Vilas County news. [volume] (Eagle River, Vilas County, Wis.) 1896-1927, 1904-11-21

LIS Interest III LQS IlIl10 6plSOuS audu
waned.
That evening a curious whim seized
him to go out into the kitchen and
watch Biggs dress the turkey. He had
been pacing restlessly up and down
up and down, till he could bear the
monotony no longer. And certainly he
could not bear to sit still.
Biggs was whistling gloomily over
| his work. The great turkey reared it's
plump side from the dripping pan on
the table. To Philip Lattimer's sud
denly awakened imagination the dents
OF little prodding fingers were visible
| in it. Minervy's, Patsy's, STONES,
the baby's-he saw them ALL Biggs'
great hand rested for minute on the
birds side as he piled needle back
and forth acros the breast, and new
dents appeared The new ones and
the old were much alike, but Philip
Lattimer refused to see the resem-
blance. He had remembered suddenly
the whole strange little sLene of the
afternoon. 1t built itself anew out of
| the Pickering shadows of the little
kitchen and rehearsed itself before
him, unlimited. He was watching
the row of uplifted, lean, eager, little
faces again-choosing the "big 'un"
among the dangling, uncomely tur-
keys.
Il choose the big 'un" the com
mander-in-chief was shrilling in his
ears.
''The big 'un the big uni" all the
shrill voices were crying. Then he
saw them stretching up on tiptoe to
touch the big 'un's fat sides-there was
the little dents they made now.
And last of all in the little drama of
shadows he saw the look of keen re
sentiment on Minervy's face and hearu
her cry Indignantly. What's the good
O. maxim b'lieve if you amt fair?"
That was when the child Salome had
looked back wistfully at the big 'un
dangling still above her head. Poor
little Lots wife! Her faith had not
been equal to the cruel strain upon it.
Making believe a Thanksgiving
"Biggs," Philip Lattimer said,
abruptly.
That's me, Mr.. Philip"
did you ever make believe anything
in your life?"
NO. never"
'Then of course you never made be-
lieve a Thanksgiving"
Biggs looked around quickly. The
lamp-light of his face showed the hints
Of a slow, serious smile. 81 never, Mis-
ter Philip. There's them that has,
he said, gently.
Philip Lattimer smiled gravely, too.
Eyes, yes, Biggs, there's them that has.
There are men and little children, and
who knows how many more? It's hard
work making believe, Biggs."
eyes, Mr.. Philip"
Biggs' voice quavered with some
thing that, beginning with sob, ended
in a queer, uncanny whistle. In
whistles Biggs found vent for all his
troubles.
Lattimer slipped away to his room and
his books and haunting memories.
Three years-three years it had been
since he had brooded there alone
shutting himself out of human fellow
ship and the softening influences of it.
1t had been three years since he and
light heart parted ways.
Tonight the heaviness weighed upon
him more than ever. He could not
stif1e it in books as sometimes
could not be stif1ed. After while he
gave up the attempt and loosed the
lars Of restraint and let his grief have
its own way Why not? Why not?
Biggs crept along the han on his
way to bed, and stopped at his masters
room as usual to see if all was well
The door stood a little ajar and he
peered in.
20 lordy, o lordy!" he cried, in
wardly, with a tug at his heartstrings
Hes at it agin! He's got the picturs
all out, an that's the sign. He's at it
az in-Lord, Lord, amt there no end?''
Biggs was on his knees, and might
have been praying. The tears were
rolling down his creased brown cheeks
Through the opening a chink of ligh,
0SCdpSu, anu udu0- UdI dCIOSS Ills
face. Within he saw Philip Lattimer
sitting with bowed head before lit
tie row of pictures on the table. He
had set them up before him with great
care-hers first, then PHILIPS, then
Comforts, and then the little ones.
The sweet, still faces regarded him
serenely. There was no grief, no
heartbreak in them, as there was in
his Now and again he put out his
hand and smoothed one of the faces
hers oftenest. The room was perfect
ly still, except for the terrible, dry
sobs in the mans throat
80 Lord! o Lord" moaned poor
Biggs in his stricken heart. He
crouched there in the dark hall, with
the bar of light athwart his homely,
working features-grieving his mas
ter's grief. 1t was all the grief he had