The Republican journal. [volume] (Belfast, Me.) 1829-current, 1872-12-12
When John Comes Home.
A STORY OF THANKSGIVING.

1t was one of those dead November
days when all the color and sparkle of
nature seem to have faded out forever
The sky had cold steely glitter betoken-
ing a storm, while over the landscape
was a hush-that sort of ready for-any-
thing air peculiar to the uncertain period
which we feel does not rank with the
golden autumn time, and which we yet
hesitate to call winter
1t was a day when one longs to lose
sight of the world outside and for this
there could be, perhaps, no place better
than the pleasant harbor of Elinor Reid's
home. To define precisely in what the
charm OF this room consisted would be
difficult. 1t lay, not merely in the red
sunshine of the CRATE, the towering plants
in the baywindows, the fine old engrav-
ings on the walls, the brackets and
statuettes, or the numerous dainty speci
mems of feminine handiwork and skill !;
but with all these was that indefinable
rare atmosphere that gives one q sense as
if receiving an invisible benediction
Other homes may possess more luxurious
appointments even than this may be filled
with all the treasures that taste can de-
mand and money supply, and yet remain
social arctic regions to the end of the
chapter. But here was perpetual summer
though the almanac sad-November
| Elinor sat by the front window gazing
idly out into the street. ''Not a stitch
OF work in her hands. as llve," was the
exclamation of Miss Lodemy Brown who
according to her custom, was peering ont
through the blinds over the way. "Won-
der what Elinor Reid finds to look at !
There's nothing going on as | see y
Apparently, Miss Lodemy was justified
in her decision. Nothing was 'going on, :"
at least nothing to warrant Elinor's alb
sorbing interest. Groups OF children with
books and lunch-baskets hurried, laugh
ing and chattering, along the sidewalk
1t needs not quick ears to catch the
| secret of their unusual exultation-"No
school tomorrow! It's Thanksgiving !"
All the afternoon, sharp, distant rifle
cracks had betrayed the fact that one of
those inhuman practices known as a
turkey shoot" was in full operation on IL
| hill Just back of the town; and now and
| then returning loafer struggled by with
his gun and game. Clustered around the
store at the corner opposite We're several
! farmers teams, waiting for their owners,
who were exchanging farm produce for
fine groceries, and lingering in idle gossip
! by the counter The men file out now Va
rough-coated, heavy-booted procession,
and prepare for their homeward ride
! The grocer comes to the door to take
down his long advertising column of half
frozen poultry suspended outside, and to
| exchange few last good-natured com
mon-places with his customers: "Looks
kinder wintersh, hey, JOnasi" ''Going
to touch us up again on prohibition. pretty
soon, deacon ?" The CHEEKY voice is not
silent until the last wagon chatters down
over the frozen ruts in the road and winds
slowly up the hill toward home.
EEnor's eyes took in all these things
mechanically but her mind was busy else
where. Who can tell of what his neigh,
Dor be thinking while seeming to observe
only-the weather. She looked desperate
ly tired of herself. And no wonder
There is no torment like that of heaviness
of spirit.
How shall we describe her to satisfy
those who think beauty special property
OF the teens? She was no longer young,
as girls call young; thirty, if she's a
day" had been Miss Lodemy's verdict
nearly Il year before the date of our story
An old maid How uninteresting dis
daintully excaims sweet sixteen, to whom
the term is suggestive only of plain sew
ing, or bespectacled, prim -visaged school
ma ans. But it is barely possible that
sweet sixteen may find some day that the
mature, cultivated refined woman has 4
charm beside which crude girlhood suffers
in comparison.
Elinorwas neither handsome nor pretty
| She was Simnlv attractive You cnuld
not pass adverse criticism on a single
feature, and yet you could not love hel
for any one alone. She had pure blonde
complexion, gray eyes, and fine dark hail
in which was an incipient curl You
sweet, simple dignity, her own peculiar
other women. You thought your best
thoughts IN her presence. She never
talked to you with wandering eyes, nol
anticipated your half-uttered expression
by Eyes" She was never guilty of q
mean satisfaction at anothers weakness
She impressed one as having strength and
nobility of character; as being capable oi
standing alone. She-but, after all, there
is no use continuing the subject. She
cannot be put down on paper. From this
scanty outline the reader must make such
a portrait as best suits his imagination
We have said that Einor looked desper.
ately tired of herself as she sat looking
out of the window Her moods were moi
born Of the weather; something more
than the dreary day was evidently the
cause OF her depression. The truth is
Elinor was having the struggle which
sooner or later, comes to all women wher
called upon to place grlish fancy beside
a deeper, richer, more fervent feeling
Girlish fancy? She remembered the time
when she would have scorned this impu
tatiOn.
Everybody in Thorndale knew that the
new minister, Gilbert Palmer, was in love
with Elinor Reid. Everybody in Thorn
dale strongly suspected that Elinor Reid
was in love with hercousin, John Douglas
As usual, everybody was right and every
body was-wrong. Elinor and her cousin
had been devotedly attached to each other
They were Just the same age, and in
childhood had been inseparable com.
panions.
John was, by nature, an artist. His
tastes however, met with no encourage
ment from his father, who had other
designs for the future of his only SON.
There had been passionate quarrels be-
tween the two, and finally, after stormie1
scene than common, John resolved to go
out into the world and seek his own for
tune. From his mother and Cousin Elinor,
ne received sympathy and loving appre-
cation The former assisted him by all
the means at her disposal, while the latter
fed his ambition by her belief in his genius
and ultimate success.
"a partner in the wool business? Think
oft, Nelly! p bitterly exclaimed the young
man as he came to bid his cousin good
bye. Keep on with your brushes and
paint.pots, if you choose, and-starve.
Not penny will ever give to help you,
were fathers last words this morning. l
do choose to keep on. He shall acknowl-
edge some day the value of the despised
brushes and paint-pots. And, Nelly, mind
you do not lose faith in me, and when /
come back"
These sweet significant blanks in the