Connecticut western news., 1885-11-25

bread-crumbs," she added, as her mother looked hopelessly on. And we must polish up our bits of silver and put the best foot foremost but it will be a ridiculous Thanksgiving dinner, after all"
 Mir. Bernard Barclay was a bach ellor, well-to-do, and good-looking, Florella admitted, who occupied the second-story front-room in Mrs. Loyd's house, and took his meals at restau- rant, as Mrs. Lloyd only kept "Toom- ers"-that is, she let lodgings only, without board.
 MT. Barclay had frequently bowed to Mrs. Spikenard, as they met in the halls or on the stairway, and had even exchanged few words with Florella, on the front steps; and once he had brought her home from the street-car under his umbrella, during a heavy rain.
 But what tCould he think of them for inviting him to Thanksgiving dinner ?-and such a dinner, too!
 Florella lay awake half the night, puzzling her head over this problem.
 The sun shone out on clear, frosty Thanksgiving Day, the next morning, and Florella and her mother were bustling about, putting the little rooms in holiday order, when shuffling steps came up the stairway, a thump- ing knock sounded on the door, and shock-headed boy asked:
 "Mrs. Spikenard live here?"
 "Yes, said the widow, wonderingly. "Tbat's my name."
 "This here's fur you, then. Nothin to pay"
 And having deposited well filled market-basket on the table, the boy shuffled away, leaving the widow and her daughter staring at each other with astonishment.
 Its a mistaken cried FIorelIa.
 But To, there was a card, with Mrs. Spikenard's name and number, care fully attached to the basket; and hay ing made sure it was meant for them, Florella fell at once to rifling it of it's contents.
 "A twenty pound turkey, do be- lieve! Just look, ma! and half pumpkin! A paper of sugar. Eggs two dozen of 'em at least-and sweet potatoes. Half dozen lemons; now can make some lemon-pies. And raisins, and entrants, and citron, and ginger. What else, wonder? This is sage, for the dressing, and here's a bucket of something And a paper of cranberries-and that's all But who could have sent them?" Florella and her mother stared blankly at each other, while Jack helped himself to entrants and raisins, unrebuked.
 'If 'twa'n't fur the oysters an lem ons, sh'd think twas sister Sary sent 'em," said Mrs. Spikenard, at last"
 "1t's God-send to us, anyway, wherever it came from," declared Flo rella. And I'm going to get dinner right away. And now we can ask old MT. Barber, too, after all. 1 The twenty-pound turkey was soon sputtering in the even, and the aro- matic odor of lemons and spice filled the. little kitchen and floated out through the hallway, penetrating even to Bachelor Barclays very door.
 The dinner was success. The oys- ter soup, roast turkey, the sweet pota- toes, the lemon and pumpkin pies and cranberry sauce were cooked to perfec. tion, and MT. Barclay could not helr contrasting his lonely dinners at the restaurant with this cozy meal; with kind-hearted Mrs. Spikenard presiding over the coffee-urn, and pretty, violet, eyed Florella busy helping every one but herself.
 Old MT. Barber, too, with his digni fled, old-school manners, was no dc. traction to the merry party around the widespread board. And when it wa: all over, and Bachelor Barclay hat gone to smoke a cigar in the solitude of his own room, he mentally decided as the blue wreaths curled over head that it was not good for man to bt alone"
 In fact, before many moons haC come and gone, pretty Florella Spiken ard had resigned her situation a "saleslady," and assumed the more re sponsible position of housewife, witt the matronly title of Mr5. Bernarc Barclay.
 And not until then, did NIT. Barcla, confess that he had sent the baske which had so puzzled Florella and he , mother.
 "I overheard your conversation when you discovered Jacks blunder, he confessed, "and, of course, on learn ing the circumstances, l thought i was only my duty to help you out o the dilemma"
 And Florella only laughed at he husbands explanation, and declares l she had suspected him all along. ) But load was lifted from Mrs Spikenard's mind, for, according to he
 own confession, "she couldn't skeerse . ley sleep O nights, fur wonderin