The times. [volume] (Richmond, Va.) 1890-1903, 1893-11-26

a strange man here with news about our
TomW Gideon had worked on the Ash
ford farm since he was boy and felt him
self a member of the family.
The scene that met them in the parlor
was indeed a surprise. Old Mrs. Ashford,
whom they had left tucked up in an easy
chair (she had insisted that they should all
20 10 church, and that Jane Maxey, their
neighbOr, who was helping in the kitchen,
would look out for herr, was standing on
her feet trembling with eagerness. Her
ewes, that could scarcely see, were bent on
the stranger with wide open, pitiful intent
ness.
"Oh, father, father Tom is alive and
may come home at any time. This is a
gentleman from the west and friend OF
his, Mr.-Mr.- | didn't quite catch the
name"
John Bowker, ma'am, is my name, at
your service" said the newcomer in a
hoarse voice; perhaps it was huskiness.
And then all piled him eagerly with ques-
tons While the strangers answers were
apparently frank, VIII, shrewd man of the
world that he was, fancied a note Of confu-
sion in the words.
Could it be Tom himself masquerading'
But, no. This was a stalwart giant, bigger
than Toms young promise. The shock OF
black locks lay low on the brow, and the
bushy beard grew TO the very eyes And
there was no cadence of the past lurking in
the tones, so often the surest of detectives.
Mr.. John Bowker said he had known Tom
well in the mining regions; had seen him
indeed only two months ago in Arizona
Tom was heartily homesick and had set
his will on eating his next Thanksgiving
dinner at home. "Seeing as how, ma'am,"
addressing himself TO he old lady, who de-
voured every word, "he knew was a lone
" body, and that / was going back to Gods
country about the same time, he says to
me, SAYS Tom: John Bowker, you must
eat your Thanksgiving turkey with me and
my folks. And If amt there they'll vel
come you for my sake
IAN 10 times welcome you are for Toms
sake, though he hain't here yet, for you
bring blessed news" said the farmer, shak-
ing the others hand over and over.
Kate burning with curiosity, fitted In
and out of the room, for the culinary mys-
teries of rural Thanksgiving are too sa-
cred TO be tempered with. Almost TO the
last moment the New England housewife
ministers in person at the affairs where
steam the fumes Of savory victims. Poor
Kate had been sadly divided between the
voice of the stranger and the claims OF the
huge turkey suffering on the spit before
the fire. At last everything was ready, and
she darted to her room to change her gown.
Who does not recall the homely Glorles
OF country Thanksgiving feast-the gold
en- brown turkey proudly lying in state and
reeking with the most delicious odors; The
roast ducks bursting with their own lat
ness, as if eager to be eaten; the chicken
pasty. within whose ample bowels the
most delicious tidbits culver in their own
Jelly: the luscious home cured ham, check
cred with islands of pepper and spice; the
splendors Of pumpkin pie, yellow as gold
and piauant with flavor which Apicius
would have loved, and the mine OF minced
dainties hidden beneath a haky crustl
These have been embalmed in song and
story, entombed in countless memories and
countless stomachs. Bottles of cider
flanked the profusion of good things on
Farmer Ashfords table. VIII had brought
down a case Of champagne, but his father
shook his head and said, Il tell We, son,
these Frenchifled things amt half as good
rs my old Newtown pippin cider"
As they stood around the smoking feast
the old man said TO the guest: THAT place
at my right always remains empty for
Tom. Would he were now here to fill it,
an mebbe ne will before long"
The stranger looked about the table at
each one, longest at the mother of the house.
He was trembling like little child. With
a mighty voice, struggling with its sobs.
he exclaimed
''Then let It be no longer empty" and
tearing off the shock wig from his head,
Mother. father. Kate, Will, don't you
know me? Pm home again, thank Godp
One may well drop veil over the scene
We suspect the turkey got little cold, but
what mattered that, for there are feasts Of
the heart richer than any food for the body.
Yet later on Father Ashford did confde to
Tom: This farm has fattened many fine
bird, but do think never raised so tasty
a gobbler before. That there turkey
couldn't "a been beat on the presidents
own table"
After dinner Tom sat for long time BY
his mothers chair, she fondling his hand
as ii he were a baby, he telling them about
life 10 the wild west. Often look Of pain
crossed bis brow, and many thing he