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-,'on’t be like any
ing I ever knew; but, no matter what,
I will be thankful, I will!” mur
mured Sarah Brooks, trying vainly
to check her tears and cowering close
to the little register for warmth. It
emitted tepid air, but slightly modi
fying the chill of the small back be> -
room whicu *he little spinster had
at a very low figure because she kept
it in order herself and used an oil
kmp instead of gas.
She nad not made a light yet.
Even kerosene costs money, and the
moon gave light enough to fret by.
Nearly three months hr.d passed
since she had lost her place in Hodge
& Gammon’s store.
She had filled place after place in
this establishment most faithfully for
nigh to twenty of her forty-three
years. There was no complaint
against her. The firm dropped Miss
Brooks and Miss Gray, to each of
whom for some’ years past it had
been paying §10 a week, simpW r be
cause it had found a man to do the
work of beth women at $15 a week.
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“WHEN THE FROST IS ON THE
PUMPKIN AND THE FODDER’S
IN THE SHOCK.”
It mattered little to Miss Gray—
she would be married at mid-Novem¬
ber—but f->r Miss Brooks, older by
ten years, and without kindred or
lover, the loss was a measureless ill.
Not that she realize! it as such at the
outset. Miss Gray was kinder than
a young woman getting ready to be
• -*rried could reasonably have been
expected to be; and Miss Brooks her¬
self was of r sweet and cheery na¬
ture and had no doubt that where one
door had shut another would present¬
ly open. At least, there would be a
place for her in another department
of Hodge & Gammon's, though at
lower wages. Through her long serv¬
ice and limited experience, her life
had grown into the very building and
she shrank from an absolute change
almost as from the wrenching asun¬
der of soul and body. But the gray
streaks in her soft brown hair
stopped her return to the salesrooms
: with bars of adamant.
Those same gray streaks, from
whici her fresh, unwrinkled skin,
bright eyes and trim alert figure
seemed powerless to distract the at¬
tention of possible employers, proved
her undoing at every quest. In vari¬
ous phrases, softened now with half
contemptuous pity, sharpened anon
with cynical brutality, she was denied
in her timid application as “too old”
to be of any use. Experience! It
had no chance in the race with youth.
Tim gray streaks had widened
ing these dreary days, the
features had sharpened and the
cate color faded. The little
against the proverbial rainy i
after twenty years of poorly
labor, had been small at best, but
‘was smaller even than it need
been, for Sarah Brooks had
been able to withhold her mite
a fellow-creature in distress.
now, despite the wonted insane
inine economies in food and
car fare, the tiny hoard was
ing at a frightful pace.
She thought ruefully
though chiding herself for
in the memory—vf sundry §5
$10 bills loaned on promise of
payment “next month” to
workers long since departed to
fields and pastures new, and
warm at last with the aid of her
worn winter cloak and the tepid
ister, she lost herself in a pitiful
tle dream of . letter in the
mail in which some one of her
debtors should return his or
loan. .
A per;mptory knock on her
brought her sharply back to reality.
“Gentleman in the parlor to
Miss Brooks!” announced Mrs.
kins, the landlady, with the rising
flection of curiosity in her voice,
women like Miss Brooks, in a
South End lodging house, have
visitors of the sterner sex.
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Thque oj Clar.15
Celery OfiVe-j
Cranberry Jelly Tprhey Mashed
nebbed fellou Torni^ potato^
Doiicd Oniony pigeon pic
Lettuce Salad
bumpkin pie. ke Crecm.
Apple} Oran^ej.
Cofjee Cliee^e.
made a light and tidied her slightly
disordered hair before the glass.
; But the little spinster hazarded no
conjectures as to her caller, though
her heart bounded. Was it a case of
telepathy ? Her dream had been so
vivid and so comforting, she could
not escape the conviction that some
of her hard-earned money so reck
lessly cast upon the waters in by
gone days was coming back by hand
instead of by letter.
