The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1890-11-22

bp0usIblo. for sho cat o. t1o table. her
chops ornsmented with pastry, calmly
contemplating dish which she had over.
turned In her critical investigation Of the
pumpkin pies. ~.
Every one Of the four-and- twenty bors
conducive evidence Of hcr personal sur
vey, for they were 1umbled and messed
| together almost beyond recognition
Overcome by this awful catastrophe
Miss Melinda sat down and wcpt. while
Jef pitched the cat out Of the window.
Every pie ruined no others In the
house, and tomorrow Thanksgiving,'
she moaned.
Come don't take II 50 hard, DEAR said
Jeff. soothingly.
"But there's my brothers family all
comm, and the parsons folks, and what
eyer would they say to Thanksgivin'
dinner without pumpkins pies, and what
would they say to such housekeepin'r'
''Why, what would They'll,
Everything bad and mean, Of course"
answered Miss Melinda, whose social
studies during thirty-fve years. resi-
dence in village had shown her the usual
drift Of public opinion on occasions like
this.
Jeff. said nothing, but laid his hand on
hers with tender gesture, then hastily
withdrew II as Remington Hall came walk
ing in. E3t,
Very tearfully and with many pauses for
breath she related the story Of her mis-
fortune to Hall, evidently expecting an out
burst Of sympathy from him. But she was
disappointed
On her most tender point-the question
Of domestic demand and supply--he was
cold and unsympathetic.
'sWhat are few pies more or lesss" he
asked airily.
IA few, There's twenty-four less.r she
answered Indignantly.
"Well, even SO, that's nothing to get
excited over. It's not necessary to have
pumpkin pies for Thanksgiving. always
thought that an absurd custom, /" he said,
thinking 1t best to make light Of the loss,
the Importance OF which no could not
comprehend.
@ Miss Melinda arose, white with rage
"Youthink that's an absurd custom, do
you'" she blazed. 'gThen let me tell you
don't think so. II you'd spark Of pity
for me you'd set about gettin' some others
then sudden idea coming to her-''or
what's better--makin' em' yourself. Many
man can cook first-rate--come, Mr.. Hall
and Mr.. Blake, let's see how you'll help
me out Of this bad mess. Go to work and
make twenty-four more pumpkin pies, an
the man who makes the best I'll marry
Thanksgivin' mornin,, surer Then she
fed from the room to have good cry. by
herself upstairs.
Both men stared at each other In dumb
amazement.
Remington Hall was the first to recover.
Course me IL I'll dirty my cuffs making
pies, " he muttered angrily, and stalked out
Left alone Jetr. rolled up his sleeves with
q resolute air.
..I'll make those pies" he said, 'even II
they amt fit to eat. She won't dream o.
breaking one afore dinner, an by that time
Wen be married, 'cordin TO agreement, an
she won't know what she's eatin', or how
things taste"
He cleared the kitchen by shoveling up
the broken pies on the dust-pan aud pitch
ing them after the cat, and then he set to
work In earnest. tka3 a6
Fortunately there was plenty Of stewed
pumpkin In the pantry, and after putting
this Into the largest pan he could ind he
began to empty the contents Of the differ
ent spice boxes into the mixture. The
mOlasses Jug was also drained over it and
with reckless disregard for quantities
JEFF. poured In all the milk he could find,
and put in every egg he could lay his
hands on. ts
~ guess that's enough stun for twenty
four pies" he said wcarily, then turned his
attention to the paste.
Jeff IS uncle was baker In the neighbor-
ing village, and as he had often watched
the mysteries Of pastry-making there, this