THE THANKSGIVING
The prairie lay sere and brown like a piece of faded tapestry beneath
the November sun that, peering through the dust-laden air, seemed old
and worn with his efforts to warm the poor old faded earth.
The grain had all been cut and gathered into stacks that had dotted the
fields, two by two, like comfortable married couples, and these in turn
had changed into billowy piles of yellow straw, through which herds of
cattle foraged, giving a touch of life and colour to the unending
colourless landscape. The trees stood naked and bare. The gardens where
once the corn waved and the hollyhocks flaunted their brazen beauty,
now lay a tangled litter of stalks, waiting the thrifty farmer's torch
to clear them away before the snow came. The earth had yielded of her
fruits and now rested from her labour, worn and spent, taking no
thought of comeliness, but waiting in decrepit indifference for her
friend, the North Wind, to bring down the swirling snow to hide her
scars and heal her unloveliness with its kindly white mantle.
But although the earth lay sere and brown and dust-laden, the granaries
and elevators were bursting with a rich abundance. Innumerable
freight-trains loaded with wheat wound heavily up the long grade,
carrying off all too slowly the produce of the plain, and still the
loads of grain came pouring in from the farms. The cellars were full of
the abundance of the gardens--golden turnips, rosy potatoes and rows of
pale green cabbages hanging by their roots to the beams gave an air of
security against the long, cold, hungry winter.
Inside of John Watson's home, in spite of November's dullness, joy and
gladness reigned, for was not Pearl coming home? Pearl, her mother's
helper and adviser; Pearl, her silent father's wonder and delight, the
second mother of all the little Watsons! Pearl was coming home.
Events in the Watson family were reckoned from the time of Pearl's
departure or the time of her expected home-coming. "Pa got raised from
one dollar and a quarter to one dollar and a half just six weeks from
the day Pearl left, lackin' two days," and Mrs. Evans gave Mary a new
"stuff" dress, "on the Frida' as Pearl left or the Thursda' three weeks
before," and, moreover, the latest McSorley baby was born "on the
Wednesda' as Pearl was comin' home on the Saturda' four weeks after."
Domestic affairs were influenced to some degree by Pearl's expected
arrival. "Don't be wearin' yer sweater now, Tommy man, I'm feart the
red strip'll run in it when its washed; save it clean till Pearlie
comes, there's a man."
"Patsey, avick, wobble yer tooth now man alive. Don't be havin' that
loose thing hangin' in yer jaw, and Pearlie comin' home so soon."
The younger children, whose appetites were out of all proportion to the
supply, were often "tided over" what might have been a tearful time by
a promise of the good time coming. When Danny cried because the bottom
of his porridge plate was "always stickin' through," and later in the
same day came home in the same unmanned condition because he had
smelled chickens cooking down at the hotel when he and Jimmy went with
the milk, Mary rose to the occasion and told him in a wild flight of
unwarranted extravagance that they would have a turkey when Pearl came
home. 'N cranberry sauce. 'N brown gravy. No-ow!
The house had undergone some preparations for the joyous event.
Everything was scrubbed that could be scrubbed. An elaborately
scalloped newspaper drape ornamented the clock shelf; paper chains,
made of blue and yellow sale-bills, were festooned from the elbow of
the stove pipes to the window curtains; the wood box was freshly
papered with newspaper; red flannel was put in the lamps.
The children were scrubbed until they shone. Bugsey's sweater had a
hole in the "chist," but you would never know it the way he held his
hand. Tommy's stocking had a hole in the knee, but he had artfully
inserted a piece of black lining that by careful watching kept up
appearances.
Mrs. Watson, instigated by Danny, had looked at the turkeys in the
butcher shop that morning, asked the price and came away sorrowful.
Even Danny understood that a turkey was not to be thought of. They
compromised on a pot-roast because it makes so much gravy, and with
this and the prospect of potatoes and turnips and prune-pie, the family
had to be content.
On the day that Pearlie was expected home, Mrs. Watson and Mary were
busy preparing the evening meal, although it was still quite early in
the afternoon. Wee Danny stood on a syrup keg in front of the window,
determined to be the first to see Pearlie.
Mrs. Watson was peeling the potatoes and singing. Mrs. Watson sang
because her heart was glad, for was not Pearlie coming home. She never
allowed her singing to interfere with more urgent duties; the singing
could always wait, and she never forgot just where she had left it, but
would come back and pick up at the exact place she had discarded it.
"Sure ain't it great the way ma never drops a stitch in her singin',"
her eldest son Teddy had said admiringly one day. "She can lave a note
half turned up in the air, and go off and lave it, and ye'd think she'd
forgot where she left it, but never a fear o' ma, two days afther
she'll rache up for it and bring it down and slip off into the choon
agin, nate as nate."
On this particular day Mrs. Watson sang because she couldn't help it,
for Pearlie was coming home--
From Greenland's icy mountains,
From India's coral strands,
she sang, as she peeled the potatoes--
Where Africa's sunny fount--
"Come, Mary alanna, and scour the knives, sure an' I forgot them at
noon to-day.
