College of St Marys of the Springs - Yearbook (Columbus, OH)

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. - 1 j swf ,lx 1 .lx 1 ,pu gpxwr j derful feast they were to have! The rich fruit-cake, she had baked a week before, and it now reposed in its covered brown jar on the cellar floor. She had had splendid success with her pumpkin pies and cranberry jelly, and the shining rows of fruit cans filled with every kind of preserves, waited patiently on the top shelf of the pantry. The most perplexing prob- lem of all was the turkey. It still remained to be dressed and stuffed and roasted to a crisp, delicate brown, the way her father had always liked it. Then, too, she must not forget the Reeds, they were a poor, unfortunate family, living on the farm adjoining theirs, for whom she had planned a surprise, which would bring sun- shine into their dreary home for a day at least. j While Marie was yet engaged with her preparations, she was somewhat startled, by a loud knock at the kitchen door. Her heart almost stood still, for she was quite alone. Who could it possibly be? Surely her father would not want to frighten her, and if it were any of the neighbors, they would not wait for her to answer the knock. Summoning all her courage, she went to the door, and cautiously opening it, found her visitor to be an old man, very poorly clad, and with a grizzled beard almost covering his face. It was Tony, looking every inch the tramp, he was. t Sorry to trouble you, miss, he said in rather a gruff voice, but could you give a fellow a bite to eat? I've come a long way, and. it's pretty hard when ,you're cold and hungry, too. A Recovering from her surprise and fear, lVlarie's tender sympathies were at once aroused, for she could see that the man was really in a pitiable condition. Why, yes, she replied at once, compassion overmastering fear, I haven't very much to offer you just now, but I can make you some coffee and toast-bread. Do come in by the fire, you must be dreadfully cold. Thus saying, she hurried about the kitchen, spread a :goth on the table, and soon prepared quite a tempting little meal. Saunders ate ravenously an when he had 5niSheCl, impelled by the unwonted sympathy shown him, became a little more talkative. . ' He told her of the roving life he had always led, and how he had become an orphan, and practically alone in the world, at the early age of ten years. He had wandered about: liv- ing here and there, selling papers, shining shoes, and doing various other things that would earn him a few coppers. Then the circus had come to town, and he had joined itg Hrst in the capacity of a helper, later of a performer: finally unfortunate circumstances had brought him to his present state. His whole story was told in such a bitter, resentful way, that Marie was greatly impressed by his despondency, and at once resolved that here was a work for her to do in brightening the life of this lonely creature, and convincing him that the world was not so heartless as he thought it. t While he still sat musing by the fire. Marie asked very gently, Have you always felt that you were scorned by all of your companions, and are you sure that it was not due to imagination on your part? t Well miss, he said, at last, It was this way. The boys were all right so long as I had money, but that was a long time ago. We had a good time, they helped me spend what little I had, but luck was always against me. . But did they not share with you, 'were they not liberal as you had been? Don't you think it, ma'am,'f he said, every one was only for himself, until one day the boss came to me and said: Tony, Youife too Old fOr this business now, you'll kill Yourself one of these days, and then I'll have to pay the damages. I ll have a new man on the job, tomorrow. So from that day to this, ma'am, everyone's been against me. When I 5 35 W

