Belmont chronicle. [volume] (St. Clairsville, Ohio) 1855-1973, 1888-11-29

stump and to him came the greatest
temptation of his life. In tree, within
easy shot, roasted numerous turkeys,
Hatched from the eggs of wild ones and
with the distinctive feather marks, it
would be the easiest thing to secure one
and pass it off, if seen, as legitimate
game. Great fat, lucious fowls they
were, and the vision of how happy his
wife and children would be in the eat
ing arose before him.
Almost before he was aware of the
act his gun was raised and aim taken.
Then conscience whispered: "They are
not yours, John Austin" and turning
his steps away he answered mentally if
not vocally: mo, and I'm not going to
be thief, even for Thanksgiving din
ner."
Pushing on again over the broad mead
ow he struck the road-an unbroken one
now-that led to the forest where game
was likely to be found, and was passing
the log cabin of family even poorer
than his own, for the husband was "
ing very i'll. He glanced up at the
chimney-the most natural thing for a
person to do on such day-and saw no
smoke. Either the poor man must be
dead or the supply of wood had given
out. Instantly his own situation was
forgotten and he was not long in finding
out that his latter surmise was correct.
"Don't worry" he said to the anxious
wife, gathering and bringing in all the
wood he could find, "I'n run over to
neighbor Simpsons and borrow his team
and get you a load. There's lots of
dead timber on this land, and he isn't the
meanest man in the world by a long
shot"
To accomplish his purpose he was
forced to retrace his steps and again
look at the temptation of the turkeys.
Certainly no birds ever looked so large,
and they stretched out their necks and
gobbled at him in the most provoking
fashion and as if they knew what was
passing in his mind.
Eyes, john" said the farmer in an
swer to his request, "Take the oxen and
get as much wood as you can haul. But
you will have to cut it. Everything
down must be showed under except it
may be some rotten stuff that is of no
account"
"All right, but you will have to lend
me an ak. l started to find some game
for dinner, but now the children will
have to get along with whatever their
mother can manage to fix up"
"Well, here's an axe, and you had bet
ter leave your gun here until you come
back. I'd like to use it if you will tell
me where will find my flock of turkeys
the tame-wild ones 1 mean. believe
they know it's Thanksgiving and have
run away"
Austin told him where the birds were
to be found, thought of how little there
would be upon his own table, and hast
ened upon his errand of mercy-hasten-
ed as fast as an OK team, discontented
with being out such cold morning and
wading through such deep snow, could
be persuaded to go.
Tramping along after the sled Austin
at last reached the woods and looked for
convenient tree to "fall." An oak
stood near and tap of his ak convinced
it was hollow. That suited him exactly.
He could easily cut off couple of logs,
roll them upon the sled and reduce them
to burnable size afterward.
A strong armed and willing g-hearted
man, he was not long in separating the
trunk, drawing and unloading itin front
of the house of his sick friend. The
poor wife thanked him heartily and said
her brother had come and would do the
chopping.
'An right-no thanks" he replied in
his hearty way. "Hope your Thanks
giving will be brighter than you antici-
pated. Now I'll get my gun and see
what can get for my own dinner"
He had gotten some little distance
when the woman shouted:
"Mine?" he questioned, returning.
"Of course it is. You must have plac-
ed it in the hollow trunk and forgotten
it. Anyhow it rolled out and here is
your wife's name on it. Gracious, out
it is marked plain enough"
In mute astonishment John Austin
took up the satchel and brushed off the
snow. 1t was a small affair, battered,
worn, stained and (as he afterward said)
might have come out of the ark. A
piece of buckskin was looped through
the handles and rudely marked: Mrs.
Jane Austin, wife of John Austin, and
daughter of James Selfridge, Beachton,
U. s."
He choked down a great lump that
had gathered in his throat, looked with
the most stupid surprise at the woman,
= fbar, nf fhn fna
gun and game started homeward on a
run. Bursting into the house he dropped !
breathlessly into chair, flung the satch- |
Ell into the middle of the floor and |
gasped out the single word:
"Therel"
"John Austion," exclaimed his wife |
in the loudest key possible for her voice
to reach and with the muscles of her
face gathering for storm, 'aren't you
ashamed of yourself to come home
drunk, and on Thanksgiving? Take
that nasty old thing out of doors. It's
a burning shame and disgrace, and
you husband and father of a family"
and her apron was brought into requi-
sition to wipe away her tears.
ats marked for yOr. Ian", S-d-l
where in hea.cr did you get that great
tri.Key?"
"Farmer Sampson brought it, and
your gun, which you lost, and if the
neighbors didn't take pity on us we'd
was replied in very short SEN
tences and broken by sobs. !
"But Jane"
"Don't Jane me. Take that misera-
BILE, dirty thing out and crawl off some
where and go to sleep. To think that |
should have lived to see the day-and
we become objects of charity-and-l
and-having to be fed by the neigh
bors," and up went the apron again.
"Mother," broke in the Oldest of the
hopefuls, whose curiosity had caused an
investigation of the satchel, and who
had spelled out the address, ''it's your
name, and such queer writing"