The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1877-11-23
MISS WINGS THANKSGIVING.

Miss Wings kitchen was prim and
alean as broom, soap and soft water
aQpld make it; and Miss Wing sat in it,
DEd and warlike, before the blacklist of
stoves, her feet planted firmly on a
SQUARE OF rag carpet. tr,
Yhere was never an atom of dust, or
eyea skinner or tin spoon out of
place in that kitchen; for, in all the wide
world, there was no one or thing that
dared to enter without special permits
sion, excepting a few stray sunbeams,
end even they crept in and shimmered OH
hegeraniums In the window as if they
hardly dared.
r II was Thanksgiving eve, and the faint
'edor Of cranberry tarts and pumpkin
pies crept out from the pantry, and gave
q sort OF festal fragrance to the room,
which might have led stranger to be-
Heye that Miss Wing meant to celebrate,
and had been preparing for guests. It
would have been difficult for her to tell
you for whom, however, az all her near
f&seiations lay up on the hillside, and,
driven by her own stern will, "lovers
and friends had departed far from her"
The only person living who was at all
connected with her was a poor, country
ninister, with John Rogers sort of a
fanfay, whose life was constant strug-
etc TO cover the body and satisfy the
hanger of the ten healthy, growing chill
dren. We cannot wonder that he some
times tnought of Cousin Selina's age and
nice little fortune, that "would go to
come one" Neither can we wonder
that. IN fit of desperation, he wrote
and asked her to take his oldest daugh-
ter for the winter.
Let the girl come" said Miss Wing.
III make her useful" SO useful, in
deed, that Milly Thorne never went to
bed at night without seeing ropes of
dried apples that she had strung, and
acres Of tallow candles she had dipped,
swimming before her tired eyes.
But adj things have an end, and patient
little Milly Thorne. worn out with hard
work, and despairing of ever finding in
Miss Wing that proverbial soft spot
which is IN every ones heart. packed
her1ittie sachel and went back over the
hAss 90 the crowded house, the tired
mother and the many children, where
there was dearth of everything but love.
80 Miss Wing threw away golden
opportunity of browning her old age
with love and happiness.
\ { think it must have been from force
Of habit that she had cooked her most
golden pumpkin and stuffed her latest
Yyuls ct for solitary Thanksgiving feast
For it was very certain she would bid no
oNe 10 share it with her, and still more
certain that no one would come unbid-
deN For she set her face like q flint
against visits from grown-up people,
and with every child in the village she
was ct open war. The meeker ones
among them would run if they saw her
oaning, and not even the bravest dare
sAk her for a flower, while the lawless
end ungoverned ones invented ways to
'tssynent her.
Ono little colored boy, especially,
whom the children called Caterpillar,
was che plague of her existence. His
oi6d amusement was to perch himself
upon her white gate post, his rags fut-
teSing in the wind, the battered crown
Of en old straw hat clinging to his
wcQjly head, and, playing an imaginary
banj0. sing to an admiring dusky audi
.ence collected on the sidewalk:
"Ten little darkies stannin' In line
al first Miss Wing affected calm in
WulCh Bio Wdb lCOf-
ing But when it grew to be regular
entertainment it was more than she
couin endure. So one day, when Cater
psiiar had just commenced his second
afsnzn-
NsDe little dariies sitting on gate,
Ono Oh cIn turnbied of an dar was only eight"
s,e mode an unexpected assault upon
issm with a broomstick, tumbled him
ovg on the sidewalk and summarily dis
pfaed bis audience. Nothing daunted.
however, Caterpillar picked himself up.
shook the hostile dust from his garments.
end. retreatng to distance, sang:
Ole Nam Wing,
Ugly ole ting;
Crack you ober de skull boys
just coz you wanter sing.
Fhis act of Miss Wings was taken a,
an open declaration of war, and peace
and qrietness were over for her.
The most mysterious things happened
to her garden. Tomatoes, that hun.
ripe and red upon their stems at night
valebed before morning. The onion