The representative. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1893-1901, 1893-11-22

q strange man here with news about our
Tom?" 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 surprise. Old Mrs. Ashford,
whom they had left tucked up in an easy
chair (she had insisted that they should all
go to church, and that Jane Maxey, their
height Dor, who was helping in the kitchen,
would look out for her), was standing on
her feet tremb bling with eagerness. Her
eyes, that could scarcely see, were bent on
the stranger with wide open, pitiful intent
ness.
"Oh, father, fatherl Tom is alive and
may come home at any time. This is a
gentleman from the west and friend of
his, Mr.-Mr.- l 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-
tions. While the strangers answers were
apparently frank, Will. shrewd man of the
world that he was, fancied note of confu-
sion in the words.
Could it be Tom himself masqueradingi
But, no. This was 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.. j ohm 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 the old lady, who de-
voured every word, "he knew | was lone
ly 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 a 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 sputtering 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 glories
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 fat
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 nam, check
cred with islands of pepper and spice; the
splendors of pumpkin pie, yellow as gold
and piquant with a flavor which Apicius
would have loved, and the mine of minced
dainties hidden beneath a flaky crustl
These have BEEN embalmed in song and
story. entombed in countless memories and
countless stomachA Bottles of cider
f1anked the profusion of good things on
Farmer Ashford s table. Will had brought
down a case of champagne, but his father
shook his head and said, II tell ye, son.
these French.fied things amt half as good
rs my old Newtown pippin cider"
AS they stood around the smoking feast