The Sunday morning news. [volume] (Jersey City [N.J.]) 1886-1891, 1891-11-22

that made this festival the day of days for
him. 1t was his yearly milestone. 10
birthdays he was Indifferent. Christmas
was II tradition, New Years an almanac
day, and the Fourth of July a hubbub; but
Thanksgiving was the recognition OF the
glory of God, as manifested in the kindly
fruits of the earth.
Moreover, Thanksgiving had been a day
of note in Abner's family. 1t was his
mothers birthday, and on that day she be-
came the bride of Abner's father. So he
said that on that day he, too, would make
his sweetheart his bride.
On the morning of Thanksgiving day, in
1862, there was a sharp skirmish near the
Rappahannock. A dash of cavalry, a score
or more of shots, a sound of the drum sum-
moning the brigade and then quiet; but
there were a dozen soldiers dead on the
hillside and Abner Farmer lay there, too, a
mutilated hero. His bravery had saved the
camp but had cost him his right arm.
His fighting days were over. He was a
crippled man, yet he esteemed it an honor
and not q misfortune that he had been
thus decorated with blood and carried a
badge of bravery and service to his country
that would go with him to his grave.
Abner of course received "a honorable
discharge and returned to his home among
the Litchfield hills, and Anna, though she
could love him no more than when he left
her for the front, could love him more
tenderly because of his wound.
Abner perceived that the rough Litchfield
hills were no place for a farmer with one
arm, and when he heard from one who had
ventured that way of the glory of the
western country; of soil untouched for
ages and black with the rich juices of the
earth; of oceans of land' smooth as a
barn floor and yearning for seed and the
touch of man-then Abner said to Anna,
81 will go there, FOR the country is as good
as one arm and / can do there with one arm
better things than l can do here with two"
The maiden fixed a tender, sad glance
upon him, and her lips trembled and her
chin quivered as she tried to smile. Yet il
he thought we'll of anything she thought
we'll of it, too, though she was heartsick to
think again of separation.
She bore the parting nobly, and she even
waved her hand quite merrily at him just
as he turned the bend in the road on mis-
way to the distant railway station.
One day nearly three years later Anna re-
ceived a letter from her lover that gave her
such joy as is relieved only by the most
glorious manifestation of JOY, which is
tears.
Her father saw only the tears, and be x
claimed:
"What is it, Anna? Has anything hap
pened to Abner? He hasn't changed his
mind about you, has heS"
But the mother read another story be-
meath the tears, for she said: "Be still,
father. Can't you see she's heard good
news?"
The girl could not speak, but gave the
letter to her mother, who with much pa
thence and frequent rubbing of her specta-
cles and following of the writing with her
knitting needle at last deciphered it.
"What is it?" asked the impatient father.
cts the only thing that could make a girl
like Anna cry. Abner has got a whole sec
ton of land and he's coming to marry
Anna next Thanksgiving day. Dear me.
It's dreadful short notice. It's only six
weeks off,,
Deacon Williams could only crack his
finger joints. That was his way Of giving
vent to strong emotion.
On Thanksgiving morning there were
great goings on in Deacon Williams house.
The fragrance of the kitchen was in the
air, and Annals fair face, flushed with ex-
~pectation, seemed never so handsome as in
these early morning hours. A merry throng
gathered even before the church bells rang
for the Thanksgiving service. Abner, they
said, would drive from the railway station
a dozen miles away, and reach the house Sc
as to sit down to dinner with them, and
the wedding hour was fixed for 6 in the
evening, so as to leave time for a fine frolic
afterward.
At / o'clock the turkeys were cooked to
a turn and hunger smote the guests, but
they delayed, for Abner had not come, Two
o'clock passed and still the turkey waited.
Three O'Clock; they had eaten the dinner,
but there was no merriment, for still Alb
ner had not come. Anna, with pale face
and heavy eyes, and with such countenance
as was piteous to see, sat waiting, watch
ing in her bridal garments by the parlol
window. Four o'clock, 5, 6 passed. The
throng departed. They could not endure
the agony of Anna, for instead of a bride
she seemed like one who is widowed.
Whether Anna would live or die; would
be bereft of reason or would be conscious
of her torture, that was a more important
matter for her parents even than Abner's
! breach of promise. The old deacon dis