The Red Cloud chief., 1879-12-25
SWEET MARJORAM.
A Thanksgiving story.

chief spices which ! have laid up fol
thee. q my bclovcd.-soLo1non's song, IL, L. %
II; RIA, IL.
Margery's spice-garden was not OK,
actly like the n planted for Egypt.
daughter 10y the great Jewish Sultan,
though the plants were, Indeed, an
orchard IF pleasant fruits, consisting 81
a hcdgc-like row Of currant bushes and
"A half dozen gnarled, siunicd trees, that
Bina lluichins said bore the best
"squinchcs in all the township. The
ground not occupied by the fruits was
laid ont in orderly little beds filled with
"yarbs." Thoroughwort and mother.
wort, for the infusion of bitter teas, L.
be drunk rcligiously in the spring Of the
year. a ~penitcnilal ceremonial seemingly
handed down from the commcmoration
of the Passover, 10y the eating Of bitter
herbs. Other medicinal plants, more
grateful Ia the palate-spcarimint and
peppermint, ~pennyroyal, catnip, and
hoarhound-grcw near by, with arnica
for wounds and bruises, lavender for
the linen chest, coriandcr and
caraway for the good housewives
cookies, anisc and saffron for spasmy
babies, rosemary for perfume, thyme
and sage for homemade "s~assin@crs,"
tansy for batter puddings, with such
mild aromatics a. fenncl and dill for the
gentle stimulus L. mental rXcrtion need
cd by the Illuminating old d~cacons, a.
they listened Ia the words Of the good
minister, which driftcd down upon his
hearers rs s%oothingly as poppy-lcavcs.
As Margcry sorted her herbs, that
bright October day, passing some of
them through coarse wire sleeves, rub
bling them fine, and packcting them
away in neatly labeled paper bags,
while others, not 50 dry, were tied in
lunches and hung from the brown raf-
tiers of the attic, a stranger would have
noticed IA certain appropriateness be-
tween the girl and her surroundings.
Her presence seemed Ia diffuSc Just
such a faint, pleasant perfume. Both the
dried lunches of herbs and her pale
cheek reminded You that, though faded
now, there had been bloom there once.
You felt that not very long ago she had
seen June, with sunlight and song,
warmth and perfume and life; and,
though il had all gone from her aS com
pletcly ~ from the withered leaves in
the little paper bags, her mission. like
theirs, WAS Ia do good, Ia give ease To-
the suffering, and even mild spice, a
cheerful flavor and perfume Ia all that
WAS monotonouS and distaSteful about
her.
Margcry was not called IN old maid
by the school children. There was not
a gray thread in all her wealth of auburn
hair, she did not dress i'm %antiquatcd
style, or keep a cat, or drink tea, or be-
long To the sewing society, or show any
of the usual characteristic of old maids.
The coy little parlor looked out upon
the Spicc-gardcn from a bay window,
which Nlargery had had built for her
SeraniumS; and the flowers and the
open piano-for Margcry WAS Il music
tcachcr-gave the room Il very pleasant
air. Her music kept up with the times,
like her dresses. Both were always
modern and pretty. She went 10 all the
parties and musicaleS (and did not 90
alone, cithcr). She helped get up all
the fairs and festivals and tablcauN.
Society at Bakers, the little town where
she lived, would have been ut Il stand
still without her. In short, she was not
an old maid at all; but only an old
young lady. Margery was never sli"htcd,
and yet il was probably ten years since
She had IN offer. She had Lad her love
story, of course; but that was fifteen
wears ago, and every body at BaNtcr's,
including Margcry herself, would have
been very much surprised to have heard
that she was going to he married. And
yet every body and Margery were dcS-
tined To exactly that surprise.
If you had asked the people ut BaX-
tcr's for Margary's love story, you
would probably have received two diff
fcrent versions. Some would have said
that it was Jack BogarduS, and some
that if WAS Fred rockingham; but all
would have agreed that she had been
"diSappointed.'
Margery's story, SO far as she knew
it-for Margery herself did not know all
of her story-waS this: Jack BoGarduS
an orphan and her cousin. He had
been adopted by her father, and they
had grown up together. But Jack was
q willful boy. Margery's father did not
understand him, and at last he ran
away 10 California. Margery knew that
he WAS going, and she did not diScour-
age him. 1t seemed 10 her that this
WAS really best for all. Jack had prom
iSed to come back some day, when he
had "made his pile" and claim her for
his wife, if she would only wait. Mar
gary had waited, her father had died. and
she was left alone. That same year Jack
wrote that he had proSpercd and that
ha ,x-aS nnn,n homo IT., -,,l |
brought her a little box, containing a
ring of California gold. 1t came on
Thanksgiving Day, and the day had
ever since been a sad M for Margery;
for, though Jack came back to the vii
and others saw him, he did not
even call upon her, and he returned to
the West the next day, without leaving
any message for her. There had been
no explanation since. 1t was still the
cruel mystery that it had been fif-
teen years ago. She did not even know
the time that he was in town, for she
was i'll great perpleNity and trouble.
Fred rockingham, the son of the
w%ealthiest man at Baxter's, had been
one of the first to enlist when the War
the Great Rebellion broke out, and il
vas ilpN tlc ScCollu year Oh the
On the eve of a battle, not knowing
he would survive the terrible
work of the next day, Fred wrote
Margery a letter, telling her that he
loved her and asking her, if he lived To
home, to be his wife.
Margery replied, telling him as kindly
as she could how impossible it was.
This letter Fred never received, for he
was wounded in the battle, hi. father
for him, and he was brought back
TO BaNter's the day before the arrival of
Margery's cousin. The journey threw
him into a fever, and when he was laid
upon his own bed, with his mother
bending owe him, he did not know her:
but raved deliriously about Margery,
her by all the sweet names that
his disordered mind could supply.
Mrs. rockingham imagined, from
this. that Margery and her son We're en-
gagged. The possibility that Fred could
love and not be loved in return never en-
tered the head of the doting little
woman; and SO she wrote to Margery,
her "my dear daughter" and
D%eOOinp her in come IN Erad for her