The Kendrick gazette. [volume] (Kendrick, Idaho) 1892-1968, 1903-11-20
A THANKFUL
THANKSGIVING

1DON'T feel as if should enjoy this
Thanksgivin'," said Mrs. Joel Mis-
q bett, looking down into the basket OF
glossy, red checked Spitzenbergs as if il
were a family vault and taking up an
annie as If it had been a skull; mo,
don't"
"Then, Sarepta," observed her hu-
band, who had just thrown huge log
on the open fire, you don't disarn moth
In to be thankful for! It's as harnsome
a turkey as ever tapped, and L don't
know of year when I've had nicer
pumpkins on that ar corn lot!'
"'Tain't turkey or pumpkin pies OF
cranberry sass as makes Thanksg1vin',
sighed Mrs. Nisbett.
what is it, then? Eff it's cold wealth
or, I should ha' thought the last frost
would ha' done the business for you
pretty fairly. Them artemisias by the
front door Is scorched black, and the old
maple is losin' its leaves as if they was
rainin' down. Parson Jarvis = comm
all the way from Sloatesville to preach
tomorrow, and the quire's larned 4 bran
new anthem just a-purpose, about bein'
thankful for harvest and all that sort OF
thing. I'm sure don't know what else
you'd have"
Mrs. Nisbett only answered by 4 sigh.
81 wonder if faint possible Stephe'll
be hum tonight" nhe said after pause.
HE writ not. He thought he'd drop
in arly tomorrow mornin' if he caught
the train he expected. Only think, old
woman; h's i've years since Stephs was
hum to Thanksgivin'w
Old Nisbett rubbed his horny hands,
with chuckle, adding:
"And s'pose, II all accounts 10 true,
he's gettin' to be 4 great man out in
that western country. It waA kind Of 4
harl pull when he went off and left Us,
blu. maybe the boy was in the right"
YES" said Mrs. Nisbett dolorously,
''but somehow l can't get reconciled to
the idea of his marryin' a strange gal
out there"
Joel scratched his head. This was a
felt competent to discuss.
Maybe you'll like her. Stephen says
she's nice gal"
and ears in love wouldn't say anything"
II wish he'd told us who she was"
Mrs. Nisbett groaned again. Joel went
out to the woodpile, the everyday shrine
whence he generally derived what little
Of philosophic inspiration he had.
"Mrs. Nisbett!'
1t was soft little voice, and the old
lady's face relaxed instinctively as it
sounded on her ears.
"Why, Ida Tremaine-'tain't you!
1T is. I've done everything that Aunt
Constance wanted, and now I've just run
over to see if you don't need a bit of
help"
She stood in the doorway, a fair little
apparition, all flushed and rosy with the
November wind, while her blue eyes
sparkled as if they were twin sapphires
hidden away under her long, dark lashes.
she was neither blond nor brunette, but
a fresh checked girl, with nut brown
hair, skin like the leaf of damask rose,
a straight, refined nose and lips as ripe
IS red crabapple, though by no means
SO sour. Generally she had a demure
sort of gravity lingering about her face,
but wien she did laugh a dimple came
out upon her cheek and a row of pearly
teeth glimmered instantaneously.
In one hand she carried bunch of
late autumn flowers.
"Seew she cried. holding them up. 81
ransacked Aunt Constance's garden for
these. l knew that big vase on the man.
tel needed something, and, with a branch
or so of scarlet leaves, I'll have a royal
bouquet to help you keep Thanksgiving"
Mrs. Nisbett took the fair oval face
between her two hands and kissed the
fresh little mouth.
''Set down, Ida" she said. 81 wasn't
a-calculatin' to have no sech fxin's up,
but you've ssch a way, child, can't
never say no to you"
'But you're going to keep Thanksgiv-
Ing" cried Ida, throwing off her outer
wrappings and dancing up to the looking
glass Like little gale of wind, "bscause