The Democratic advocate. [volume] (Westminster, Md.) 1865-1972, 1907-11-22

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key at every opportunity solaced his loneli-
ness in the company of his kind
Many times and YEARLY had Mrs.
Hills trudged across the fields and driven
him, gobbing and rebellious, back to the
little garden, until at last, two weeks be-
fore Thanksgiving, she laboriously built
coop from the box and key slaves and
committed her Thanksgiving bird to soli-
tary confinement.
1t had been prudent move, and all
would have gone well had the little widow
been better carpenter, but misplaced
blow of the hammer and nail gone wrong
had furnished the prisoner his opportunity.
Mrs. Hills had recognized his darker color
and greater size in the flock which fitted
between the corn shocks, and now, as she
sat upon his empty coop, there were I'M
mlstakable tears in her eyes.
1t would be almost impossible to catch
him after the ignominy of his imprison-
ment; and 90 to John Dawson to recover
her turkey she would not-no, not if she
had to buy turkey-though she knew
quite well that there were just twenty
seven cents in that shabby little purse be
hind the clock.
John Dawson had whole flock of
turkeys and everything else that he did
not need. Moreover, he had always been
very high and cool with her aud no more
than polite to poor Joe while he lived; not
at all cordial and helpful, as an old school
mate and neighbor should be. Mary Hill
lis wiped away two more tears as she re-
viewed the shortcomings of John Dawson,
emitting entirely to recall that it was she
who had first scorned John and that he
had lived unmarried ever since in the midst
of villageful of possible and aspiring Mrs.
Dawson.
But none of these extenuating circum-
stances suggested themselves to the widow
as she rose from the deserted coop and,
going out into the chill twilight, once
more swept her eyes over the corn field.
Nothing moving was to be seen there, and
she turned toward the Dawson homestead,
only separated from her own low brown
house by narrow strip of pasture. The
turkeys were already making rapidly across
this open space toward the Dawson barn.
and with the flock, just as she had feared,
was the darker brown plumage of her own
recreant bird The next moment they
were all lightly over the fence and peck
ing about in front the barn. They raised
their heads as John Dawson drove in with
his fine black colt, but without glance in
their direction he embarrassed the horse
and led it into the barn.
Little Mrs. Hills. watching him, shut
her lips in red line, and with resolute
turn went back into her snug kitchen.
Quickly she gathered up her few tea
things and set out her slender meal on the
end of the sewing machine in front of the
kitchen window which commanded the
Dawson house. She could see the turkeys
still pecking busily while she ate her bread
and butter and apple sauce and drank her
pale tea. The turkeys also finished their
supper, and tipping and fitting and cram
inc their necks, edged over to the barn
yard fence from which they, mounted to
the branch of an old boxelder just above.
The dark brown one waited until the last,
but when the others were settled, he too
sailed on to the fence and took his place
at the end Of the line on the boxelder
limb
When Mrs. Hills could no longer dis
tinguish the dark forms of the turkeys in
the rapidly closing dusk, she pulled down
the shade, lit the lamp and washed her
dishes Then she brought up pumpkin
from the cellar, and slicing it into great
yellow rings, peeled and cut them ready
for stewing. She chopped suet and stoned
raisins, glancing occasionally at the clock
Finally she opened the door and looked
out. The night was like black wall
still and starless.
She took down her gray shawl from its
hook, hesitated, then hung it up again,
and, taking the lamp, went into the
bedroom. When she came out her
blue calico dress was pinned high out of
the way and she wore an old coat and a
felt hat the languid and seedy droop of
which looked exactly like Joe Hills. But
the face of the little widow had resolute
lines which Joe's had never possessed as
she turned down the lamp-wick and step
ped out into the dark
The night wasrayless, but John Daw-
son, preparing to read the newspaper he
had brought from the postoffice and find
ing he had left it in the buggy, did not
think it necessary to take lantern when
he went to the barn to get it. The black
colt whinneyed softly from his box stall
and John put out his hand and touched
the velvet nose He stood stroking. the
animal smooth neck when he heard the
swish of feet over the frosty grass aud
then the "Quit quit T. of startled tur-
keys. He stepped to the door and toward
the box elder board creaked slightly
someone was climbing the fence With
one stride he reached out at random in the
dark and, grasping an arm in rough coat
sleeve, jerked the depredator to the ground.
bill Mems, you snivelling little chick
en- thief Why didn't you ask me for
turkey if you wanted one p with vigor-
GUS shake Of the arm. 1--WE given your
family their Thanksgiving dinner before
now and l shall probably have to do it
again if you don t.
This righteous objurgation came to an
abrupt halt as the prisoner interrupted in a
small and breathless voice, SIT isn't Bill
Meens-it's me-" while the free hand
gave him a thoroughly feminine push
John Dawson dropped the arm, real
izing, even as his grasp relaxed, that in
side the coarse sleeve it was soft and round.
MARY he said, stupidity; MARY"
he reiterated. There are some voices that
a man knows on the darkest night.
Mary Hills struggled for her dignity.
II only wanted my-my-" She justified
herself with hysterical asperity.
''Your what?'' The voice sounded stern.