But the man who rose as she en
tered the dimly lighted, dingy parlor
was an utter stranger; tall, dark,
shabbily dressed, with a furtive face
and a manner half insolent, half in¬
sinuating and wholly disagreeable.
“Miss Brooks?” and as the little
woman bowed timidly and seated her¬
self at the other side of the centre
table with the cracked marble top—
“Miss Sarah Brooks?”
She bowed again, and he contin
ued: “If you are Miss Sarah Brooks,
niece and only surviving relative of
John Peter Brooks, who died in San
Francisco on March 12, 1882, I know
of something to your advantage
which I am prepared to make known
to you under proper conditions.”
“John Peter Brooks was my fa¬
ther’s only brother, and I am his only
living relative, as I can easily prove,
since we all were born in Boston,”
she answered, her brief elation sub¬
siding. “But I can’t imagine any
advantage to come to me through
him. He lost his life in a fire, which
destroyed also all his little effects
7
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I tell you whet", there’5 fun on tajo, HouJ ,g.ood the dear home 5eei?>5 to all,
When old Thaok^giv'm 1 come5; When old Thank5^[vin’ come5;
The fGrm’5 the be5t |ylace on the mafo. Each well-known roono and vine-clad wall,
When old Thcnk5g^v'(n’ come5. When old Tbdnk^gjyin’ comes- l
There’5 Will and Dan and Sue and Tan, And sweet-faced dame with hair (ike snoJ f
* And Dave and l and Sarah Ann — And ^raybeard sire, rhoqab 5wift years £0,
ft We’re all back home, the entire clan, The “boj/s” and ‘girls’’ who farmwarcl roam
When old Tbanksgiyin’ comes* When old Thank^g^vin^ comes m 1 m ml
and papers, ar.d, in any case, judging
from what my parents—they’re both
dead over fifteen years—always told
me of him, he would have had little
to leave.”
“We must not judge by appear¬
ances, Miss Brooks,” said the strang¬
er, portentionsly. It is about forty
years, I believe, since your uncle last
visited Boston.”
.. So they tokl me/ . faUered Miss
j 3 roo v S
that .. t ^ I have mada made ™’ a 1 discovery , cau assure m con- >" ou
aectlon with yoar uucle s estate o
the greatest importance to you
!t m ft 18 ™" my n conditions. ^ to let you into it on
° h ’ certainly, sir, murmured the
Iittie woman, with r. faint return of
hope, the while she trembled tinder
the sinister eyes fixed upon her.
When one has been subsisting for
three or four days on one stale loaf
and an occasional drink of mill; and
water, walking meantime mile upon
mile, in dismal weather, from one
disappointment to another, and com
ing back to a cold room and a sleep
less bed, one's courage is likely to be
low.
“If you would teil me
“I’ll tell you nothing until you
have filled out and signed these pa
pers. Sign here!” commanded the
stranger, stretching two broad sheets
of paper before her and taking a
fountain pen from his pocket.
One was a power of attorney dated
two days ahead, authorizing the
bearer, Irving Wilson, to collect, a:
the representative of Sarah Brooks,
any claim or claims belonging to the
estate of her uncle, the late John
Peter Brooks, and the other was an
j agreement /rooks to on allow the said part Irving of said Sarah
Wilson
half of the recovered claim or
claims for his discovery and trouble
and expense in collecting.
She took up the pen, but hesitated.
I How much might it be?” she asked
j timidly.
Her visitor waxed impatient
j unless “Whatever it is, you’ll get none of 1
I you sign thes< papers,
, Qu’ck! » *1 he cried, turning impe rious
I eyes upon her. “Sign here!"
But the frightened, exhausted
voman ’n.d slipped to the lioor in a
dead faint, and Mrs. Tompkins, „ho
—not liking the ’uolcs of the man, as
she explained later—had been listen¬
ing behind the shabby portiere, was
beside her in a second.
•Til wa-'t till she comes to. It s
very important; all to her own in¬
terest,” said he visitor in a milder
tone.
