gre
q, brick factory in the vale beyond.
Many and many a night he h
watched for her, and would ha
known her light football had
heard il at the very worlds end
p She came up, shrined in the lu
Il set, like a pictured saint which h
, stepped from the window of sol
cathedral-a fair; slender girl WI
that brilliant type of New Engla
beauty, which is at once so curio'
m ly united for the bleak climate
which it sometimes expands. L
hair was brown, lighted with glea
of FURNISHED gold her deep, hqu
ID hazel, ewes, bordering on black, B
At in them a dreamy, languid glitt
stolen from the Orient /; and
skin was tinted as delicately as
oIeander blossom, while her ii
ls' red and ripe and velvety, were l
), fresh coral. And with all this,
calico dressed damsel carried
small head right royalty upon
slender throat, and moved like
princess of the blood, worn and
1. ded as was her shawl, and shabt
trimmed as was her coarse str
hat with a fluttering blue veil.
lg, ''Rachel, let me carry your
ket !"
But Rachel repulsed him with
g, 4 q can carry it myself, Elam I
Elan was a little annoyed; he
his lip.
part of the way Z"
81 suppose you may, if you pie
5u The road is open to all.
, Her hazel orbs sent out a misc
vous CLEAN as she spoke. Elam /
stow felt its soft defiant flame.
"Rachelr
eyes"
"I wish you'd stop a minute" I"
"Stop here ? What for? Pm
"a hurry to gethome."
IN. sBut Rachel-I must know
can't sendure this suspense, bl
me if / can-there now Why d
"a you tell a fellow out and out-y'
y no?"
Rachel stopped to loose a red
pie leaf from the fringe OF her
Worsted shawl.
'Tell a fellow what? she ques
Sy ed somewhatimperiously-
~ ''Whether you love me, or mol
''That is easily told-no
"But, Rachel-httle Kay
can't mean it, I'm surel just
to me one minutei I've got a
farm and a good house-you W
II. be lady, Ray, and u yer cross
factory Threshold M. I'd
the old folks welcome at my fir
as flowers in MaY-YOu knI