Dodgeville chronicle. [volume] (Dodgeville, Wis.) 1862-current, 1872-03-15
CONTENTS THANKSGIVING.

The parson coughed cautiously as he
drew up to the fire, united his comfor-
ter and rubbed his hands together with
a gentle motion.
"I'm so glad you called" said Mrs.
Whitaker, setting her cap straight and
smoothing her apron, to which little
fragrant particles clung in memory OF
the mince pies she had been concoctlng.
"It will save Joshua journey, for the
turkey you see is all pinned up in q
towel, and it will go right in under your
wagon seat"
The parson laughed little laugh,
and then, as if remembering that some
thing was due, he said, "You are very
kind, sister Whitaker. | hope the
Lord will make us thankful for all his
mercies. How is Content ?"
Content" repeated the good dame.
90 she keeps around, but she amt
worth a cent to eat, and comes down in
the morning looking dreadful slim. If
there was consumption in the family, I
should think she was going into de-
cline; but there aint and I tell father
something's weighing on that girls
mind. l should like to have you talk
with Content, and draw her out. She's
dreadful close-mouthed, like all the
Whittakers; but I've a notion that
since she united with the church there's
some doctrinal point that don't set we'll
on her mind. 1t might be election,
you know. Father has a bad spell every
now and then over free will and neces-
sity. It's kind of ketchin', but dom t
believe | ever was broken Of my rest
over a point of doctrine in my life.
They're all as clear to my mind as day
light. If it aint doctrinal point, l
mistrust George Baker has got some
thing to do with it. He used to come
here sight after he got back from col
lege, but latterly he's dropped off, and
Content is SO proud you'd never know
whether she cared the snap Of her fin
ger"
Mrs. Whitaker ceased almost from
want of breath, and the parsons voice
broken in. "The human heart is des-
perately wicked; perhaps it would be
we'll to have a season of prayer"
"It would be refreshin'," returned
the good woman, with anxious wrinkles
gathering in the middle of her forehead !;
/" but you see my pies are just on the
turn, and all the irons in the fire, and
every minute I'm expecting brother
Johns folks over to spend Thanksgiv-
ing. You might go into the keeping
room-there's fire there-and see
Content alone. [ think it would do
her sight of good to have a talk on
spiritual things"
Content, up stairs in her chamber,
which communicated with the sitting
room through stovepipe hole, had
overheard every syllable of the forego-
ing conversation. It made her cheeks
burn hot, and filed her with dismay.
She did not want to be prayed for, and
her whole being rebelled against afford
ing an occasion for mechanical relig-
ious exercise. To be sure she felt sore
hearted and miserable enough; she
needed the con soling touch of a tender
hand, but the idea that help out of her
peculiar trouble would come through
the parson never occurred to her mind.
She loved man, who, she believed, had
sought her company for his own amuse-
ment, and when it palled upon him had
gaily left her to find fresh fields and
pastures new. Love had stirred the deep
places in Contents soul, and now she
was slowly freezing over, turning hard,
bitter and unthankful, except when a
sharp pang broke up the surface and
left her prey to acute anguish.
This year all Thanksgiving prepara-
tions seemed to her mockery. She
longed to escape from the prying eyes
of inquisitive relatives, to avoid the
great dinner in which her mothers soul
delighted, and get away by herself
where she could be undisturbed. Now.
as she heard her kind, well-intentioned
mother expatiating on Contents all
ments and want of spirits, and engaging
the parson 10 probe the sore places, It
seemed as though she must have taken
wings and fly away. She looked out of
the window, up the steep hillside to the
woods. where all day she had at inter
walls heard the cracking of hunters
rifles for a light snow had fallen and the
sport was good. 1t was a bushy hill, with
gray boulders lying about, and beyond
the bare scattered trees at the top a. low,
red sunset was beginning to burn like
fire, lighting up the snow with hectic
CLEANS. The sun, in those short days,
appeared to 60 down in the middle OF
the afternoon.
Content, feeling that she must escape,
and not stopping to reflect how late it
was, tied on her hood lined with pale
blue silk, which was becoming to her
fair skin, and pinning an old shawl
around her shoulders noislessly slipped
down the back stairs out of doors. She
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