The Superior times. [volume] (Superior, Wis.) 1870-1912, 1881-11-26
lFrom the independently
THANKSGIVING In THE HILLS.
BY HARRIET PRESCOTT sPoFFoRD.

That old Anstice Purcell loved her
home was not to be wondered at. She
had been born in it, and so had her
mother before her. She had remem-
brance of no other, and it was as much a
cart of her existence as the sky and the
air. 1t would have seemed no stranger
to her to be without coping of blue sky
than 1t would to see four different walls
from these about her and to call them
home.
And, certainly, if beauty could give
one reason to love spot, Anstice had
reason enough. For was not the long,
low stone house perched on a crag, SO
that 1t looked like nothing but lichen
on that crag? And did 1t not overlook
purpling hill-tops below and far away,
and elm -fringed intervals, with silver
streams looping and doubling through
them? And was not old Greyhead tower
ing above her, with all the woods and
precipices and storm scored sides, and
casting shadow over her; and Redcap,
taking the sunset fires on opposite upper
heights; and greater peaks, looming
blue IN the horizon? And did she not
know when the weather was to be fine
by the vapOrs round great Monasset Z?
And, when tempests of rain or snow set
IN, did she not feel that Monasset and
Redcap and Greyhead stood, like three
powerful genn, and shut her in and
kept watch and ward over her and her
grandchildren, in their sad fortunes, as
they had kept it over her ancestors for
generations?
For her only son had been smitten
yI1f IN q or
ta1ns-an unrest new to the Purcells-
(and he twice a Purcell, since Anstice
had married her cousin and, spurred
by the fear Of poverty, perhaps, and his
children S fortune in the future, should
Greta give him children, he had gone
away to sea, ten years ago, as if only
boundless horizon, after these imprison-
ing hills, could fill his yearning for
space. he had left Margaret, his young
wife, with mother; for, although the
Purcell acres had shrunk with every
generation, there was yet n pittance
which would support the household till
he could send back or bring the riches
which he meant to have. But the mo-
ment when she saw his bright black eyes
flashing through her tears, as she ran
down the rocky path, to cross field and
wood, and take the coach, and turned a
moment to wave his hand joyously, was
the last IN which Anst;ce had ever seen
him. The barque Albatross, the owners
after time wrote her, had gone down
with all on board.
For a season, then, it did not seem to
old Anstice that she lived. The world
was blotted out, the crags and hills,
Greyhead and Redcap and the rest were
not, and she saw only the great waste of
waters for days and weeks and months,
till she was awakened from her apathy
by the sound of child's voice in the
night, the quick, amazed cry of a new
born baby. Of one? OF two of them
She rose totteringly TO her feet, looked
about her IN half bewilderment, then
hurriedly dressed herself, as she had not
done for so long, and went out into an
other room. "Greta, she said, "you
have given me back my boy" And
Greta used to think in after days that
Anstlce really felt as if the babies were
her own, and she herself was only a
well-meaning nurse. But she never
grudged the care of her boys to their
grandmother, great as the comfort of
that care was to herself. She knew what
their love of their mother must needs
be; and she used to tell them that it was
because of them, stung to madness by
the thought of their coming to live the
life of poverty and care that he saw
stretching out to old age, that her own
son had gone away to come back no
more. A woman, this sweet Gerta, who
shut her sorrow up in her own heart,
and never whispered it except to her
babies In the watches of the night, when
size would say to them how beautiful,
how bright, how brave man their
father was; how he had loved her and
she had worshipped him; how they must
grow like him and make haste to be
strong and good enough to take care of
their little grandmother, and let her her.
self away to her husband. The only
| trouble that ever came between her
and Anstice was that she would not
give either of the boys. the fathers
name. emo" said she. sit is like
parting his raiment. Call them what
| YOU will, but not John" And so An
| stice called the one Benoni, the son of
nv sorrow, and the other Asher, be-
cause of her happiness that had been re-
stored to her with him. And little Ash
aud Ben, as they presently were known,
grew and thrived, and ruled the house
hold with rods of iron. What pretty
little darlings they were, rolling round
the floor in their dimpled play, then
curly yellow heads in the sun; then
dark fringed eyes, their fathers eyes,
dancing with mirth and mischief; then
ROSY faces SO velvet-soft and sweet. An.
stice would catch on to her heart, and
drop him for the other, and go back tx
the first, and hardly let him alone at all
in the swelling ecstacy of her love, but
tor the kicking and struggling and LOUD
voiced protestations that they set up
Int Margaret would only pause IN he
work and follow them with wistful eyes
wondering if this was the way then
father looked at their age, and silently
thanking Heaven, that, if the father ha'
| I,oo,, taIran II had at any rate, g1vel