Connecticut western news., 1880-11-24
THE MINISTER'S PIE.
A Thanksgiving Story.

"Iook here, Sally !'
 Mrs. Deacon Farrell brushed the flour from her hands, casting meanwhile 8 complacent eye over the well-flled kitchen-table, with its generous array of unbaked pies and cakes, the plump turkey stuffed and trussed ready for the morrow's baking, and the big chicken pie to which her fingers had put the fin ishing touches, as she repeated rather more decidedly:
 s'Look here, Sally! There's enough chicken left, with the giblets- I never put in my own pie, because the deacon don't relish 'em-ter make @ Thanksgiving pie for the minister's folks. 'Twon't need ter be very large" she added, in reply to Sally's doubtful look "Only the minister and his wife, an you can bake it in that smallest yaller dish.
 "Now, I'm goin up stairs ter look over them rug-rags, an you make it an bake it right off, sos I can send it over by the deacon. He's got ter go out ter the Corner this afternoon, an can take it along as well as not.
 She hustled out of the door, but the next moment, seized perhaps with a sudden pang of compunction, she put her head in again, to say warningly:
 ''Be sure you put in a good parcel of gravy thatll keep it from bein' dry, if 'tis half giblets.'
 ''Yes'm," answered Sally, briskly /; and catching up the rolling-pin she brought it down with an emphasis upon lump of dough upon the mould-board.
 As the stairway door closed behind her mistress, Sally dropped the rolling pin, and a look of perplexity crept over her dull face, making it ten times more stolid than usual, while she repeated, in ludicrous bewilderment:
 "Giblets! What, in all creation, ii anybody can tell me, does she mean by them?"
 Involuntarily she took a step forward, but checked herself as quickly, while a cunning smile replaced the look of per plexity, and she muttered triumphantly
 q guess ain't a-goin' ter confess my ignorance to the. .deacon's wife, an hear her say, as she always does, 'Two terms to the 'cademy, Sally, an not know thatr No, ma'am! not while there's a dictionary in the house.! p
 So, softly creeping into the adjoining sitting-room, Sally hastily opened big dictionary on the deacon's writing desk, and began her search for the mysterious word.
 'eG-i-b-here 'tis p and she read aloud to herself, with an air of triumph, the following definition
 "Those parts of fowl that are re. moved before cooking-the heart, gig. gard, liver, etc.
 ''That's it !-'heart, gizzard, liver, anc so forth,'" she repeated, joyfully, anG she retraced her steps to the kitchen and began, with great alacrity, to fill according to directions, the minister'l pie; keeping up, meanwhile, running fire of comment for her own specia benefit.
 ''Six gizzards ! We'll, that is rather steep as Dan Watson would say. Blu I guess the deacon's wife knows if sht don't, 'taint none of my business. Si1 hearts Them's small, and tuck into the corners handy. Six ivers Seems ter me they don't fill up much," and sht glanced, with a perplexed air, at pile of denuded chicken-bones that formed her only resource.
 'Now, wonder," with sudden in spiration, "what that 'and so forth meant? Here's hearts, gizzards ant ivers,' plenty of 'em, but no and sc forth, and the pie ain't more'n two thirds full yet. It must mean," and sh' cast bewildered look at the half-fllet pie, "the chickens legs. never kne7 nobody ter put 'em in pie, but tha must be what 1t means, an they'll jus fill up."
 No sooner thought than done. II went the three pairs of stout yellow leg upon which their unfortunate owner had strutted so proudly only the da. before; on went the well-rolled dough covering them from sight, and into tn oven went the minister's pie, just a the mistress of the house re-entered he kitchen, and with an approving glanc at the snowy pastry, remarked eneour agingly:
 That pie looks real neat, Sally. shouldn't wonder if, in time, you cam to be quite cook"
 It was Thanksgiving morning, an