Shepherdstown register. [volume] (Shepherdstown, Va. [W. Va.]) 1849-1955, 1908-11-26
Uncle Jerry's Thanksgiving.

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the lane.
The old man went into the barn,
and taking down a saddle, tried to
lift it to the back Of pony. A sud-
den rheumatic twinge struck through
his back and arms, and it fell shot,
grazing the horses rough side and
dropping to the straw-littered ground.
BE tried again and again, but with
no better success.
ut no use, he groaned; "the mis-
cry has got me again, and this is the
end
He leaned his head against the
horse's warm shoulder and something
like dry sob came.
The pony rubbed his nose against
the mans down-hanging hand.
"You know, Dick, don't you1 1
can't get on the saddle, boy. Old
Jerry's working days are done.'
He dragged the saddle out of the
way, and followed the line Of cows
afoot down the lane.
"Well, l declare, said Martha Sim
mons, looking out of the kitchen win
dow. IF there don't go Uncle Jerry
limping down the road after them
COWS, and saddle horse in the barn
eating his head off; l wonder ii he
wants to get sick again, and me with
all that company coming for Thanks
giving I've no time to be heating
fannels and fussing with him. 1t
seems as if the older men grow the
less sense they get
The cows were cropping the scanty
grass along the roadside and wonder
ing in a slow bovine way why the gate
to the tule pasture was go long in
opening.
Uncle Jerry leaned against the
fence and watched them feeding. He
knew every COW in the herd; they had
all fed from bis hand.
He loved the long stretch of tule,
the farms among the oak trees; he
could tell when every one was settled,
and the mark of each years back
water.
He knew where the ducks liked to
feed, and the geese came swooping on
the sprouting grain.
As he stood there he thought of the
long summer days when he watched
the sheep feeding far out on the tule,
of the mirage low in the sky, the scur-
rying of rabbits and the flight of black.
birds. Then of winter nights. when
the green tule was raging sea, and
the safety Of the crops ofthe year hung
on the strength of the levee and the
vigilance of the watchers. This had
been his life, and now he had come to
the end of the lane.
AS he toiled painfully back team
drove out of field. He hailed it.
"Going to town, Henry"
why, yes, Uncle Jerry, in an hour
or so.''
"GoiDg to have load2'
Nothing at alleging to fetch out
fence wire"
Then I'll speak for a ride
Gall right; watch out for me"
The old man turned into the house
yard. Martha was going down cellar
with big tray of unworked butter in
her hands. Uncle Jerry went into
his room, a small place of of the wood
shed. He looked around the meagre
space as he had looked at the tule.
There were the walls covered with
pictures cut from papers. He and
Johnny had fixed them, one rainy day,
when the lad was ten years old. There
was his comfortable bed, his table and
chair, the one place be could call his
OVID.
He drew out his old leather trunk
and put his clothes into it; then he
painfully did up his feather bed and
made his blankets into bundle. BE
stole out and peered down the cellar
way. Martha was still molding but
ter.
he hurried back and stealthily car
ried his possessions out into the ditch
by the roadside. The neighbor came
by and they started for town.
"You may let me out at the county
hospital.
"Whev, Uncle Jerryl hovs that2'
"Rheumatiz, Henry; it's come again
l can't bother Marthy, so I'm cominf
up here and doctor spell.
The warden showed himinto a long
low room. full of beds. It seemed t.
be the sitting room, too. Half a doz'
! n convalsscents were huddled rounC