Middletown transcript., 1906-11-24
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white cloth, set out one plat
and with It d gold banded cutana
saucer When she put beside
the plate i knife, fork Az spoon
she sighed again, ana u s. had
not been plump ina ain with
bright brown hair bright blue
eyes and comp ion liAse 4 girls
She might have looked f0rlorn.
There was pudonb y crease
ii her eEead when tlie lid Of
the corpsF sea kettle danced up
with 4 sputter and she lifted 1t
.yo The back III the shining cook
stove Yet the small kitchen
fairly Fadiated a CHEEKY coziness.
The red stripes in the clean rag
carpet were scarcely less fresh
and bright than the scarlet ger
anium blossoms in the window.
The glass doors of the dish-cup-
board shone over even rows OF
scalloped blue paper, and in front
of the stove, on a braided rug, a
great Maltese cat purred with a
steady whirr The wood fire,
I
too, was cracking happily. send.
ing out bright CLEANS about the
hearth and filing the room with
fragrant warmth which was
most grateful this late November
afternoon.
Mrs. Hills folded a gray plaid
shawl over her head and pinned
it under her round chin, before
she took an ear Of corn from a
peach basket in the sink-cup-
board and started down the path
toward sagging shed at the end
of the garden. The small plot OF
ground showed a cheerless sur
face with rough clods where the
potatoes had been dug, few
cabbage stumps and a patch OF
blackened tomato vines.
Midway of the path Mrs. Hills
4 \
stopped and looked. with an add
ed pucker of her forehead, ever
an adjoining field, between the
opulent corn-shocks of which
great pumpkins gloWed like har-
vest moons. A flock of turkeys
passed across the rows in one OF
those skimming runs which such
fowls seem to take by way OF
diversion. The little widow
scanned the birds sharply, then,
hurrying on, pulled open the
shed door. A half-dozen plump
Plymouth Rocks that had been
scratching in the litter outside
hurried around thc edges Of her
skirts with alert friendliness,
but Mrs. Hills stepped quickly
through thelshed to a small en-
closure atthe back, and, bending
IA
down, peering into a large box,
the font of which was roughly
slfted up with keg- slaves. One
these awkward bars had been
pushed awry and the interior OF
the box showed only a litter of
straw and some kernels of corn.
Mrs. Hills dropped Imply down
upon the edge of the coop.
Oh. she said in tone of vexa-
tion verging on tears. For when
one has nurtured the crowning1
glory of a festival dinner through
fuzzy and precarious infancy to
pompous and gobbling maturity,
to find only an empty coop on the
day but one before Thanksgiving,
the situation is distressing in the
extreme.
However, the trials of Mrs.
Hills were deeper than can or
dinarily be occasioned by the
truancy of a hayward turkey
gobbler. Vicissitudes had be-
gun for her ten years before,
when she had chosen to make
Joe Hills helmsman of her mat
rimonial bark instead of entrust-
ing the rudder to the firmer
though less gentle hand of John
Dawson. But Joe's dropping
blond mustache and appealing
brown eyes had been easily more
winning than all Johns sterling
virtues behind a brusque and
not especially attractive front
And perhaps she had been happy
with Joe; at least. no one mol
even John Dawson could make
assertion to the contrary. But
pecuniarly their existence had
held only one certainty, the law
of diminishing returns
Joe's frequent changes ia oc. !
cupation and place Of abode had
been On steadily descending
scale until at last be consistently
rounded off his existence BY con.
tracing the lingering fever which
made Mrs. Hills a widow Her
father had died not long before,
and 1T was with d real sense If 4