1901 
795 
THE RURAL NEW-YORKER. 
Mrs. Marchant’s Best Thanks¬ 
giving. 
“She ain’t no kind of a neighbor, 
Mis’ Marchant ain’t, not for going 
round amongst us here. At first along 
we used to go and see her and return 
our own calls, but after a while we got 
sick of that, and now we leave her 
mostly alone. But for all she’s so un¬ 
sociable, she’s the very first person any¬ 
one thinks of when there’s sickness, 
and I never knew her ta refuse to 
come at such a time. Mr. Marchant, 
he’s one of these easy-goin’, handy men, 
and he gets along and looks after their 
two orphan grandchildren when she 
goes away nursing. She is a dreadful 
good nurse, and I don’t know what we 
should have done without her while 
Janet has been so sick with pneu¬ 
monia.” 
Mrs. Pryor was talking to her sister, 
who had just come to help her. 
“Is she here now?” 
“Yes, but she’s just going home. 
Janet is so much better that we thought 
we could let her go. Here she is now.” 
A door opened and Mrs. Marchant 
came in. She was a quiet little woman, 
with a gentle voice, and a face whose 
placid expression changed often to one 
of anxiety. 
Mrs. Pryor introduced her sister. 
“I’m real glad she’s come,” she said, 
helping Mrs. Marchant on with her 
things, “for now you won’t have to 
worry about us a bit. And I know you 
must want to be at home to do up 
your work and get ready for Thanks¬ 
giving. I s’pose you expect all your 
folks home?” 
“Yes, they’re all coming. I suppose 
I’m wicked, but somehow I always 
dread '1 hanksgiving. There is so much 
to do, and especially with only my one 
pair of hands to do it. And this year 
I dread it more than common, for you 
know Richard is going to bring his new 
wife that I’ve never seen, so I’m more 
than ever anxious about having things 
nice.” 
“It is a lot of work,” said Mrs. Pryor 
sympathetically, “but I suppose Frank’s 
and Will’s wives take hold and help.” 
“Oh, yes, to he sure. I’ve got good 
daughters-in-law, extra good, and I 
don’t expect my new one will be any 
exception, but it seems a little strange 
at first.” 
Although she was so loyal to her 
sons’ wives, Mrs. Marchant in her se¬ 
cret heart admitted that they were not 
quite so efficient as she could wish, and 
as she walked home from Mrs. Pryor’s 
she sighed a little at the work before 
her. She was not a violently energetic 
housekeeper, but she prided herself on 
having faculty and being able to do a 
great deal of work by keeping steadily 
at it. Her home and her family oc¬ 
cupied all her thoughts and time, and 
from year’s end to year’s end she hardly 
so much as had a book or paper in her 
hand, unless it was to dust the former 
or put away the latter. When she got 
home she set to work at once on her 
house-cleaning. That was to be done 
first, then she would give her attention 
to the preparing of the Thanksgiving 
feast. 
“It’s lucky that Janet Pryor decided 
to get better just when she did,” said 
Mr. Marchant that evening. 
“Why so?” 
“I’ve got to go to the city Friday to 
attend to the settling of Father’s prop¬ 
erty and some other affairs, and I may 
have to stay a week or two. Can’t you 
get somebody to stay with you while 
I’m gone?” His eyes twinkled, for he 
knew what her answer would be. 
“I don’t want anybody to stay here. 
I’d be ashamed if I couldn’t stay alone. 
I can see to the hens, and Johnny is old 
enough to milk the cow. The harvest¬ 
ing is all done, and you can go as well 
as not. It couldn’t have happened at a 
better time.” 
Friday came, and after Mr. Marchant 
had started for the city, his wife went 
to work at the cleaning. Of course she 
missed him, but there would be one less 
in the family to do for, and she would 
have more time to work. Johnny and 
Mary were no trouble, and they were 
at school most of the time, too. She 
would get along nicely. Mr. Marchant 
had told her as he went away, that he 
would be home by Thanksgiving Day 
sure, but that he should probably come 
before that. 
Saturday the children were at home. 
It was a cold stormy day, and they 
played out more than was good for 
them, with the result that Sunday they 
were almost sick with croupy colds. 
Mrs. Marchant dosed them and kept 
them in the house, but they were so 
far from well on Monday that she de¬ 
cided to keep them home from school 
for a week. They improved as fast as 
could be expected, and by Wednesday 
she let them play out of doors a little 
while. The next day they begged so 
hard to go out that, although it was 
cold, she bundled them up and let them 
go, telling them to stay in the sun as 
much as possible. 
“Now,” she said, when they were 
gone, “I will finish the cleaning, and 
then I can plan what to do about the 
dinner next week. It is fortunate 
Thanksgiving comes late this year. I 
never could have got through if it 
hadn’t, what with taking care of Janet 
and the children being sick.” 
She had washed the last door in the 
kitchen, but there was one more thing 
to do. In the ceiling overhead in the 
kitchen was a kind of step, so that one 
side was lower than the other. Where 
the step came was a long board, going 
the whole way across the kitchen. She 
always left this board till last, but she 
was very particular to wash it carefully, 
as it got rather smoky from one house¬ 
cleaning to the next. She rolled the 
kitchen table into position, and climb¬ 
ing upon it, began to scrub the board. 
It was very warm in the upper part of 
the room, so she climbed down and 
opened the door into the dining room. 
