Centre Democrat. [volume] (Bellefonte, Pa.) 1848-1989, 1882-12-07
Mrs. Bardwell's Tramp.
A THANKSGIVING STORY.

Are you going to meeting with
me, map" asked Mr.. Bardwcll, laying
down his Sunday boots as he spoke,
reaching after. the backing brush.
"No, l guess not" she answered
slowly. at wouldn't do me no good,
and should be worrting all the time,
for fear the turkey was burning or
the water done out of the vegetables"
at will be a lonesome Thanksgiving
without samuel" he continued, pol
ishing vigorously on the rough
leather
There was no reply. The clock
ticked solemnly in the corner and the
old gray cat purred loudly in the rock
ing-chair. She was not unused to
filling domestic intcrludes with her
unchangng song.
"A l-o-n-e-some Thanksgiving" he
repeated. SAN was smart young
chap. but high-strung. I'm most
afraid we were too harsh with him,
Samantha 1t is ten years since he
went or
Ten years since you turned him out
of the house" she answered, shortly
"No, no. Don't say that, Samantha.
OF course l was riled up about his
taking that butter money, though
don't believe the boy meant to steal it;
and perhaps | faulted him moro than
l ought to, but | never meant to drive
him away Well, wen, it is too late
now. Like rs not he is dead and
buried before this"
Mrs. Bardwell went hastily into the
pantry, and there was a sound as of
some one sobbing; though, perhaps, it
might have been only the rustic of
the dry leaves upon the dead grass.
4 little later dim-oycd, sorrowful-
faced man clamhered into his ricketty
wagon and jolted uncomfortably down
the street
Steadily the hands swept round the
dial of the clock in the old brown
house at the Four Corners. till both
pointers stood at twelve and the din
ner was an assured success. The
turkey was done to exactly the right
shade Of golden brown and with the
plum-pudding and its rich sauce
flooded the kitchen with fragrant
odors. The cran6erries, with their
perpetual blush, were Hanked by mince
and tart and custard pies. each a won
der of culinary art, but dwindling into
insignifcance beside the mammoth
chicken pie that oyershadowed them
all. A plate of snowy biscuits stood
upon the dresser. Some passing i'm
pulse had led Mrs. Bardwell to make
one of the dough men" that little
Sammie used to delight in--a creature
with an impossible head and arms
that stood out like sign-post :
but. ashamed Of the momentary
weakness. she had hidden 1t, as
soon as it was baked, on the high shelf
In the pantry. I'm lay the table in
the sitting-room,' she sOliloquized-
cit will seem more like Thanksgiving:
but | will put on the blue plates, be-
cause they are easiest to wash" She
drew out the old-fashioned cherry Ia
BILE and covered it with spotless
cloth. The quaint blue earthenware,
with its pictures Of tall young shep-
herdesses with their crooks, of ragged
boys chasing butterflies across the
meadow. and Of strange birds, whose
anatomy would have astonished Audi.
bon, were disposed upon it; and as she
worked she sang, in high, cracked
voice, her favorite tune of China:
"why do We mourn depar-ar.tInr friends.
or shake at Deaths alarms7
It's bu.ut the voice that Jesus sanda
TOGO ea-ali them TOGO his arms,r
rolled forth in well-known auavera
Just a. she gave the finishing touche,
to the table there came knock at IN,
outside door. Opening 1t in me
chanical way, Mrs. Bardwell saw
young woman, in faded calico dress
with a little boy beside her, standing
on the threshold.
81 plaaaa NAV tvo aovnn 4. ux.a ~..a