Vermont phÅ“nix. [volume] (Brattleboro, Vt.) 1834-1955, 1895-11-22
THE NIGHT BEFORE THANKsGIv-
ING.

ID
season is this which sarah Orue Jewett contrib
uted to the Boston Transcript IN its edition Of
last Saturday. The story is that Of poor. lone
IL woman. brave and self-reliant az heart but
who has grown old and lame-footed and lame
handed and sad hearted in her dark little house
that stood humbly by the roadside under some
tall elms. There had been tine when she
could help those poorer than herself. but sickness
and age had done their work, and now it began
to be whispered about that she would better 20 to
the poor house and have done with it. At this
terrible suggestion her brave heart seemed to
stand still The very elms seemed to say No
az they groaned in the late autumn winds. and
there was something appealing even to the
strange passer-by in the look Of the little gray
house with Mrs. Robb's pale worried face at the
window
Poor old Mary Ann Robb felt herself
poor and sorrowful indeed as she sat at her
window on the afternoon before Thanks
giving. Across the frozen road she look
ed eastward over a great stretch OF cold
meadow land, brown and windswept and
crossed by icy bitches. 1t seemed to her
as if in all the troubles that she had known
and carried before this, there had always
been some hope to hold, as if she had new
er looked poverty full in the face and seen
its cold and pitiess look before. Oh, if
she could only die in her own house and
not suffe- the pain Of homelessness and
dependence,
1t was just at sunset, and as she looked
out hopelessly across the gray fields, there
was a sudden CLEAN OF light far away on
the low hills beyond, the clouds opened in
the west and let the sunshine through.
One lovely CLEAN shot swift as an arrow
and frightened a far cold hillside where it
fell and at the same moment a sudden
CLEAN Of hope frightened the winter land
scape of her heart.
There was Johnny Harris said Mary
Ann, softly. He was a soldiers son. left
an orphan and distressed Old John Man
der scolded, but l couldn't see the poor
boy want. | kept him that year after he
got hurt, spite O. what anybody SAID, an
he helped me what little he could. He
said / was the only mother he'd ever had.
I'm goin' out West, Mother Robb,' says
he. i shan't come back till / get rich,
an then he'd look at me an laugh. so
pleasant and boyish. He want one that
liked to write. don't think he was dom
very well when l heard-there, it's years
ago now. l always thought if he got sick
or anything | should have a good home
for him. There's poor Ezra Blake, the
deaf one, too-he won't have any place TO
come to-
The light faded out of doors, and again
Mrs. Robbs troubles stood before her.
Yet it was not so dark as it had been in
her sad heart. She still sat by the win
dow, hoping now, in spite of herself, in
stead of fearing; and a curious feeling of
nearness and expectancy made her feel
not so much ligh,-hearted as light-headed.
II feel just as if somethin' was goin' to
uappen,'' she said. "Poor Johnny Har-
ris, perhaps he's thinkin' o me, If he's
alive"
1t was dark now out of doors, and there
were tiny clicks against the window. II
was beginning to snow, and the great elms
creaked in the rising wind overhead
III.
A dead limb of one of the old trees had
fallen that autumn, and poor firewood as
it had been, it was Mrs. Robb's own, and
she had burnt it most thankfully.
There was only a small armful left, but al
least she could have the luxury Of fire
She had a feeling that it was her last night
at home, and with strange recklessness she
began to fill the stove as she used to do in
better days.
eth get me good an warm" she said,
still talking to herself, as lonely people do,
"an' I'll go to bed early. It's comm on
to storm"
The snow clicked faster and faster against
the window, and she sat alone thinking in
the dark.
"There's lots of folks l love-" she said
once. They'd be sorry l amt got no.
body to come, an no supper the night
afore Thanksgivin'. I'm dreadful glad
- An 10 l.
nearer to the fire, and laid her head back
drowsily in the old rocking chair.
1t seemed only a moment before there
was loud knocking, and somebody lifted
the latch of the door. The fire shone
bright through the front of the stove and
made a little light in the room, but Mary
Ann Robb walked up frightened and bewil-
dered
''Who's there?" she called, as she found
her crutch and went TO the door. She was
conscious of only her one great fear.
They've come to take me to the poor
house!" she said, and burst into tears.
There was tall man who seemed to fill
the narrow doorway.
"Come, let me inn he said, gayly. SIT:
a cold night. You didn't expect me, die
you, Mother ROBBIE
"Dear me- What is it?" she faltered
stepping back as he came in and dropping
her crutch. "Be | dreamin'? l was a
dreamin' about Oh, there. What was
a sayin'? IT amt true No! I've made
some kind of a mistake"
Yes, and this was the man who kept
the poorhouse, and she would go without
complaints they might have given her no
tice, but she must not fret.
"Sit down, sir, she said, turning toward
him with touching patience. you'll have
to give me little time. If Ia been mott
fed l wouldn't have kept you waiting a
minute this cold night"
1t was not the keeper The man by the
door took one step forward and put his
arm around her and kissed her
"What are you talking about?' said
John Harris "You amt goin' to make
me feel like a stranger? I've come all the
way from Dakota to spend Thanksgiving
There's all sorts o. things out here in the
wagon, an man to help get 'em in. Why
don't you cry so, Mother RObb.
thought you'd have a great laugh if come
and surprised you. Don't you remember
/ said shouldP"
Itwas John Harris, indeed. The poor