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ww . warg I wg g wg .wg r :wig 5 wg wg His East lleap ,.,,f ff-f HE night was almost past. The moon, now but a faint disk of light in the west, was fast blending into the rosy tint of the wwf www morning sky, and the still, frosty air was soon filled with sounds of nature awakening from her slumbers. How beautiful she was on this November morning in southern New England where the frost in silver arabesque on tree and shrub sparkled under the first rays of the genial sun. The fields, too, were not with- - . ,, , r , ,, . out their charm. for, peeping from among the shocks, were bright Quia f.-qnyiqigdawf H k. . . . . . . T .,.,,gCM5,-.Q T ye ow. pump ms, giving promise of Thanksgiving and its many T X 'UNT ' T festivities. V This season of good cheer, which should fill the heart with gratitude to the author of all prosperity and blessings, had no significance to one who considered himself an outcast from all society, the most wretched and despised of mortals. Slowly arising, from his bed of leaves at the roadside, Tony Saunders once more faced the stern realities of life. He was a man of perhaps fifty years, and rather unprepossessing in appearance, though well-built and athletic-looking. His clothing, thin land insufficient, was old and ragged, and the Sl0l1Cl1 hat. which he W0rc, was pulled well over his straggling locks of gray hair. In his younger days. TOIIY had been an acrobat, travelling with a small circus, where he had distin- guished himself by his daring leaps. Those feats were now only a memory. He was too old for performing, and since leav- ing the circus, his few savings had gradually diminished, leaving him almost penniless. His heart was steeled against the world, and from the depths of self-abasement into which he had sunk, he cherished for all humanity a hatred that was slowly becoming the ruling passion of his life. Even the keen, bracing air of the morning had no effect on his melancholy spirits, and he pursued his way, little dreaming of what Fate had already in store for him. His route lay along one of those picturesque country roads in the hilly section of south- ern Maine. Not many miles ahead of him just on the outskirts of the village of Westbrook, lived little Marie Anderson with her father. She had assumed the care of the household, and had been the sole companion of her father, since her mother's death, two years before. Marie was now fifteen, slight, fair-haired, and of a sweet and sunny disposition, which won for her the love of all who knew her. She was an affectionate child, and her early responsibilities had mingled with her lovely nature, a touch of sadness, and a thoughtfulness for others, rarely seen in a girl of her years. ' The Andersons were not wealthy, neither were they indolent, and the well-cultivated little farm now brought them a comfortable income. With her own hands. Marie had planted the garden, supplying their wants during the summer months, and had trained the vines which grew in such wild profusion, that the cottage was almost hidden from view. She was a wise little counsellor, with whom her father consulted on nearly every matter of importance, and generally, Daddy was obliged to concede that her advice was best. This morning she had arisen earlier than usual, for the next day would be Thanksgiving, and she could think of little else than the good things she had yet to prepare. What a won- 34 Bs . ss. is 1 UQX I' Fl ar!

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ww s ww a ww 5 ww , ww ,Wu , ww ww Q ww 1 go to a house, cold, and half-starved to death, it's the same way. What do they care if a man dies for want of food? They only say he is better off out of the way. But you, miss, have been different from the rest, and I sha'n't forget it. I am only a poor beggar, but if I can ever help you, I will, and be glad to do it. He then thanked her for his breakfast, and started toward the door, when a bright thought came to Marie. She would ask him to share their dinner tomorrow. Surely her father would not care, and might be able to find employment for the man. Tony was very grateful for her generous offer, and thanking her again, promised to return the following day. Thanksgiving day dawned bright and clear. The sun was just peeping above the east- ern horizon when Marie awoke, and hastily dressing herself, hurried downstairs to get her father's breakfast early, for so much depended upon her today. She was so impressed with the importance of it all, and so anxious that her dinner should be a grand success, that her face wore a very grave look which greatly amused her father. After breakfast, he was told very earnestly that he must not come near the kitchen that morning as she had a great surprise for him, and if he found it out everything would be spoiled. He obeyed quite meekly, after which she securedly locked the doors, to make sure there would be no intrusion. She hurried about the tiny kitchen in a high state of excitement, for work had begun in earnest now, and her father must soon see what an accomplished little cook she had become. At length all was in readiness, and Mr. Anderson, fairly loaded down with a large bas- ket, had been dispatched to the Reeds', so that their own dinner might be ready on his re- turn. In the meantime, their rather odd looking guest appeared and was given a comfortable chair by the fire in the cozy little sitting room, by far the best he had seen for many a long day. Marie had succeeded in interesting her father in the unfortunate man, and he had indul- gently submitted to receiving him as a guest and even promised to see what could be done for him, provided that he was honest and could be trusted. Soon Mr. Anderson returned, and the three sat down to Marie's long anticipated Thanksgiving dinner. It was rather an ill-assorted company, but a cheerful one neverthe- less. The table was bountifully spread with dainties of every description, to which they did full justice while, the praise they heaped upon the result of her labors, quite compensated Marie, and her mirth became so infectious that it even made Saunders forget his troubles for the time, at least. The afternoon passed quickly. They sat around the cheerful log fire, where Mr. Ander- son with kind words of encouragement and plans for the future, continued the good work his little daughter had begun and succeeded in inspiring new hope in the heart of the lonely stranger. It was almost dusk, and the glowing embers were just beginning to cast fitful shadows about the room. when Saunders took his departure, a far happier man than he had ever dreamed he could be again. Before retiring that night, Marie sat musing for a long time before the fire, thinking how eventful for her had been the past few days. She could not help feeling that Cod had been very good in permitting her to share her many blessings with others less fortunate than she. It was nearly midnight, and everything seemed peaceful about the little Anderson home. The father had fallen into a profound slumber, and Marie too, had forgotten for the time the lonely creature she had so befriended that day. The latter, meanwhile, had strayed only a short distance from her home, and had taken refuge for the night in a barn close by. Sleep was impossible for him after such an encounter, and it was only natural that he should think of the little girl who had shown him one ray of light after Years of darkness. 36