Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1908-11-19
John Warren's Thanksgiving.

John Warren dropped his newspaper
on the floor of the car and stared out OF
the window. Strongly built and hand
some, he was just now wearing on his
face a look of utter WEAKNESS, resulting
from a long trip in the West, where he
mad been looking after some interests of
the firm of which he was a junior partner,
Nine years before, in a fit of anger, he
had left his home in the country and, too
proud to return, had, by dint of logged
persistence, secured a humble place in the
packing rooms of Brace & Browns whole
sale dry goods store. Fortune favored
him, and this same quality of resolution,
together with application had raised him
to the position he now occupied. A group
of travelling men were making ready to
leave the train. 1t was a jocular set
and they had enlivened their trip with
stories. politics and trade gossip, and now
the jolly-faced hardware drummer said
Boys, where are you going to be
Thanksgiving day."
I'm going back to the feshpots of
Egypt and eat my turkey in the country"
said one.
YES" said another, I'm going to be
In my old place at the old table with my
white-haired little mother smiling at me
from behind the coffee pot and my dear
old dad piling enough on my place to feed
a regiment"
Think of those homemade pies :" said
another, those fat moons of apple pump
kin, mince and cranberry. Say. no res
acknowledgements about them"
And" said the boot and shoe man, "to
sit around the old fireplace and watch a
row of juicy apples roasting in front of
that roaring, great-hearted log fire. Boys,
you couldn't fence me away from home
that day."
And so each one, with home picture
in his heart, hurried out of the car and
up the long flight of station stairs away
to his destination, while slowly behind
them came John Warren with surging
tumult OF feelings in his breast and as he
slowly mounted the last step d tear drop
ped on his brown heard and a sudden res
olution filled his heart. He almost shout
ed I'm going home, too
John hurried to his hotel, and taking
a very shabby suit from his wardrobe pack
ed it with some other things in large
satchel, and then fastening to the station
climbed into the sleeper just as the long
train pulled out for the east. Arriving
at a point twenty miles west of his old
home, he went to an obscure hotel and
changed his clothing for the old suit in
his satchel.
When the Eleven forty" pulled into
the town of NJ two days before
Thanksgiving the usual crowd of loungers
observed n tall, brown-bearded man.
zyhpGa pnthnS Saao,aH tIo fnr
step off the rear platform, and without
looking at anyone strike off toward the
farm of Richard Warren. Much curios-
ity was certered on this event until the
seediest looking loafer present said:
THAT was John Warren or III eat my
hat ! He's come home to live on the old
folks. 1t wouldn't be for long. though
cause Squire Cobb has given notice that
he's goin' to foreclose the mortgage he
has on the old mans place"
If they had followed the stranger for
half a mile they might have seen the
strong young man shed heartfelt tears as
he leaned against the old oak tree by the
little gate and gaze earnestly on the
brown house AZ the edge of the woods.
Crushing the snow with hasty steps, he
was soon at the woodpile at the side of
the house. Flmging down his satchel and
catching up the ax, be split an armful of
wood and opening the kitchen door said
In voice tremulous with emotion, Moth
er, is this enough wood to get dinner
with?"
A cry of wonderful joy and the mother
wept on her sons shoulder while his
father paced the floor shouting. Praise
God Praise God!' stopping often TO
clasp his sons hand and murmur, MY