-tains
Flow down their crimson sands;
From many an ancient river
And many a sandy--
Put a dhrop more wather in the kittle Tommy--don't ye hear it spittin'?"
-plain
They call us to deliver--
Here a shout sounded outside, and Bugsey came tumbling in and said he
thought he had seen Pearlie coming away down the road across the track,
whereupon Danny cried so uproariously that Bugsey, like the gentleman
he was, withdrew his statement, or at least modified it by saying it
might be Pearlie and it might not.
But it was Pearl, sure enough, and Danny had the pleasure of giving the
alarm, beating on the window, maudlin with happiness, while Pearl said
good-bye to Tom Motherwell, who had brought her home. Tommy and Bugsey
and Patsey waited giggling just inside the door, while Mary and Mrs.
Watson went out to greet her.
Pearl was in at last, kissing every little last Watson, forgetting she
had done Tommy and doing him over again; with Danny holding tightly to
her skirt through it all, everybody talking at once.
Then the excitement calmed down somewhat, but only to break right out
again, for Jimmy who had been downtown came home and found the box
which Tom Motherwell had left on the step after Pearl had gone in. They
carried it in excitedly and eager little hands raised the lid, eager
little voices shouted with delight.
"Didn't I tell ye we'd have a turkey when Pearlie came home," Mary
shouted triumphantly.
Pearlie rose at once to her old position of director-in-chief.
"The turkey'll be enough for us, and it'll be done in time yet, and
we'll send the chicken to Mrs. McGuire, poor owld lady, she wuz good to
me the day I left. Now ma, you sit down, me and Mary'll git along. Here
Bugsey and Tommy and Patsey and Danny, here's five cents a piece for ye
to go and buy what ye like, but don't ye buy anything to ate, for ye'll
not need it, but yez can buy hankies, any kind ye like, ye'll need them
now the winter's comin' on, and yez'll be havin' the snuffles."
When the boys came back with their purchases they were put in a row
upon their mother's bed to be out of the way while the supper was being
prepared, all except wee Bugsey, who went, from choice, down to the
tracks to see the cars getting loaded--the sizzle of the turkey in the
oven made the tears come.
Two hours later the Watson family sat down to supper, not in sections,
but the whole family. The table had long since been inadequate to the
family's needs, but two boards, with a flour-sack on them, from the end
of it to the washing machine overcame the difficulty.
Was there ever such a turkey as that one? Mrs. Watson carved it herself
on the back of the stove.
"Sure yer poor father can't be bothered with it, and it's a thing he
ain't handy at, mirover, no more'n meself; but the atin' is on it,
praise God, and we'll git at it someway."
Ten plates were heaped full of potatoes and turnips, turkey, brown
gravy, and "stuffin"; and still that mammoth turkey had layers of meat
upon his giant sides. What did it matter if there were not enough
plates to go around, and Tommy had to eat his supper out of the
saucepan; and even if there were no cups for the boys, was not the pail
with the dipper in it just behind them on the old high-chair.
When the plates had all been cleaned the second time, and the turkey
began to look as if something had happened to it, Mary brought in the
surprise of the evening--it was the jelly Mrs. Evans had sent them when
she let Mary come home early in the afternoon, a present from Algernon,
she said, and the whipped cream that Camilla had given Jimmy when he
ran over to tell her and Mrs. Francis that Pearlie had really come.
Then everyone saw the advantage of having their plates licked clean,
and not having more turkey than they knew what to do with. Danny was
inarticulate with happiness.
"Lift me down, Pearlie," he murmured sleepily as he poked down the last
spoonful, "and do not jiggle me."
When Patsey and Bugsey and Tommy and Danny had gone to bed, and Mary
and Mrs. Watson were washing the dishes (Pearlie was not allowed to
help, being the guest of honour), John Watson sat silently smoking his
pipe, listening with delight while Pearl related her experiences of the
last three months.
She was telling about the night that she had watched for the doctor.
Not a word did she tell about, her friend, the doctor's agitation, nor
what had caused it on that occasion, and she was very much relieved to
find that her listeners did not seem to have heard about the
circumstances of Ab Cowan's death.
"Oh, I tell ye, Doctor Clay's the fellow," she said, her eyes sparkling
with enthusiasm. "He knew what was wrong wid Arthur the minute he
clapped his eyes on him--tore open his little satchel, slapped the
chloroform into his face, whisked out his knives and slashed into him
as aisy as ma wud into a pair of pants for Jimmie there, and him
waitin' for them."
"Look at that now!" her father exclaimed, pulling out the damper of the
stove and spitting in the ashes. "Yon's a man'll make his mark wherever
he goes."
A knock sounded on the door. Teddy opened it and admitted Camilla and
Jim Russell.
"I've got a letter for you Pearl," Jim said when the greetings were
over. "When Tom brought the mail this evening this letter for you was
in with the others, and Arthur brought it over to see if I would bring
it in. I didn't really want to come, but seeing as it was for you,
Pearl, I came."
Camilla was not listening to him at all.
Pearl took the letter wonderingly. "Read it Camilla," she said, handing
it to her friend.
