The Owosso times. (Owosso, Mich.) 18??-1882, 1881-11-25

: irondacks yelled in slowly drifting
} snowAakes, and Lake Champlain shin
! ing up with steely glimmer where tht
bend Of the valley revealed its far-away
surface. The leafess trees seemed Il
stand shuddering in the blast-tht
: pines and hemlocks, their needlelikt
: foliage transformed into Thousand
, meaning wind-harps, tossed their greer
crests to and fro, like human creatures
!, CROPPING blindly for help in some awful
strait. Nature was chanting her Mis-
erere, and the grand mountains seemed
to listen in silence.
But the Carey homestead was all
alive with warmth and cheerfulness
and red freight. 1t was huge, old.
fashioned house, with great, smoke
Drowned rafters crossing and recrOssing
overhead, and curious wooden vain
scotings halfway up the walls, and odd
little three-cornered cupboards built, as
if by malice prepense, in the most in
convenient places, and fireplaces that
gave you the idea of the rooms being
mere afterthoughts and appendages.
Nor was the furniture whit more
modern. The chairs, tail and claw
legged, tipped you inhospitably forward;
the looking glasses warped and twisted
your features into a deathblow to all
vanity; the chest of drawers stood in a
high-shOuldered manner against the
walls, with Argus-eyes of brass, and
the old clock on the first landing of the
stairs ticked slow, mournful mono
tone, which would have driven by
pochondriac mad.
Little Ruth Skinner stood at the
kitchen table, white apron tied over
the brown calico dress which had awak-
ened Deacon Carey's admiration, and
the sleeves rolled up above her round,
white arms, stirring some fragrant COM
pound of spice and raisins and orange
peel, while five of the six Carey boys
stood around surveying her. as five tall
barn-door fowls might stare at tiny
golden pheasant, or a Seabright BAN
tam.
Boys, boysp croaked the deacon,
emerging from his room, in the glories
of blue suit with brass buttons, and
pair of shirt collars that held his chin
up at an angle of forty-five degrees, 'ye
haven't no more manners than pack
of gypsies! Miss Ruth, don't mind
'em.'
'Oh, L don't, 1 assure you, sir said
Ruth, laughing. Lewis, please give
me the iron spoon from the nail by the
dresser
Il wish you wouldn't call me sir,
said the deacon, with what would have
been tender glance if the shirt collars
would have admitted of it.
Ruth arched her pretty eyebrows.
What shall l call you?'
Call me Obed,' was tremblingxon the
deacon's lips, when he caught the ten
eyes of his sons fixed wonderingly on
him, and the words never found utter
ance. The deacon looked into the oven
instead, and coughed sonorously.
you won't 60 to church, Ruth?'
oh, l can't, sir-Mr. Carey, mean.
The turkey must be looked after, and
it won't do to risk burning the pies
We'll, boys said the deacon, come
along
Can't stay and help Ruth?' ques-
toned Lewis, a young giant of nine
teen.
No, you can't said the deacon,
brusquely. Pretty way O. spendin' the
Governors Proclamation Thanksgivin',
to be home round under Miss Ruth's
feet. You'll go to church, every skin
on we, or my name amt Obed Carey
No son o mine stays home from church
on such day as this. Where's Joep'
He was out a-fodderin' the creeters,
sullenly answered John, the second
son.
Joseph! joel bawled the deacon,
but there was no answer.
Il guess he's gone to church, observ-
ed Jared, who was giving his cowhide
boots last tender application of can
dle-end in front of the fire.
He needn't ha' been in such a hurry
grumblingly commented the deacon;
but he alays had way of his own Of
doing things. Ruth, my dear, don't
stand so near the fire-you're burnin'
your face the color of a cabbage rose
Ruth murmured some scarcely artic-
ulate answer as the deacon tapped her
cheek with clumsy espieglerie, and bent
more closely than ever over her work.
Where's my woolen comforter p
next demanded the deacon. Hosea, go
back in the big corner cubburd fort
Hosea left off tormenting the cat to
obey, buthe presently lifted up his
voice aloud:
Doors locked, father
No, 'tain't locked nuther,' sharply
responded pater familias. But he went
to inspect the 'cubburd' for himself,
nevertheless.
We'll, if L everp cried the deacon
(Which o. you young mischiefs has got
the KEY?
There was shout OF unanimous de
NAL. Tie deacon looked round with
lowering brows.
IF that ere keys lost Ain't
them the church bells?'
And, postponing the judicial investi.
, CATION until the religious services OF
the day should be over, the deacon
. caught up a stray muffler, twisted il
round his parchment-like throat, and
sped upon his way, with the five sons
following in long array.
And Ruth Skinner was left alone
with the cracking wood-fire, and the
ticking clock, and the soft clicking OF
the snow-hakes against the window
panes, and the plaintive strain of a
hymn-tune she was murmuring under
her breath as she arranged the cram
berry tarts on the dresser-shelf ant
filed up the oven to its very mouth
with paste-shells full of golden, trem
bling custard.