Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1894-04-26

/ eourro, end hod broueho On 8 sooaned
bluoborry pudding With oouco.
The sight Of II moved the deacon to
an almost iocose recital Of = blue
beErying adventure OF his boyhood.
He kept . sharp eye upon his niece's
movements, however. Don't be
scared of gittin' on too much sauce, /"
he admonlshcd. pudding without
sauce IL like life without religion. Put
1t on plentiful, put 1t on plentiful,
niece Margaret. You can't have too
much of either In this life," falling,
almost unconsciously, into his won
ted serious phraseology, pudding
sauce nor religion neither"
His manner was grave, his voice 80
earnest that Sarah stifled the laugh
which rose to her lips. Here was q
good man, she said to herself, q
really good man; what mattered 1t II
he made strange mixture of pudding
and religionf
1t was the deacon's favorite pud-
ding. He had partaken very freely
of roast lamb and green peas and
mealy new potatoes. So freely, in
deed, that Sarah, watching him, felt
q sudden fear lest the pudding would
60 a-begging. But the deacon's ca
pacity proved equal to his desire.
A second and third helping were
given him, and he ate with increasing
satisfaction.
An amiable and benevolent smile
spread itself over his face, and he
pushed back his chair and rested his
head against the wall. He was fast
eater, and Meg and Sarah had not
yet finished their dessert. He looked
affectionately and with an air Of pride
at his niece.
THAT is as good pudding as I
ever tasted, Margaret" he said,
presently, "I'll eat bit for my
supper"
II am glad you like it, uncle"
ut is so good" said Sarah, "that
/ could eat another helping, if had
not this dreadful, lurking fear of all
canned fruit"
Canned fruit" said the deacon,
''you won't get much canned fruit on
my table, Miss Sarah. We string
our own apples and raise our own
fruit for preserving and there's always
green things plenty in the garden.
/ don't hold to buying things you can
raise on your own SOIL"
"But when blueberries will not be
ripe for a month, and lamb isn't good
without green peas, and your garden
peas are too old to cook, why, then,
Deacon Albany, canned goods must
be used"
"Well, yes, I suppose they must,
but didn't know those were canned
peas.
Canned peas and canned blue
berries" said Sarah, "are both 80
convenient that it is a pity people are
always getting poisoned by eating
them"
The deacon shifted his position,
with an uneasy motion of the head.
He remembered how freely he had
eaten. He began to question the
wisdom Of yielding to the natural
appetite. He foresaw wretched af-
ternoon,
NOW, / don't mind, you know"
continued Sarah, placidly toying with
spoon. II shall never eat very
freely of canned fruits, since there is
always the risk, but am not nervous
about them, as mamma and papa
are. Papa won't touch them, you
know"
The deacon rose up hastily and left
the room. A vision of long illness
rose sharply before him. He groaned
aloud when he reached the wood
yard. "She said her father-and he
a doctor-wouldn' touch them, And
IL ate like starving beggar."
He came in from the fields an hour
earlier than usual that afternoon.
He said the sun was very hot and
the men could finish without him,
yet he drew his large cane-seated
rocking-chair beside the stove, and
sat down in it.
"Are you cold, uncle?" asked Meg
81 guess l amt feeling just right
in my stomach, Marg' ret"
Meg was all attention instantly.
Shall / make you bowl of ginger
tea? The water is boiling"
The deacon assented eagerly. He
watched its preparation and drank it
with avidity, though it was SO hot it
brought tears to his eyes.
"You have taken a chilli" said
Meg. you must 60 to bed as soon
as supper is over"
To this the deacon submitted with
out murmur. Perhaps he had taken
cold, there had been a stiffish breeze,
he remembered. He drew the blank
cts more closely about him, and felt
a certain consolation in q distinct
shiver: there he had worked without
his vest, despite the east wind, he
acknowledged gratefully. 1t was a
chill, he would be well tomorrow.
About seven o. clock his niece came
to his bedside. II don't believe you'll
need anything more before eleven
O'clock" she said, "we'll be back
by that time. I'll tell James to sit
on the back porch. You can call
him II you need anything"
The deacon felt himself dismissed
to solitude and slumber. He pulled
himself together with an effort.
where are you two girls gadding
to, to-night?" he asked.
at is the night of the Fishers
/ 1skkIo ~~o-kl- "a w.. ILL 80