Watertown republican. [volume] (Watertown, Wis.) 1860-1906, 1897-11-24

her eyes watched fathers shiny face with
timid apprehension. Didn't we have a
good time? And-and-the turkeys so
| big, father"
go dish the dinner up, Abigail. I've
got to hurry up and go to mill this after
noon."
There was nothing else to do, for when
father said Abigail" Abigail shranls
into her shell like little scared turtle.
The silent tete-a-tete meal was not very
| successful.
Father glanced across at the prim little
hostess once in a while with Il loving
look that his shaggy eyebrows fenced in
| with rigid sternness. He pushed back
his chair and yawned
Don't look so solemncholy, puss," he
said, lightly. "You can send the gobbler
round with invitations to the whole of
Shady Hill for ali of me. He'll recon-
mend himself, L reckon! There's the par
son, now. and old Mrs. Barry and the
little Spoonerses and
Gail laughedein spite of herself. The
vision of the nine voracious little SpoOner
| bOyS-SpOOnerS to the right of her.
SpoOners to the left of her-charging
valiantly upon Sir Gobble was too much
for her.
"There wouldn't be a bone left!' she
declared. "And then that terrible little
Johnnie Spooner's stomach would be
empty! | gave him nine cookies the 9th
er day, and while I was in the house get
ting paper bag to put them in, he ate
| them all up.'
She piled together the saucers with
quick, def hands, and set away the sugar
bowl and creamer Over the steaming
dish water she meditated.
Il mean to try itv' she exclaimed, pres
emily, holding her dripping fingers in re-
| Elective suspension over the pan. ''I'll do
it! Maybe it will cure things And IA
Tod tn M Sn1f
he can't scold. l do want to cure things
so. Fathers just as miserable as I am
over it all, but he thinks [ don't know.
oh, it's wicked pity, when he and Uncle
Gale used to be together most all the
time, and having such! good, sociable
times! It's a wicked, wicked pity!
II can't let it keep going on" she pro-
ceeded, ''and there's only me to unkink
| the tangle-unless it's Sir Gobble. Tn
Gle Gale and father'd never patch things
up from now till never was! They'd
starye their poor old hearts to death
| first"
The afternoon was ending as father
drove into the yard with a load of pletho-
| ric meal bags looming Up behind him in
suggestive abundance. He was hungry
and jovial.
Gail! Gail"' he shouted I'm hol-
low as a drum this time, sure. Boil your
teakettle double quick, and give us a bite
| Gail heard him humming generously
about his chores. but the humming had
ceased and the dish of sputtering ham on
the stove shriyeled unduly and the twi-
light melted into gloom before he came
in; and when he did come his face had
lost its sprightliness altogether.
Gail wondered if he had been taking
one of his stealthy walks over to I'm
Gle Gales, but she did not know of the
fat bags of meal that had bent and twist
| ed him as he went, and that hung lank
and empty from his shoulder when he
| things like that, but many and many a
time they happened without her knowing
| or even suspecting them.
| Supper over, the evening began coZily
| enough as far as CHEEKY lights and fires
and the warm glow of red curtains were
concerned. but father and Gail were
| quiet and preoccupied. Calls mending
basket and thimble were neglected She
sat bent oven a sheet of paper and pencil
| Her lips screwed themselves into unac-
custOmed, studious lines and wrinkles, and
a straight pucker between her eyes deep
ened impressively.
at length, curiously. writing a book:H
Gail bit her pencil and lifted her head
sidewise over knotty place.
Poetry" she said, briefly.
''Wel, I'll be blessed. Poetry. / didn't
suppose we had poetry spinners in our
line of anceStOrS.'
He laughted in his silent. shaking fash
ion, but the wrinkles failed to radiate
from the corners of his eyes in their
| usual appreciative manner, and the laugh
lost its SAVIOR. He looked steadily at his
newspaper, but there was no cracke of
turning pages, Gail noticed, and she knew
father was miserable again. He's
thinking about Uncle Gale" she said to
herself, and went about her writing with
| new earneStneSS.
For several evenings she labored over
her paper and pencil, and only laid them
aside with q relieved sigh after a good
deal of patent endeavor.
'Therer' she thought. ''That's the best
[ can do, and I'll never write another
poem if / live to be 200. It's worse than
washing dishes in cold water.'
She laid the little slip of paper away,
patting it smooth with whimsical pride
Two days before Thanksgiving father,
coming up from the hay barn, met Sir
Gobble himself He was strutting along,
making fat attempts to be dignifed and
at his ease; but impending fate seemed to
Cypress his spirits. Or was it the gentle
creak and tapping of the strange thing
surprise and stretched out his hand to
reach it, but Sir Gobble offered resistance
and there ensued an exciting race and the
clamor of indignant gobblings.
Gail flew to the pantry window: Her
worst fears were being realized-there
was no more hope for the success of her
little stratagem. She ran into the sitting
room, and flung herself on the carpet GOV
cred lounge. The springs rebounded
squeakily at her despairing fall, and the
gay patchwork pillow gave out muffied
reports of her sobs.
He's taken it off. He's taken it off,
she bewailed.
Her father had, indeed, taken off the
strange thing that the turkey wore about
his neck, and was fumbling for his spec
tacles to read it. He held Sir Gobble
firmly with one strong hand.
Great Columbus!' he calculated. Its
the poetry! It's pussy's poetryn'
Then he read it aloud to Sir Gobble, in
whose astonished ears it should have
sounded a veritable funeral dirge. Fa-
Their was not an elocutionist, and some of