Iron County register. [volume] (Ironton, Iron County, Mo.) 1867-1965, 1897-11-25

mountain road that led from the church
in the village by four miles of sandy
incline up to his own slab barn. Miss
Hannah, alone on the seat of her high
buggy, gave an occasional flick with
the whip, but in a meditative manner
as though out of some inner mood.
They were having IAN uncommon
spell of weather" this fall, so the old
men said. 1t was the Sunday before
Thanksgiving, and yet the soft haze in
the air, the quiet through which an occa-
sional drifting of ruslting leaf or over
ripe nut sounded softly, made it seem
more like October than late November
day.
There was faint whistle through the
sere leaves of a small weedy cornfield
she was passing. The shocks were
leaning as though stacked by incom-
petent hands.
Hope Seraphn get her corn in be-
fore snow flies," Miss Hannah grum-
bled, hitting Tom SO briskly as to sur
prise him into an effort at trotting.
Then she turned her eyes resolutely
away from the rickety house beyond,
standing half way up a bare, stony
hill, and the faded, sad-eyed woman in
the door looked after her longingly,
and lifted the corner of her apron to her
face.
Hannah amt ever going to forgive
me-" she said, weakly, to her oldest, a
sickly girl of IA.
"Why, what'd you do, map"
ats mostly guess what didn't do"
was the answer. "Hannah's dreadful
smart, and she hain't no patience with
those that amt like her. Then your pa
was sickly like you, and died, and she
didn't like that; though l can't for the
life of me see how he was to blame
He couldn't helpit. But Hannah called
him lazy. And we owe her, too, you
know"
SHOULD think we did," broke in a
boy of IL. Don't we have to most kill
ourselves every year picking berries to
pay the old interest. Wait till get to
be a man and I'll pay off her $500; see
If don't"
81 guess you will, Benny" said his
mother, admiringly. The boys ambi-
tons were a never-failing wonder to his
mother and sister.
ma, did you know next Thursday is
Thanksgiving day?" asked a younger
boy.
What difference does that make to
us?" was the mothers weary rejoinder.
'It's many a year since I've seen
Thanksgiving day. 1 guess the Lords
forgotten us, or else we're too bad for
Him to care for. 1 don't know what
we've done, for sure. Mebbe it's like
Hannah. He hain't no patience with
folks that's down and good for nothing.
Anyway, He hain't thought of US in
good while"
Miss Hannah, going on her way,
might have been shocked if she had
heard these sentiments from the lips of
her cousin Seraph. She always went
to church, rain or shine, although old
Capt. Skinner said Miss Hannah could
hear the greatest amount of sermons,
and not one of them stick to her any
more than water to a ducks back"
Yet he would have been mistaken this
time.
There's no use talking" had been
the sturdy words that had pricked
through her armor of selfishness, "of
keeping Thanksgiving unless you've
got the Lords love in your hearts, and
let il run over, as he did, toward those
around you. And you never can make
q sure thing OF 1t while you cherish an
unforgiving feeling for human soul,
or hold back a hand that ought to be
stretched for human need. The Lord
will never accept any halt or halfway
sacrifice. Go to your knees. and then
work to see what you can bring Him."
Now Miss Hannah had kept Thanks
giving" as she said, for the 20 years
that she had been left alone on the
small, rocky, mountain farm. Every
wear this had been well titled and cared
for, and brought in sufficient for her
moderate needs, and a little to place in
the bank against the rainy day of old
age and inirmities. For this she had
sat down to her solitary board, where q
stuffed rooster with cranberry sauce
and vegetables and pumpkin and annie