The Saint Paul globe. (St. Paul, Minn.) 1896-1905, 1899-12-03
DfeQl Of Thanksgiving.

(
1t was like an old-ttnae Minnesota
Thanksgiving day, with plenty of snow
on the ground and the wind blowing it
in great heaps in open places throughout
the city. People in coats OF fur and thick
cloth hurried, along the streets toward
comfortable homes, while others in thin
clothing made haste to reach places
where the cold was less keen. So
The spirit Of festivtty was in the air
that spirit Of American hoIiday-keeping
that is almost Irresistible.
In one of the larger hotels in the city
it was nearly dinner time, and the wait
room was fast filling.
One Of these was Desmond, tall
blonde with broad shoulders and mill
tary bearing. a pale, scholarly face and
dreamfuI blue eyes; an ideal physique
for an artist or poet; and beca use fate
is so fond of the fronicaI. he was that
Individual. scarcely more to be envied
than the man with the hoe, a man with a
salver.
Few Of the happy diners noticed him
that day as he went somewhat mechan-
ically about his work; that it was done
mechanically was. little wonder, for who
ever supposes that a waiter loves his
work, or who takes the thought to care?
Once. he looked out Of the window at
the snow in the street. and then shivered
as if the cold of the outside world had
penetrated into the warm room. 1t was
not the cold that made him shudder. but
a memory-the memory of his dead wife
under the snow in the graveyard far out
beyond the rattle and roar of the city.
It was only a week since they laid the
quiet sleeper there, but Desmond felt as
IL it had been years ago; and yet there
were times when her presence near him
was so real that her death seemed a
fgment of the imagination
As the tables filed, he noticed seated
in the corner of the room a young couple
evidently from the country There was
a shyness and awkwardness about them
that made them unconscious subjects for
amusement to the other guests. But
Desmond did not see the seIf-conseious-
ness and strangeness betrayed by them,
did not see the brides evidences of in
finite pains and failure TO be fashionable,
nor the groom's fu-cOncealed discomfort
in his stiff collar.
He only saw in them the happy cuI-
minatiOu of a sweet romance, only knew
that this was but a scene in drama,
perhaps commonplace enough but with
out measure in It's preciousness to the
two who played the leading roles
Then while he served he fell to musfng
and lived over again parts of his life.
1t was summer, and he walked down a
dusty lane, lane bordered with prim-
roses. There was blue sky above, and
at the end OF the lane a white cottage.
Within, a widow and her daughter the
widow an invalid. with a pale, patient
face; the daughter. the light of two
Hves, possessing a nature as sunny as her
hair.
Then-many years ago now-the spring
time brought flowers, white ones. for the
mothers grave; and when the petals were
scattered and autumn came with It's
nameless pathos in the air, there was
simple wedding in the cottage; and Des-
mond and mis- bride left the peaceful
fairness of the country, and hopefully
came to live in the rnUrky city. There
were three years t1lled to overfowtng
with happiness, when 1t seemed that 4
bit of heaven itself had been given them.
until that day when he went home with
q fever burning in his veins and long
sickness followed
Then the lean hand of poverty grasped
the little household mere and moro tight
ly It was hard, imperative grip. a
greedy hand that did not distinguish be-
tween luxurtes and necessities, which did