The Portland daily press. [volume] (Portland, Me.) 1862-1921, 1883-11-29
Lisbeth Browns Thanksgiving
Dinner.

Dinner.
Simeon Brown stood in the DOORWAY of
his fathers kitchen in the early dawn of q
fair May morning, his face shorn of all its
wonted joyousness, like an autumnal forest
when the leaves have gone down behind the
bleak, gray hills.
''I've got to go, MOTHER" he said at last
addressing middle-aged woman, who stood
folding small parcel before the Clearly
secured dresser, ''and / may as well go al
once come, say good-byeP
''Yes, you've got TO go, an it'll break
your poor old mothers heart, Simeon, an
bring down her gray hairs in sorrow to the
grave" she answered, in a petu,ent, griev-
ing voice. as she put down the parcel, and
came and stood beside him.
"No, mother, no-don't talk So" he said,
soothingly, "you known Pm obliged to 60
it'll be the best for us alive can't get on if
we stay herep
"Yes, we can, Simeon-yes. we can, but
you've got above your old hume, am your
old mother, an now"
''Lisbethp'
The voice of her husband silenCed her
querulous complaining, but she put her
apron to her eyes, and rocked himself to
and fro in the abandonment of despair.
81 shan't De gone long," continued Sim
efforts to steady it, ''not more than two
years at the farthest, and then we all 60,
and have nice little home together, and
you shall call your last days your best ones"
Her face frightened up a little, but she
asked, half in hope, half in fear
But if you fail, Simeon-if you fail,
what then?"
A sudden shadow dashed out the sunlight
from his brave, young face, but it returned
again in. iua Mt and hil broad ahact
banded. and the muscular cords in his
bronzed wrists worked visibly as ne replied !:
II shall not fail, motherp'
His strong faith somewhat treasured her,
and she looked up almost cheerfully.
"Well, maybe you won't Simeon-I hope
so at any rate-you always was good boy,
an trust the Lord'll help you.'
81 trust so, mother. The SUMS most up
/ must be off; take care of yourself while
Pm gone; good-byeP'
Goodbye, Simeon, goodbye, my good
boy-that never gave his old mother cross
word or caused her a moments trouble in
his life-God bless youp'
He held her in his arms for moment,
and then turned to his father.
"Good-bye, father; do the best you can
until | returnP'
Here, Simeon, stop momentv' called
his mother as he turned toward the door,
I'D 'Inost forgot 'em an made 'em on
purpose for you-some o. the seed cakes
you always liked so well; think of your old
mother when you eat 'em."
Simeon dropped the little package into his
pocket, drew his hat over his eyes and
stepped out.
Faith Hunter, his foster sister, was await
ing him in the yard.
ppm going down little piece with you,
Simeon" she said, $50 you needn't bid me
goodbye
He drew her hand through his arm and
they walked on, side by side, down the wind
ing pathway, the dewy pastures and hrows-
ing kline around them, and overhead the
crystal heavens, emblazoned With the saffron
dawn-tlnts of the opening day, she waiting
for him to speak first, and he irreSolute as
to what he should say.
There was in his heart great tide of
feeling, which had been steadily deepening
and gaining strength ever since winters
night sixteen years before, when his mother
came home from the death bed of a friend
less widow, bringing with her little, help
less b..be, and told him that she was to be,
from henceforth and forever, his sister.
And she had been, and even more than a
sister, perhaps, if such a thing be possible.
Side by side they tro1 the fowery paths of
childhood, sharing every pleasure and pain
and joy aud sorrow, almost the same exist
ence; hand-in-hand they entered upon an
untried road of youthful anticipation; but
now they were about to separate, and all
the mighty love which had grown up in the
youths heart, and strengthened with his
strength, was struggling fiercely for escape,
but he resolutely kept it back. No matter
if that timid little girl at his side was dearer
to him than all the rest of the world, than
his own life even. he must not speak it to
her then. She was nothing but child, and
he had no home, no nducement-nOthing
but his strong hands and brave young heart
to offer her. Yet how could he leave her,
how could he go away without some slight
assurance that he would not be quite for
got en-?
His love was great and strong, and en-
twined itself about its object with an I'M
yielding clasp that could not be torn away
without almost uprootipg life itself; he
knew and felt it, and tremDed at the bare
possibility of being forgotten.
Faith" he said at last, making an effort
to steady his voice, "do you know that am
sorrier to leave you than anyone else, not
even mother exceptedp'
ssArs YOU, Simeon?p she asked innocent
ly, unliftirg her trustful eyes to his face.
Eyes I am, Faith, and want to know If
you'll forget me when Pm gone away?"
sWhy, how could /, Simeon, when you We
been so good and kind TO me? No, indeed.
| shall never forget youp'
'And You will be glad to see meswhen /
come back, Faith2'
"Why, to be sure, Simeon; what makes
you ask?''
because l want to know-you're sure
you'll be glad?'
very sure, Simeon"
every WE'LL | shall be back in year or
SO, and | shall expect you to keep your
PROMISE"
Il shall keep it-and you've given me so
many little things that / want TO give you
something, and Pye nothing else but this
--it's my little Bible. want you to take
it, Simeon, and think of me when you read
it."
His strong hand trembled as he unfolded
the little package. 1t wa a pretty, delicate
thing, dain' lily bound in morocco, with a
sill yer clasp, inscribed with the simple word
"Faith." His eyes flied with tears as he
looked at it.
81 don't know how to thank you for this,
Faithfully, it almost seems like carrying
you with me, since it's got your name on IL.
I'll read it every day, and always keep II
here, Faith" he said TREMENDOUSLY, dropping
it in his breast pocket, and buttoning up his
coat, as If he wanted 1t close TO his heart.
By this time they had reached The gate
the old red gate upon which they had
swung together thousand times in their
happy childhood.
II must go back now, Simeon" salo
Faith, struggling hard to keep back her
tears, Aunt Lisbeth will want me to helI
about milkng-good-byep
Goodbye, Faith; take care Of yourself
and of mother"
He tore his hand from her lingering clasp
threw his knapsack across his shoulders
the old red gate closed with ringing clang
and Faith turn ed tearfully homeward.
whirled the dry elm leaves on the coumoI
in front of Reuben Browns cottage, ant
blew the thin gray locks about his forehead
as he stood in the yard harness ng up thu
old-fashioned bonnet-topped buggy.
"Hadn'y you better have your yarn NIT
tens Reuben?' called his wife from tn
doorway. "The slf's bitin' cold, now al,
we'll have snow before night; can tell b
the way the wind blows"