Keowee courier. [volume] (Pickens Court House, S.C.) 1849-current, 1913-11-25
AND Al GEfIILLID SHALL
& LEAD 77HIEMo 4
A Thanksgiving Story.
(Eben e. Rexford, in To-Day's Magazine.)

| MASN(3HN swinging his scythe along
| ESSZA the fence corners where
weeds had grown during
the summer, became conscious that
some one was watching him, and
locked up to see little girl leaning
| across the fence a few lengths away.
"It must be the Harris grandchild," ;"
he thought. What a bright face
she's got. Hello, little girl; what's
| your name?"
Ruth" was the reply, as the girl,
encouraged by his evident willingness
to begin conversation, worked her
way along the rails toward him.
Il thought So" he said. 81 used
to know your father. You have his
eyes"
"Papa's dead" said the child,
| gravely, land mammals dead, too.
That's why came to live with Grand
| pa and Grandma Harris"
"I've heard about your coming, ="
said Mr.. Bently, coming up to the
fence and leaning over it in neigh
borly fashion. "Once, years and
years ago, | had a little girl about
| your age"
"Where is she now" asked Ruth
"In Heaven" he answered softly,
as he looked away to the hillsideS ly-
| ing warm and peaceful in the August
| sunshine, where white gravestones
shone through the trees that loving
| hands had planted above the dead
shes been dead more than thirty
| years, but we haven't forgotten her,
mother and l." and the old man S
| hand was lifted to brush away the
| tears that came at thought of long,
lonesome silence that lay between the
| making of the grave and the present
| ''There's never been any children
since for us to love-"
The child, balancing herself across
the top rail Of the old worm-fence.
seemed to understand all the longing
and loss which the old mans words
implied, for she put out her soft,
white little hand and touched his
| lidi u Dlo" Ii Oub III ti way lIldl
sympathy, and said softly:
I'm sorry. I like YOU" she added,
smiling up into his face. do you
work here every day? If you do, I'm
coming to talk with you real often.
It's just little way over the hill to
grandpa's, you know, and he said
could come up here whenever | want
ed to. Only | mustn't ever get over
the fence. If | did l couldn't come
any more. | wonder why? ! don't
see what harm there'd be in my get
ting over on your side. Do you?"
mo, | don't see any harm in it.
was the reply; but if he said you
must not cross the line you'll have to
stay where you are-on his side Of
the fence" John Bently's voice had
a hard sound in it as he said this,
and his face darkened SO that it
made him seem, for a moment, quite
another man, Ruth thought, and she
wondered if he were angry with her
Il didn't mean anything" she said.
Il just told you what grandp2 said,
you know"
You haven't done anything to be
blamed for, little girl" he said. Il
wasn't thinking of you when | salt
what | did, as much as | was Of
some one else"
"WhO? Grandpa?" asked Ruth.
81 guess you don't like him. Do
you?"
II used to like him. was the re-
! ply. I'VE were good friends years
ago"
"Why aren't you now" persisted
| the child.
20, l can't explain it to you," an
Swered John Bently, eyasively.
Something happened, you see, and
after that it was different from what
it was before. But we won't talk
about it. Wen just talk about pleas
ant things, and be good friends.
Won't we, little girl?"
The old mans rough hand was
stroking her hair gently, and he
smiled into her face with tnat win
ming look which her grandfather had
been unable to forget in the long
years Of estrangcment between them.
"Yes, We'll be good friends" she
said. you may kiss me if you want
to-"
The old man put his arms about
her, and their lips mot as they pledg-
ed their friendship.
"What's your Nance" she asked.
"O-I know" this before he could