The Wrangell sentinel., 1917-11-29
speah the best Thanksgiving she

ever ndu.
 Il shan't change my mind," sad Martha decidedly. You can write and tell her she can have my half of the room on Thanksgiving day. Don't cry about it, Mrs. Loyd. and, no, l don't want you to thank me. It's not because I'm kind heart ed, for Pm not, I'm dreadful biu- ter. do it gladly because I want to go away from here
 Those are the words that Martha Butterworth spoke, but even ns she uttered them she felt tremor ot fear for the future. In leaving tbe dctested home she was throwing away the last defense between her frail body and-the poorhouse.
 On Thanksgiving day there was feast in the long dining room down stairs. After the long dinner Was over the old ladies gathered in the stiff splendor of the parlor, where d great fire had been hindied on the hearth, and they told stories and jokes, and there were much laugh ter and funmaking. Then Mrs. Green asked Martha Butterworth to play something for them.
 To everybody's surprise Martha went to the piano without word and, sitting down before it, played one thing after another until each old lady had had her favorite piece played or her favorite song sung. At last Martha's fingers straved into melody that she had not dared re- member for ten years. It was her husbands (Darius) favorite song and one she had played for him times without number. Now her voice was somewhat broken, but it was still penetrafinglr sweet, and it pierced through the walls of the home, and a man passing dejccted- ly along the sidewalk heard it, stop ped short and mounted the steps of the home and rang the bell
 Mrs. Green. the matron, came into the parlor again and looked strangely, doubtfully, at Martha Bnttcrworth, who was still at the piano.
 Somebody wants to see you, Mrs. Butterworth," she said meaningly.
 \ man was waiting in the dining room "a tall, white haired, pale faced man, well dressed and pros porous looking. He looked once at Martha as she entered and held out his arms. Martha stared at him with unhelieving eyes, for it was her husband, Darius Butterworth. In another instant she Was in his arms and Darius was telling his story.
 One of the women relatives had scoldcd Darius well that day when ruin fell upon him, and she had told him that the best thing he could do was to take himself away where he couldn't do any more harm to his wife's interests or happiness. Of course the relative was sorry after ward, but then it was too late, for poor Darius had taken his worth less mining stock and departed for the west, where for years he strug- gled for a living, while he patiently investigated every mine until at last he found one that really held out prospect of paying dividends to its trusting stockholders. That was the beginning of the fortune that Dari- us had piled up from several of his so called "worthless certificates. V When he had regained the fortune he had lost he went back to his old home only to find that his wife had disappeared after five years, and, while it was known that she had en- tered d home somewhere, she had taken no one into her confidence. Darius had been wandering discon- solatcly through the street that Thanksgiving night when he had recognized his wife's voice singing.
 "And believed that I didn't have thing to be thankful for" said Martha remorsefully.
 "This'll be the happiest Thanks giving my sister Hannah ever had, y confded old Mrs. Loyd to the wo- men about the hearth fire. "1iar tha Butterworth's going to leave, and Hannah's going to take her place."