Clearfield Republican. [volume] (Clearfield, Pa.) 1851-1937, 1881-11-30
TIE THANKSGIVING GUEST

IL was thanksgiving eve, dull ana
raw and cold. The day had been gray
with cloud, soddon with the chill No.
vember 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 farm house on its Sound.
ward limits. The wind stirred the
branches of the great barberry, and
lifted her brown hair in which the
threads Of gray were so thiokly shin.
ing, It swayed, too, the uniastened
gate to and fro on its hinges and she
stepped down the narrow tagged walk
to latch 1t, between the faded borders
Of holly hook, larkspur and marrigolds
Tho 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 tho dreary
warning toll of the Forkness fog. bell.
Mrs. Place fastened the gate, and then
paused with her arms resting upon it,
shivering as the dOleful sound stirred
the deepening twilight, not 80 much
from the keen air as some inward chill.
On one side the village lights were
cleaning, tokens of warmth and cheer ;
on the other was the troubled see, tue
gathering storm, and her face was to
the night and cloud. But o sudden
gust ot'rnin blinded her She brushed
her checks with her blue and white
checked apron, and retraced her steps,
As she opened the door a food of vel.
low light streamod out into the dark.
ness, revealing wide, low room, with
whitley secured floor and polished
wood work, dark with age q blazing
fire of drift wood on the hearth, before
which q gray cat dozcd n tawny
house dog lay with his black muzzle
resting on bis paws, and gray. haired
man, his face scanned with the lines Of
years and toil, sat in an arm chair.
Through the npon door Of tho pantry
came n savory odor, from the row
Of deep, juicy pumpkin pies, tho raised
cake, and the sage favored stuiling
for the turkey that lay plump, white
and tootbsome. For moment q
glcam of housewifery pride touched
her face, but it quickly faded, and TAX.
ing the half finished gray wooden sock
that lay in her basket she seated her.
sell in the low, splint bottomed rocker
that creaked softly, as If in faint re.
membrance Of weary little feet it had
swayed, and sleepy little eyes 1t had
lulled to rest For q few moments
there was n silence, save for the click
ing of tho busy needles, till her hus.
band suddenly spoke;
"And so TO morrow is Thanksgiving
Day again. Who have you invited to
be our guest 2
Hannah Place laid her knitting work
in her lap, aud turned TO her husband,
all her set frmness OF her face break
ing into quivering grief
"Ah, Ansel," she cried, with sharp
bitterness. "What is Thanksgiving
Day to You ana mo that we should
celebrate itY Here we sit, lonely and
desoate in our old age, Janey, our lit.
tic yellow haired Janey, lies with her
baby beside her in the old burial
ground, and / wonder to night as do
every night, if Willie be out in the
danger and darkness, or II he has found
the rest OF an unknown grave. Thanks.
giving dinner is but moekery to us.
II is for the gathering OF the family,
and there is not one OF our own blood
to be our guest. do not want to be
ungrateful, Anscl, but It does seem that
the Lord has dealt hardly with US, p
and she paused, her voico breaking in
a choking sob.
Ansel Place looked at his wife in
surprise. A strong, selfcontained wo.
man, tears were with her rare even in
life's darkest hours, and for them, as
for all, life bad held many such. Up.
right, faithful Christians, yet with o