•'It's not so important, nor so much
to anyone’s interest, but it can wait
till after Thanksgiving,” she saiu,
coldly. “Here, Norah,” to the good
looking maid who had appeared in
the hallway, “help me get Miss
Brooks to her room. She watched
the discomfited stranger till he hau
gathered up kis pen and papers and
reluctantly departed, saying that he
would call to inquire for Miss Brooks
in the morning.
* * * * *
.c s nothing but starvation,” whis¬
pered Mrs. Tompkins to Norah on the
landing a few minutes later. “ 1*11
sit with her till she takes this bowl
of beef tea and a bit of toast to it
and try to chirk her up a bit. Hark!
There's the bell again.”
Another moment and the bedroom
door was burst open, and only Mrs.
Tompkins’ cautious hand saved the
beef tea, as the bride of a fortnight,
but late Miss Gray, of Hodge & Gam¬
mon’s, flung herself upon her old
s jpmate.
’’ Oh, Sarah, dear; what luck! I
saw it in the Wayfarer this morning.
We got back from Washington last
night. I told Tom all you ever told
me about your family. He has looked
up everything and it’s yours, sure
enough. It was advertised before,
but no one who knew about you could
have seen it.... Nothing to do but
present your proofs and draw your
money. Tom is down in the parlor.
He’s just as glad for you as I am.
He’s a darling, he is!”
“But, Caroline. I don't under¬
stand. First, there was that dread-
ful man with the papers for in a to
sign, and now you have found out
something. What are you glad for,
and what has it to do with me?”
“Why, everything in the world.
You haven’t seen the Wayfarer, with
th advertisement of the unclaimed
deposits in the People’s Saving Bank
—your uncle—John Peter Brooks—
To * PV’St have put it in ages ago—
H004 .
“The old msca!' Oh ’ I don't mean 3
, h ® r le , ,, aad . Mr ^ mpk
” nc ’ s ’, ia3
turned , n from f the , brides . horrified fi
face “Don't faint again, Miss
Brooks, though you did the best
, job of your life when you fainted,
I Just as yo ” was a P»i to sign that
| scoundrel s paper.
| Miss Brooks had the Wayfarer in
j her hand, her eyes riveted on the
heavily penciled line which held the
j potency of comfort and ease for the
j rest of her days,
“Oh, thank God; thank God!” she
j cried fail at last. ’ “I know He would not
, me.
, Miss Brooks had the happiest of
Thanksgivings, but Mr. Irving M il
son’s reception at the hands of her
landlady that morning greatly im¬
paired Ills appetite for turkey/’—
! Boston Post.
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Haughty mid I
a Spirit Before a I all.”
(Particularly About This of 1
Year.)
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THE TURKEY’S DAY.
Oh. talk about the dove of peace,
Or eagle of the free,
Or Within bird of his wisdom hollow rapt in thought
tree:
When dull November strips the wood.
And skies are chill and murky,
They abdicate their places high
In favor of the turkey.
The purple clusters of the grape
Mo more of can justly hazy claim
A mare autumn’s crown
As favorites of fame;
The apple, too, discarded lies,
To-day Though the juicy, turkey red and mellow. his throne,
mounts
A mammoth pumpkin yellow.
In every home delicious throughout the land
A warm, smell
Of sage and spice is wafted far
O’er frosty field and fell;
And garnished with a wreath of thyme,
Appears in all his glory
The tempting hero, plump and proud,
Of eac-h Tnanksgiving story.
So as we gather round the board
At which he occupies
The central place of honor, Hanked
Oli. By let golden pumpkin pies.
us, as we render thanks
l’or each and every blessing,
Place first of ail upon the list
The turkey and his dressing!
- Minna Irving, in Leslie’s Weekly.
O! Joyful Sound.
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Say it again, Jinimie.”
