The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 18??-1882, 1881-11-25
BUTH'S THANKSGIVING

you see just how we're fixedp said
Deacon Obed Carey to Mrs. Elam Skin
ner.
The gray November twilight was
closing, like the misty shadows of a
dream, over the desolate valley that lay
between the rock. crested hills, fringed
with hemlocks and white pines, while
the gray-green foliage of cedar copses
gavea ghostly simmer to the distance.
Just at the mouth of the valley the
mirror-like gleam of Lake Champlain
reflected the dull armament, and be-
yOnd, the peaks of far-off mountains
lost their outlines in the low-hanging
vapors of the sky-the Adirondacks
themselves!
But Deacon Carey, who had been
Graded, as it were, among their garden
ers, never thought of the Adirondacks,
except as a very Improbable invest
ment of land. Familiarity breeds con-
tempt, and even the Colossus of Rhodes
ceases to inspire awe to it's next-door
neighbor.
Folks come dreadful ways to look
at them hills said the deacon, irrever-
emily; 'and, arter all, they amt no
great shakes. Give me good medder
lot, or ileld where the yaller pump
kins is a-shinin' out among the shock
ed cornl That's my notion of beauty!
Guess it would be a pretty long while
afore anybody raises crop o'rye out o
the AdirOndacks.'
And, after all, there was an inkling
of common sense in the deacon's view
of things.
Mrs. Elan Skinner lived in brown
farmhouse whose overhanging caves
made you think of boy who had pull
ed his cap too far over his eyes-a
farmhouse upon whose shingled roof
the gold and scarlet maple-leaves rained
down in rustling drifts at every sough
of the melancholy wind. There were
not two such maple-trees along the
whole shores of Champlain as those
Mrs. SINNERS grandfather had plant
ed in the Revolutionary days, when he
never knew, coming home at night
with his AK over his shonlder, whether
he should not find his home heap of
smOldering cinders, with the cry of the
savage redskin where his babies Coo
ing voices had sounded at the morning
tide! He was in his grave, dust and
ashes long ago, but the naples renewed
their youth with every year.
Within you saw a low-ceiled room,
with colored prints hanging on the
wall, mist of asparagus over the
clockshelf, and white and yellow chrys-
anthemums blossoming between the
net-fringed curtains of the three little
windows. A rag-carpet, woven ir
dazzling stripes of red and blue cover.
ed the floor, while the bricks of the
clean-swept hearth could not have glow.
ed brighter if they had been carved in
Neapolitan coral, and a fire of splendid
chestnut logs blazed and cracked
wreathing the polished brass firedogs
as if they had been pair of Johr
Rogers at the stake, suffering continual
martyrdom. Mrs. Skinner herself, 9
wiry compact little woman, in a greer
gingham dress and winking spectacles
sat darning stockingc by the blaze; fol
she was thrifty dame, and while she
DeSTuuSou ono Wdou0u uohouos VI tWl
light, she had no idea of lighting can
die until it was fairly and squarely
dark.
Obed Carey occupied the cushioned
rocker opposite, tall and brewn and
loose -jointed, with here and there 9
silver thread in his dark hair, and hand:
where the veins stood out like cord
A hard-working man, and man who
accepted his inheritance of toll with 9
sort of grim set'sfaction,s she would
have afforded no inappropriate type o.
the New England farmer of the pas
generation, as he sat there, erect ant
thin and uncompromising.
And while her elders talked, Rutf
! Skinner sat close against the chimney