Gloucester County Democrat. (Woodbury, N.J.) 1878-1932, 1881-11-24
The Thanksgiving Guest

1t was Thanksgiving eve, dull and
raw and cold. The day had been gray
with cloud, sodden with the chill No
yember rain and wind, and night. thick
with mist, was closing over the little
Connecticut shore village, as Hannah
Place opened the door of the low, brown
farmhouse on its Soundward limits.
Toe wind stirred the branches of the
great barberry, and lifted her brown
hair, in which the threads of gray were
so thiekly shining it swayed, too, the
unfastened gate to and fro on its hinges
as she stepped down the narrow flag
ged walk to latch it, between the faded
borders of hollyhock, larkspur and ma
rigolds. The high tide was bearing its
heavy swell on the long stretch of sandy
beach, but only an edge Of white, toss
ing foam was visible, and out of the
pale, gray mist folded over the wide
sweep of water sounded the dreary,
warning toll of the Forkness fog-bell.
Mrs. Place fastened the gate, ard then
paused with her arms resting on it,
shiyering as the doleful sound stirred
the deepening twilight, not so much
from the keen air as some inward chill.
On cne side the village lights were
cleaning, tokens of warmth and cheer;
on the other was the troubled sea, the
gathering storm, and her face was to the
night and cloud. But a sudden gust
of rain blinded her. She brushed her
cheeks with her blue and white checked
apron, and retraced her steps. As she
opened the door food of yellow light
streamed ont into the darkness, reveal
ing o wide, low room, with Whitley
secured floor and polished woodwork,
dark with age; a blazing fire of drift
wood on the hearth, before which a
great gray cat dozed; tawny house-dog
lay with his black muzzle resting on his
paws. and gray haired man. his face
scanned with the lines Of years and toll,
sat in an arm chair. Through the open
door of the pantry came sayory odor.
From the row of deep. juicy pumpkin
pies, the raised cake, and the sage-fa-
vored stufing for the turkey that
lay plump, white and toothsome. For
amoment CLEAN Of housewifely pride
touched her face, but it quickly faded,
and taking the half-fnished gray wooden
sock that lay in her basket, she seated
herself in the low. splint bottomed
rocker that creaked softly, as if in faint
remembrance Of weary little feet it had
swayed, and sleepy little eyes it had
lulled to rest. For few moments there
was silence, save. for the clicking of
the busy needles, till her husband sud.
denly spoke:
ssAnd SO tomorrow is Thanksgiving
Day again. Who have you invited to
be our guest Z"
Hannah Place laid her knitting work in
her lap, and turned to her husband, all
her set frmness of her face breaking in
to quivssing grief.
"Ah, Ansel,D she cried, with sharp
bitterness. "Whas is Thanksgiving
srzsay to you and me that we should
celebrate it? Here we sit, lonely and
desolate in our old age. Janey, our lit,
tie yellow-haired Janey, lies with hel
baby beside her in the old burial ground,
and wonder tonight as I do every
night. If Willy be out in tie danger
and darkness, or if he has found the
rest Of an unknown grave. Thanks
giving dinner is but mockery to us
It is for the gathering of the family
and there is not one of our own blood te
be our guest. I do not want to be un
grateful, Ansel. but it does seem that
the Lord has dealt hardly with us, and
she paused, her voice breaking in {
choking sob.
Ansel Place looked at his wife in sur
prise. A strong, self contained woman
tears were with her rare even in Iife'l
darkest hours, and for them, as for all
life had held many such. Upright
faithful Christians, yet with tinge o
stern old Puritan blood in their veins
they from honest conviction chose th'