‘Jest twelve more days an’ it will
be Thanksgiving.”—New York Jour
nal -
A THANKFUL SONG.
i ni thankful for “Jo,” an’ I’m thankful
lor Jean— j
For all the bright heavens that over us
lean—
For the love that the kisses of little ones 4 j
mean—
0r , '!;‘„ il , ! , ’ g ’ aH ttlC 0 l *‘ e
JTn 3 the round world, though
a; „ and wide—
\\ ith the strifes on the land an’ the storms
on the tide,
lias still a sweet shelter where love's at
my side
Jn the night an’ the light o’ the mornin’!
K*r Mift years that are past, for the vears
that may be *
l’or the stars on the land and the stars <m
the* '
1
And the home-light* that shine in the
For Vlft j<?y' , |/ thft night an’ the mornin’!
Frank i,. Stanton, m the Atlanta Con
stitulion.
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New York City.—Every style of
Eton is in vogue for immediate wear,
and will continue to be so for many
weeks to come. Here is an absolute¬
ly novel model that includes the be¬
coming and favorite Tuxedo collar,
while it also is made with applied box
pleats that give a most becoming ef
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feet. In the illustration smoke gray
veiling is stitched with belding silk
and trimmed with a velvet collar of
the same color and handsome but¬
tons, little frills of the lace finishing
the sleeves, but the model is equally
well suited to all seasonable mate¬
rials. It can be utilized for the light
The skirt is cut with the front
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between seasons’ wear, and also for
cloth and the heavier goods of the
autumn. The scalloped edges of the
sleeves are an especially noteworthy
feature and make an effect that is as
pretty as it is new.
The Eton is made with fronts and
side-fronts, backs and side backs.
The pleats are separate and are ap
plied over the seams, terminating in
scalloped edges slightly below the
jacket. The neck is finished with the
roll-over collar and the closing is
made in double breasted style. The
sleeves are moderately full, box
l’l eate d at their lower edges to har¬
monize with the Eton, and are gath¬
ered at the arms' eyes.
The quantity of material required
for the medium size is three yards
twenty-seven, one and five-eighth
yards forty-four or one and a half
yards fifty-two inches wide with one
half yard of velvet.
Design For Embroidery,
uelicate . ftlossom , of that pest
of the farmer, Queen Anne's lace, it*
a charmingly graceful design for em
proldery - and is especially pretty
developed in white and the delicate
shades of greeu natural to stems and
leaves.
Buttons on Dressy Frocks.
For dressy frocks are la ce-li ke
tons with delicate enameled b ut " ,
thereon. fl 0We
Lingerie For Sleeves
Lingerie effects still hold fo r
essential isettes and touch sleeve of ruffles, and add !?’ “ e
whltenear the f
Little Ruffles Appear.
Little ruffles each side of the fr
new pleat lingerie are appearing blouses. on some 0 f ft? 86
This fad does
not extend to the tailored ai$ts,
however, which w
are more sey ere th
ever. aa
Three-Piece Skirt.
The skirt made with a circular
flounce takes absolutely Sraceftd
t lines and , , is consequently
This well liked
one has an added advantage of
including full length ^
a front gore
that gives an effect of height and
slenderness to the figure. i u the
ply lustration, stitched smoke ‘with gray fielding veiling silk Is ^
flounce being finished the
with thre*
small tucks in which cords are fa
serted, but it is possible to suggest
a great many variations, Ail the
materials that can be tucked with
success are appropriate, and that
means a great many, as almost every
fashionable fabric designed for i B
.
door wear is soft and thin. K the
cords . in the tucks not
they are desired
can be left plain, or if a still
more elaborate effect is wanted there
can be trimming of braid, or ap¬
plique used above them, while the
front gore can always be trimmed in
some distinctive fashion or can be
made of all over lace or similar ma
terial.
gore, the circular portions and the
flounce. The circular portions are
tucked well over the hips and tie
front gore Is cut with extension?
flounce depth that are laid ever or.
the flounce, forming a pleat a each
side. The flounce itself is circular,
and Is seamed to the edge of the side
and back gores. requi*^
The quantity of material
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quarter for the yards medium twenty-seven. size is se ' e ^ ' ’’ an d
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a half yards forty-four or “
laches wide.