The true northerner. [volume] (Paw Paw, Mich.) 1855-1920, 1879-11-21
IyY'S MISTAKE.
A Story OF Thanksgiving.
BY ROSE RAYNESFORD.

BY ROSE RAYNEsFoRD.
Thanksgiving eve in the old Sunder-
land homestead, and from cellar TO gar
ret hoated delicious odors of roasting
turkey, of chickens done to tender
crisp in their own rich juices. and of a
goodly array of pies of all denomina-
tions-such pies, teeming with ali the
odors of Araby the blest, as had won
dear, motherly Mrs. Sunderland an en-
viable reputation through all the region
round about.
And fitting busily at her mothers
side, in the great, clean, shining kitchen,
with light feet and the very daintiest,
deftest little hands in all the world, was
the blooming Ivy" sole daughter of
her house and heart"
Over her crimson merino was tied a
large white apron-her seven-league
apron" Ivy called (which was only
assumed when some mighty and i'm
pOrtant household festivity seemed to
command corresponding magnitude
an all the preparations; sleeves were
rolled above the dimpled elbows, stray
dab of flour powdered the shining ten
drills of chestnut hair above the forehead,
and the usual tender pink of the cheeks
had blossomed into vivid carnation.
"There, mother" she said, placing a
gigantic plum cake on the table with a
triumphant flourish, chats the last !
The baking is done, thank goodness,
and now I'll attack the parlor."
7" I wouldn't tonight, DEAR said Mrs
Sunderland. You'll tire yourself out.
Thereu be plenty of time in the morn
ing"
"Oh, no, mother. I promised to be
at church early, TO practice the new an
them. They all declare they can't get
along without me. And 1 thought if l
could snatch an hour sometime between
now and then that Ia finish off my blue
silk--it only needs stitch or two.
Julia Hunt said she might be over after
dinner, and bring her cousin with her.
She's from the city, you know, and so
stylish. And then" she added, with a
Father over-done attempt at careless
ness, "it's possible Joe Dalton may be
here in the evening"
HIM! Joe Dalton" said Mrs. Sun
derland, little surprised, but too much
absorbed In her contemplation of the
CAKE to pay strict attention to less i'm
portant matters. "And when did you
hear from him?"
oh, not since he left in the summer.
But he told me then that he intended
to pass Thanksgiving at the 'Squire's,
aud that if he did he'd give us call
But really l must begin at the parlor."
And into the parlor she went, a curl
ously happy light on her face, while
she busted the quaint old spindle
legged piano, and polished the mirror
between the windows, and rubbed the
brass ire-dogs till they shone again.
Then she brought out long wreaths.of
fragrant ground pine, and knots of scar
let leaves and garlanded the old family
portraits, and filled vases and baskets.
till the old room was sweet and GLOWING
AS the bower of forest queen.
Perhaps it was all to please Julia
Hunt and her city cousin, but know
that all the while before Ivy's happy
eyes were floating memories of Joe
Dalton's admiring looks when one day
last summer she decorated the room
with wild clematis vines, and still i'm
Iher ears were ringing his prais es of
what he called her exquisite artistic
instincts"
There! I think he'll like that
she said, as she got down from the |
chair on which she had mounted in
pursuing her labor of love, and shook
of the last clinging sprays from hair
and dress; and she began setting the
furniture in order as energeticalN as
though her feet were not aching, her
hands bllstered, and every muscle in
her body strained and weary.
just then the whistle of the evening
Grain was heard, and away went the
tired feet, twinkling up three flights of
stairs to the attic, where, throwing her
skirts about her shoulders, Ivy coddled
down in the window commanding a
view OF the turn in the road by which
the 'Squire's open wagon must pass on
its way home from the DEPOT. Yes,
sure enough, there came the wagon be.
hind the pair of housekeeping bays.
Ivy could distinguish the 'Souire's
portly figure on the front seat, beside
the coachman, and behind was slen-
derer form that Ivy's beating heart told
her was Joe. But little half-iealous
pang shot through that same heart as
she saw that lady, evidently young.
sat beside him, and marked the devoted
air with which he leaned toward her.
one arm extended behind her on the
back of the seat, the other pointing
here and there, as though drawing her
attention to the different beauties of
he landscape.
"Some cousin, I suppose" she said to
herself, as she went slowly down the j
stairs to her own room. The apron {
must be removed, the silky braids
,moothed with extra care, and the plain
linen collar replaced with frills of dain-
y lace. Then from its little sandal s