It was cold in there, as she had not 
built a fire except in the kitchen since 
Sunday, 
“Now I must be very careful,” she 
said, as she climbed back to her place 
on the table. “It would be terrible if 
I should fall and be laid up. What 
would I do?” 
She worked on and had got the board 
half cleaned. “I wonder if I feed that 
turkey enough,” she was thinking. "I 
don’t want it to be too fat, but just 
right. I must send Johnny to Mr. Gill’s 
this afternoon to get some meat for 
mince pies. I can make the mincemeat 
this week. It is better for standing a 
little after it is made. Then I think 
I will make cranberry jelly this time. 
It is richer than sauce. I wonder if 
Dick’s wife is one of the fussy kind. I 
must see if I can’t get Mary and Johnny 
to help me some. They are old enougn, 
and perhaps I can get things to going 
so that when the folks come I won’t 
have to hurry so.” 
Just then she paused. She seemed to 
hear something at the back door. Yes, 
some one was coming in. She stood 
still in the center of the table and 
waited. Perhaps it was the children. 
The door fiew open and in came Mr. 
Marchant and his three sons and their 
three wives. 
How Mrs. Marchant got down off the 
table she never knew, but in a moment 
she was being hugged and kissed and 
Richard had presented his wife. 
Mrs. Marchant was in a flutter. She 
laughed nervously. “This is quite a 
surprise,” she said. “I didn’t look for 
you till Thanksgiving Day." 
“Why, this is Thanksgiving Day,” the 
answer came in chorus. 
MOTHERS.—Be sure to use“Mrs.Wins- 
low’s Soothing Syrup” for your children 
while Teething. It is the Best.— Adv. 
She looked wildly from one face to 
another, then towards the calendar on 
the wall. 
“Oh, dear!” she wailed. “How could 
I have made such a mistake. I thought 
it was the last day of the month, but i 
see now that the last day is "Wednesday 
instead of Thursday. Oh, how could I 
have done it! I was just finishing 
cleaning—she glanced at the ceiling— 
“and there isn’t a thing cooked in the 
house, and it’s as cold as a barn here.” 
For a moment there was dead silence. 
There was a look of agonized despair 
on Mrs. Marchant’s face. Mr. Marchant 
was plainly filled with consternation. 
The sons wei'e surprised and embar¬ 
rassed, and Frank’s and Will’s wives 
looked on helplessly. 
Then Dick’s new wife stepped forward 
and put her arms about poor Mrs. Mar¬ 
chant. “Never mind. Mother,” she whis¬ 
pered softly. “It will be all right.” 
No one could tell how she did it, but 
in two minutes Dick had his coat off, 
his shirt-sleeves rolled up, and standing 
on a chair was finishing the scrubbing 
of the board his mother had abandoned, 
Mr. Marchant was stuffing wood in the 
kitchen stove. Will was rushing out 
to the shed for kindlings, and Frank 
was crumpling up an old newspaper and 
putting it in the dining-room stove. 
A moment more and all the women 
folks had disappeared, but by the time 
Dick had emptied the pail of water and 
hung up the cleaning cloth, and as the 
fire began to send out a welcome heat, 
they all came back, the three daughters- 
in-law dressed in calico wrappers—some 
of them misfits, it must be confessed— 
and Mrs. Marchant with a tremulous 
smile on her face and a sparkle in her 
eyes. Then in response to a look and 
a word from his wife, Dick brought out 
the best rocking-chair for his mother, 
and she was made to sit in it. 
“Your part is just to tell us where 
things are, and how to do things,” she 
was told. 
The two daughters who had been con¬ 
sidered inefficient proved quite the con¬ 
trary, and Mrs. Marchant looked on in 
amazement. Mr. Marchant went on a 
murderous errand to the chicken yard. 
The sons were sent to the cellar and 
were pressed into the service in paring 
vegetables, but after a time Dick’s wife, 
who was the I’ecoguized leader, told 
them that they could help most by tak¬ 
ing themselves and the children out of 
the way. “Can’t you get some ever¬ 
greens and holly or something for a 
center-piece?” she asked, and they took 
the hint and went racing away like 
young boys towards the woods. At ex¬ 
actly two o’clock there was a long blast 
blown on the dinner horn, and the 
men folks, who had been wandering 
over the farm, came in to find the din¬ 
ner ready and the misfit calico wrappers 
replaced by the owners’ well-fitting 
gowns, said owners with unusual color 
in their cheeks. 
That was a marvelous dinner. To be 
sure, some of the regulation dishes were 
absent, notably the turkey, but there 
was a perfect chicken pie, delicious cro¬ 
quettes, all sorts of vegetables, a won¬ 
derful apple pudding, sparkling currant 
jelly, with coffee and cookies for the 
finale. 
“Well,” said Mr. Marchant with a sat¬ 
isfied sigh at the end of the feast, “that’s 
the best Thanksgiving dinner 1 ever 
ate that was got up in so short a time 
with nothing to start with but bread, 
cold corned beef and a jar of cookies." 
“I can say more than that,” said his 
wife, beaming on the faces around the 
table. “It’s the best Thanksgiving din¬ 
ner I ever ate in all my life, and what s 
more, this is the happiest Thanksgiving 
Day I ever spent,” and for a moment 
her glance rested gratefully on the face 
of Dick’s wife, susan brown robbin.s. 
s 
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