Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1888-01-19
THE DONATION PARTY.
BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

BY HELEN FORREST GRAVES.
care you all right, Matilda2" said Mr..
Perkins, casting a final comprehensive
glance around him, as he put one foot on
the wagon-step and gathered up the reins
into his left hand.
'sY-yes, l believe So" answered his
wife.
''Is the big loaf of election cake inf"
Eyes"
sand the stone jug of maple nolassesl"
sits right here. :"
"And the ten yards o. rag-carpet, and
the pair o brackets, and the cherry vase,
packed in tissue-pap shavingsg'
"Yes, l b'lieve we hain't forgotten
nothin', :" assented Mrs. Perkins, craning
her neck this way and that, to make as
surance doubly sure.
sfWal, then, that settles matters" said
the farmer, briskIy adjusting himself in
his seat. "Attention, company! For
ward marchm
But as the clumsy old farm-wagon
numbered slowly on through daisied
fields and meadows crimsoned with nod
ding grasses. he looked up in quaint,
one-sided manner at his wife's clouded
face.
"What on airth's the matter, MatildaI"
said he. ~ s'posed you was dead set
on goin' to this ere Donation Party
this AFTERNOON"
81 did set consid' able store by it,"
said Mrs. Perkins, pumping heavy sigh
out of some unseen deeps in her internal
economy; "but somehow / feel sort Of
uneasy about leavin' Chatty in charge of
things at home"
Asahel Perkins whistled.
"Ain't she a woman growed up"
said he.
81 s'pose So"
sect out!' said the old sarmer.
"One would suppose she was baby"
esBut she amt used to bein' left
slone.n
"It's good time to sort o'begin, then,
ain't it9" chuckled the old man.
"I'm afeard she'll let the dried peach
sass burn"
mo great harm ef she does"
And there's the calf to be fed, and
the Shanghai chickens to be looked arter,
swell, calkilatc Chatty's equal to
the OCCASION" nodded Mr.. Perkins.
Anyhow, we shan't never know, eff we
don't take some. way of findin' out.
Conc, mother, don't fret do b'lieve,
Of You was on the road to heaven, you'd
want to turn back to see ef the clothes
pins wassall a-layin' with theii heads the
right way, and the chickens had gone to
roost all square an even on the proper
perch"
Asahc', you hadn't oughter speak
light o. sacred things" reproachful Y
murrinred Mrs. Perkins.
"Well. mother, WON'T" acquesed
Mr. Perkins, "ef you'll leave off thinkin'
you know more than Providence does,
eh2'
So the old couple kept on toward the
Catfield Parsonage, where there was on
that particular day, one of those great
local upheavals commonly known as a
''Donation Farty," and where four BUSH
els of donghnuts. thirteen bed-quilts,
nine macrame tides, and nineteen bou-
quets of impossible paper roses, had al
ready arrived in bewildering succession.
II do hope" sighed the Rev. Eli Par
sens, ',that Providence III put it into the
head of some one to send me fall o;er-
coat, for mines clear in rags. Squire
Pepper, now--he's fairly well off in this
worlds goods--it's Just ike him to
think of such a thingw
While Mrs. Parsons, a wthered little
old woman, with clusters of false curls
on each side OF her face, and an immortal
butterfly always lowering over the black
lace borders of her cap secretly hoped
that Mis- Goldwood, who had more
money than she knew what to do with,
might be spiritually moved to present
hefwith much needed black silk gown.
iIsknow it amt consistent to think too
much of earthly adornments," sighed
poor little Mrs. Parsons; ''but never
had a silk gown, and it does seem as if it
would be comforting to own one before /
died"
But our hopes are frequently doomed
to be blighted.
Squire Pepper brought damaged
photograph album, from the ''unsalable"
shelf in his store, and Mrs. Goldwood
smilingly presented to her pastors wife a
hideons basket of wax fruit, which had
stood on her own back parlor table until
she was tired Of the sight of it.
Mrs. Parsons could have burst out cry
ing.
The stuffy little parlor filled fast with
the parishioners. The kitchen was we'll
packed with solid matrons and brisk
maidens, arranging the salt shoulders of
bacon, the juicy hams, the cold roast
fowls, and loaves of homemade cake
the pounds of coffee, in brown paper
cerements, the packages of white beans,
and the glasses of currant jelly, which
were one by one brought in.
The parlor tables groaned under book
markers, embroidered tides, home-knit
\ laces, volumes of poems, and such eni-
nently useful contributions.
Mrs. Parsons hustled to and fro,
wondering how on earth, even with all
the china and glass she had borrowed,
she should manage to provide for such o
concourse Of guests
Mr. Parsons smiled feebly at the well.
worn jokes of his people, and wondered
how many of this particular type d
Donation Party it would take to send
him to the poorhouse.
"Didn't you bring your city niecef'
old Miss Tackaberry asked of Mrs. Per.
kins, who, surrounded by IA group Of con.
genial friends sat on the sofa in the par.
sons study, radiant as the full moon.