Evening capital. (Annapolis, Md.) 1884-1910, 1891-11-21
A THANKSGIVING STORY.
BY MAMIE FRANK WILSON.

II was bitterly cold. The ground was
ing, faster and harder. The wind was
blowing and bowling about the chimney
tops and house corners, driving the snow
here, there, and everywhere, and piling
it up in great drifts against fences and
large rocks. 1t was quite dark, although
it was only about half past four o'clock
in the evening, and the muilled figure
which plodded ON through the snow
often stumbled, and once fell flat upon
the snow, but quickly got up and started
bravely on again.
Who could it be out on such an evening
and what could induce them to leave Q
bright, warm fireside for such scene as
that, and where could they be going?
On the figure went. The umbrella il
held blew first one way and then an
other, and when a particularly strong
gust of wind came, turned inside out.
"Oh-o-hl" came from the muffled fig.
ure. But no time to right it now. so
tucking the unruly umbrella under its
arm the figure stumbled on. About 800
yards ahead light was brightly shining,
and as the figure drew nearer, and came
within the light, one could see that it was
a woman.
The light came from lamp set in the
window Of small cottage. A little girl
was watching at the window for the
woman, and when she came in sight ran
to the door ready to open it for her
The woman reached the steps, the
door flew open, and she entered the cot
tage. The little girl closed the door. and, A.,
kissing the woman, said:
Oh, Auntie Kate, I'm so glad you've
comet 1t was showing so hard, and the
wind was blowing so, was scared you'd
get lost Amt it showing hard? The
old woman must be picking lots Of
geese.
"It's regular blizzard, almost" was
the answer. "What a nice bright fire
you have kept for Auntie, and you have
the supper ready, tool What smart
little grill"
The woman changed Tubbers and shoes
for nice warm slippers, threw off gossa-
mer and cloak for flannel wrapper, and
seating herself before the fire to rest and
warm took the little girl on her lap.
"What has my little Nora been doing
all the afternoon and evening?n she said.
II read my book till it got so dark 1
couldn't see. Then | played with my
dolly and sat in your chair and rocked
aud sang dolly to sleep, and when l put
Der TO bed lit the lamp and made the
tea, answered the little girl.
And you got frightened7 Auntie
must not let Nora stay by herself any
more when she goes to give music les
sons, mus she?"
"oh, was only afraid you'd get lost
when 1t showed SO hard and got so dark.
Nothin' would hurt a little girl like me.
Are you warm now, Auntie? I'm hun
gry."
@Yes, said the aunt, Il am warm
now and rested, too, and we will have
supper.
So they sat down at the table and ate
their scauty meal, which consisted of the
toast and tea the little girl had made,
with hearty good will, for both were
hungry. When they had finished and
dishes We're washed and the table set,
the aunt sat down at the piano which
stood in one corner of the room and be-
gan practicing. She was music teacher
and taught in the village, half mile
from the cottage in which she lived.
She was very poor, and that was her
only means of support for herself and
Nora, the little girl she had taken from
the asylum and adopted as her niece.
She, herself, was an orphan, with not q
relative in the world. With the money
earned by giving music lessons to several
shildren in the village she rented the cot
sage, bought all Nora's and her own
clothes, their food and the wood and
coal.
1t was but Ave days until Thanksgiv-
ing Day, and as Catharine thought Of the
tent due on the 25th, of the empty coal
hox, aud the bitterly cold weather, and Of
The two pupils who owed for their les
sons. she said in her heart:
Thanksgiving Day, and what have /
70 be thankful for? Whata poor, WORTH
less creature ami Oh, am so lonely
and tired, and there is no rest nor pleas
Ure for me.
She became 20 interested in her
thoughts that she forgot to play, and her
hands lay still upon the keys. Nora
jumped up, and taking letter from her
pocket, ran to Catharine with:
Oh, yes! Auntie, l liked to have for
gotten. Here is q letter the postman left
for you.
Catharine took the letter, and with
trembling hands tore il open. 1t bore
the stamp of a publishing house to
which she had sent some little stories.
for which she had hoped to get little
money. This is what the letter said
-DEAR MADAN: Your MSS. came to hand
uromptly. We accept IL for our publication,
but can not give any compensation. We
would like you 70 write for our magazines, and
when you have come into sfhe notice OF fhe