The Elk County advocate. [volume] (Ridgway, Pa.) 1868-1883, 1874-03-19
ISAAC PENRITH's THANKSGIVING.


ISAAC PENRITK'S THANKSGIVING.
The clock had just struck three. 1t
was no trihe of bronze or ormolu; nei-
ther was it one of those quaint old SEN
tinels of dark wood and tarnished gild-
ing that you sometimes encounter on
antique stairways, keeping ghostly
guard over the tread of generation after
generation. 1t was trim, compact
little clock, hanging where It's dial, like
an eye, seemed to look through the
four deep-set windows of the circular
stone room and watch the tides as they
swung back and forth, murmuring dis
contentedly around the solid masonry
that upheld the lighthouse. A strange
place, dreary, desolate place, it seemed
prison-like in its isolation and terrific
in its frowning strength. Yet even
there the grace of woman's presence
cast its visible sign and token. Upon
the pine table vase of late autumnal
flowers glowed in velvety carmine and
gold, and round hat decorated with
The scarlet wing of tropical bird lay
beside it,
Lucy Penrith was looking from one
with touches of faint crimson on either
cheek, and violet gray eyes, where the
deep lights seemed to swim. Her black
stiff dress was very simple; but there
was futter of vivid scarlet ribbon at
her throat, and bunch of coral-red
berries in her shining brown braids,
bearing silent witness to the genuine
love of the picturesque that exists in
every woman's heart.
81 don't think the sea is very rough,
father"
Isaac Penrith deliberately folded his
newspaper inside out, and commenced
on q new column. He was hard
featured, rugged old man, with iron
gray hair, and brow where the
wrinkles stood out like knotted cord.
Lucy stole across the stone floor and
put her dimpled face between the printed
page and her fathers spectacles.
Now, father, you will row me
across. Oh, father, never can spend
Thanksgiving evening in this dismal
place, and promised them at the farm
house !"
crash promises are better broken
than kept" sententiously answered old
Isaac.
"But it was not rash promise, ia
ther. All the young people are to be
there, and Philip Martin"
She stopped abruptly, checked by
the dark frown from that corrugated her
fathers brow.
"Phllip Martin I tell you, Lucy,
I'll hear no more idle nonsense about
that boy. It was Phillip Martin whose
father tried to be keeper of the light
house in my stead-a bad, black heart
ed man-and the boy is q branch off the
old tree, I'll go bail. And"
But Lucy was crying, with her head
on her fathers shoulder. Isaac's heart
relented within him.
'I'm a cross old bear, I know" he
made haste to utter, o" "and 1 ought to
be little keerful what I say. Don't
cry, little one, there I'll row ye cross
if ye say so tain't near dark yet, and
it is rather hard on young gal like
you to live in this stone dungeon year
in and year out. I wish I hadn't told
Sam he could have the day to himself.
But never mind; I'll be back long be-
fore lightin' time"
Lucy frightened up like rose after
q shower.
ooh father am so glad do so
want to 60"
She tripped backward and forward,
adjusting the round hat with the scarlet
wing, folding the brown shawl, and re-
arranging the coral berries in her hair,
while old Isaacs, with his fur cap on,
and his hands in his coat pockets,
watched her with a proud, amused
sense of prOprietOrship,
"She's more like one O them foreign
birds with plumage like fire, and little,
glancin' ways, than she is like human
critter," thought the lighthouse
keeper.
"I know 1 am goin' clean agin all
rules and regulations, leavin' the place
alone; but 'twon't be but for few min
utes, and don't like to disappoint the
gal, her hearts so kinder sot ont I've
got to be father and mother both to the
child-and she's good gal and pretty
one, too, if she does happen to be
Isaac's Penrith's darter." "
''Tll carry the flowers over, father"
said Lucy, removing them from the
vase, and wrapping bit of paper round
the damp stems. "Thele is not much
left in the farmhouse garden, and
they'll help to make the Thanksgiving
table gay. Now, father, I'm ready p
And as Isaac Penrith pulled the she'll
like little boat out to sea, with the long,
steady, vigorous strokes that betokened
his daily habitation to life on the deep,
he fell into musing remembrance of
the far away Thanksgivings of his youth,
with their rains of red and golden
leaves, and the odor of sweet fern in the
pastures, and the old red farmhouse
among the bleak New England hills
And unconsciously the roar of the
green translucent tides became the wall
of wind in upland forests, and Lucy's
blooming face opposite him seemed her
mothers smiling out from the mists of
years.
Nor was the salt drop on old Isaac's
cheek the spray from his steadily dip
ping oar.
Lucy Penrith sprang lightly to her
feet, as the keel of the boat grated
softly on the smooth shining sand of
the beach.
You will walk up to the house with
me, father. See how high the sun is !"
Isaac RtOnnal anl eaa,.a5 hio haaf 10