Daily Kennebec journal. [microfilm reel] (Augusta, Me.) 1870-1975, 1872-12-06
MiseellaaeoMs.
WHEN JOHN CONES HONE.
A STORY OF THANKsoiv1No


1t was one OF those dead November
days when all the color and sparkle of ma.
tnre seem to have faded out forever. The
sky had cold steely glitter betokening
storm, while over the landscape was u
hush-that sort of ready -for-anvthing 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 q 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 bay windows, the fine old engra-
wings 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 a sense as
ii receiving an invisible benediction. 9th
er homes may possess more luxurious APP
pointments 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 sum-
mer. June days of spirit, though the al
manac sad-November.
Elinor sat by the front window gazing
idly out into the street. Not stitch OF
work in her hands, as iye," was the ex-
clamation of Miss Lodemy Brown who,
according to her custom, was peering on.
through the blinds over the way "Won-
u -L,t -.
There's nothing going on as l see.7
Apparently. Miss Lodemy was justified
in her decision. Nothing was "going
absorbing interest. Groups of children
with books aud lunch-baskets hurried,
laughing and ehattering, along the
sidewalk. Ii needs not quick ears 10
catch the secret OF their unusual exul-
tation-"No school tomorrow It's
Thanksgiving y All the afternoon, sharp,
distant rifle cracks had betrayed the fact
that one OF those inhuman practices known
As turkey shoot was in full operation
on a hill just back of the town; and now
and then returning loafer struggled BY
with his gun and game. Clustered round
the store at the corner opposite Were sew
eral farmers teams, waiting for their own
ers. who were exchanging farm produce
for fine groceries, and lingering in idle
gossip by the counter. The men file out
now--a rough-coated, heavy-booted pro-
cession and prepare for their homeward
ride. The grocer comes 10 the door to
take down his long advertising column OF
halt-irozen poultry suspended outside, and
to exchange few last good-natured COM
mon-places with his customers: "Looks
kinder winterish, hey Jonas!' Going
TO touch Us up again on prohibition, pre,-
ty soon. deacon p 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
Elinor's eyes took in all these things me-
chancally, but her mind was busy else
where. Who can tell of what his neigh
Dor be thinking? She looked desperately
tired CT 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 a special property
of the teens? She was no longer young,
as girls call young; thirty. if She,
a day, had been Miss Lodemys verdict
nearly year before the date OF our story
Al Old man! How uninteresting dis
dainiully exclaims sweet sixteen, to whom
the term is suggestive only of plain sew
Ing, or specialized, prim-y ysaged school
maams. But it is barely possible that
sweet sixteen may find some day that the
mature, cultivated. refined woman has a
charm beside which crude girlhood sul-
ters in comparison.
Elinor was neither handsome nor pretty
She was simply attractive. You could not
pass adverse criticism on single feature.
and Yet YOU could not love her for any one.
alone. She had pure blonde complexion,
gray eyes, and fine dark hair in which
was an incipent curl. You would not
call her tall, Yet owing to sweet. simple
dignity, her own peculiar possession, she
seemed to tower above other women.
You ihonght your best thoughts il her
presence. she never talked to YOU with
wandering eyes, nor anticipated your
hall-uttered expression by yes" She
was never gnilty of mean satisfaction at
having strength and nobility of character.
As being capable of standing alone She
but. after all, there is no use continuing
the subject She caunot be put down on
paper. From this scanty outline the read
er must make such portrait as best suits
his imagination.
We have said that Elinor looked desper-
ately tired OF herself as She sat looking
out OF the window. Her moods were not
born OF the weather; something more than
the dreary day was evidently the canse of
her depression. The truth is, Elinor was
having the struggle which, sooner or later
comes to all women when called upon 10
place u girlish fancy beside deeper, rich
er, more ieryent feeling. Girlish fancy
She remembered the time when she would
have scorned this imputation.
Everybody in Thorndale knew that the
new minister, Gilbert Palmer, was in love
with Elinor Red. Everybody in Thorn
dale strongly suspected that Elinor Reid
was in love with her cousin, John
Douglas. As usual, everybody was right.
and everybody was-wrong. Elinor and
her cousin had been deyotedly attached to
each other. They We're just the same age,
and in childhood had been inseparable
companions.
John was, by nature, an artist. His
tastes, however, met with no encourage
mani f,.no. HI. lathar WIN hal ntha,. IL.