The Newtown bee. (Newtown, Conn.) 1877-current, 1879-12-03

The cold northern blasts had settled
themselves down into legitimate winter
business, bridging streams and locking
up nature in letters of ice. Everywhere
through the broad and fertile lands huge
granaries were stored with the golden
harvest. cellars actually groaning with
their rich stores of fruit and vegetables,
and the thrifty and industrious inhabi-
tants were about to celebrate their an
nual thanksgiving to the great and
bountiful giver of such plenty, prosper
ity and peace.
But nowhere did greater bounty pre-
vail than in the homestead of Farmer
Joel Jones. His broad acres lay but a
mile from the thrifty village of Center
vile, where he found an easy market
for all his produce, and where every
Sabbath his round and ruddy face
might be seen alongside of the thin and
sallow one of his spinster sister, Betsey,
in the old family carry-all on their way
to the village church, which ever found
u willing heart and ready hand in the
unsentimental Joel Jones, as its thrifty
aspect fully attested.
A few days previous to the one ap-
ointed as Thanksgiving, he came into
his ample kitchen with huge golden
pumpkin in his strong arms.
"Here, Betsey," he said, s. is one of
the real Yankee punkins, and l want
ye to spread yerself maxim batch OF
pies. And jest say when ye want that
air chicken killed."
"What fur. I'd like to know, JoelP
You talk as eff yer war goin' ter feed a
regiment, when thar is only you and
me and the hired man to eat the best
Thanksgiving dinner ever invented"
Il know as well as ye, Betsey, we
hain't got no folks to speak of, but that
int no sign we hain't ter eat like other
Christians on Thanksgiving day, spec
erly when I've worked the hull year
like everything, and been prospered be-
yond my desarts."
An hour later he looked in upon Bet
sey and her sulien preparation for the
coming feast.
I'm goin' ter town with er load oi
oats, and I'll bring you some cram ber-
ries to go erlong with yer turkey, Bet
sey," said he, "an' if yer want any
thin else speak quick, fer I'm off,"
The answer of the spinster was a
grunt of dissatisfaction as she contin-
ued kneading the snowy bread, while
the pumpkin stewed and sputtered on
the stove in the most savage manner.
"Betsey grows groutier every day oi
her life, poor thing. She's gittin' old
and the work is tew heavy for her. But
it hain't no use of speakin' of gettin
help. Shed fight me down on that for
ever.,.' soliloquized the old man, as he
drove along. Hey, bub, want tel
ride" he called out to small specimen
of humanity, who was trudging along
under a heavy load, and who most
gladly accepted the kind offer. sYel
Widow Burton's boy, hain't YEP" he
asked, in continuation, after the boy
had scrambled up behind and perched
himselfupon a bag Of grain.
Eyes, sir"
Whatye OF in yer sack, bubP"
Coal, sir, that have been picking
up along the track"
Dangerous piece o. business, an6
it's strange yer ma should send yer out
on sich er errand Their cars will come
erlong some day and chop yer inter
mince-m meat"
The poor little pale-faced lad made
no reply. He was too happy in the en-
joyment of the unexpected ride to care
for any anticipated danger. AT tht
d )or of his humble home the farmer
stopoed, and, to the surprise of the lad
got down from the wagon and hitcheG
his horses.
II want to see yer ma. So I'll jest
run in fer mint, if yen mind tht
team.n
One of the children answered hi
summons and conducted him into th,
little kitchen, where the widow sat sew
ing with her brood of little ones about
the scanty fire.
Don't git up, Miss Burton. / cam
stop but mint. / give yer boy lif
as come along, and he told me tha
he goes over on the railroad ter pick ur
coal. and / thought may be ye didn'
know it was dangerous. Their lad i.
-tu small fer sich work, and some day
he'll git killed. So / hope ye won
take it amiss that I named it ter you."