Camilla broke the seal and read it. It was from Alfred Austin Wemyss,
Rector of St. Agnes, Tillbury Road, County of Kent, England.
It was a stately letter, becoming a rector, dignified and chaste in its
language. It was the letter of a dignitary of the Church to an unknown
and obscure child in a distant land, but it told of a father and
mother's gratitude for a son's life saved, it breathed an admiration
for the little girl's devotion and heroism, and a love for her that
would last as long as life itself.
Pearl sat in mute wonder, as Camilla read--that could not mean her!
We do not mean to offer money as a payment for what you have done, dear
child (Camilla read on), for such a service of love can only be paid in
love; but we ask you to accept from us this gift as our own daughter
would accept it if we had had one, and we will be glad to think that it
has been a help to you in the securing of an education. Our brother,
the bishop, wishes you to take from him a gift of 20 pounds, and it is
his desire that you should spend it in whatever way will give you the
most pleasure. We are, dear Pearl,
Your grateful friends, ALFRED A. and MARY WEMYSS.
"Here is a Bank of England draft for 120 pounds, nearly $600," Camilla
said, as she finished the letter.
The Watson family sat dumb with astonishment.
"God help us!" Mrs. Watson cried at last.
"He has," Camilla said reverently.
Then Pearl threw her arms around her mother's neck and kissed her over
and over again.
"Ma, dear," she cried, "ye'll git it now, what I always wanted ye to
have, a fur-lined cape, and not lined wid rabbit, or squirrel or skunk
either, but with the real vermin! and it wasn't bad luck to have Mrs.
McGuire cross me path when I was going out. But they can't mane me,
Camilla, sure what did I do?"
But Camilla and Jim stood firm, the money was for her and her only.
Everyone knew, Jim said, that if she had not stayed with Arthur that
long night and watched for the doctor, that Arthur would have been dead
in the morning. And Arthur had told him a dozen times, Jim said, that
Pearl had saved his life.
"Well then, 't was aisy saved," Pearl declared, "if I saved it."
Just then Dr. Clay came in with a letter in his hand.
"My business is with this young lady," he said as he sat on the chair
Mrs. Watson had wiped for him, and drew Pearl gently toward him.
"Pearl, I got some money to-night that doesn't belong to me."
"So did I," Pearl said.
"No, you deserve all yours, but I don't deserve a cent. If it hadn't
been for this little girl of yours, Mr. Watson, that young Englishman
would have been a dead man."
"Faith, that's what they do be sayin', but I don't see how that wuz.
You're the man yerself Doc," John replied, taking his pipe from his
mouth.
"No," the doctor went on. "I would have let him die if Pearl hadn't
held me up to it and made me operate."
Pearl sprang up, almost in tears. "Doc," she cried indignantly,
"haven't I towld ye a dozen times not to say that? Where's yer sense,
Doc?"
The doctor laughed. He could laugh about it now, since Dr. Barner had
quite exonerated him from blame in the matter, and given it as his
professional opinion that young Cowan would have died any way--the
lancing of his throat having perhaps hastened, but did not cause his
death.
"Pearl," the doctor said smiling, "Arthur's father sent me 50 pounds
and a letter that will make me blush every time I think of it. Now I
cannot take the money. The operation, no doubt, saved his life, but if
it hadn't been for you there would have been no operation. I want you
to take the money. If you do not, I will have to send it back to
Arthur's father and tell him all about it."
Pearl looked at him in real distress.
"And I'll tell everyone else, too, what kind of a man I am--Jim here
knows it already"--the doctor's eyes were smiling as he watched her
troubled little face.
"Oh, Doctor Clay," she cried, "you're worse 'n Danny when you get a
notion inter yer head. What kin I do with ye?"
"I do not know," the doctor laughed, "unless you marry me when you grow
up."
"Well," Pearl answered gravely, "I can't do that till ma and me git the
family raised, but I'm thinkin' maybe Mary Barner might take ye."
"I thought of that, too," the doctor answered, while a slight shadow
passed over his face, "but she seems to think not. However, I'm not in
a hurry Pearl, and I just think I'll wait for you."
After Camilla and Jim and the doctor had gone that night, and Teddy and
Billy and Jimmy had gone to bed, Pearl crept into her father's arms and
laid her head on his broad shoulder.
"Pa," she said drowsily, "I'm glad I'm home."
Her father patted her little brown hand.
"So am I, acushla," he said; after a pause he whispered, "yer a good
wee girl, Pearlie," but Pearl's tired little eyes had closed in sleep.
Mrs. Watson laid more wood on the fire, which crackled merrily up the
chimney.
"Lay her down, John dear," she whispered. "Yer arms'll ache, man."
On the back of the stove the teakettle simmered drowsily. There was no
sound in the house but the regular breathing of the sleeping children.
The fire burned low, but John Watson still sat holding his little
sleeping girl in his arms. Outside the snow was beginning to fall.
CONCLUSION
CONVINCING CAMILLA
"If you can convince me, Jim, that you are more irresponsible and more
in need of a guiding hand than Mrs. Francis--why then I'll--I'll be--"
Jim sprang from his chair.
"You'll be what, Camilla? Tell me quick," he cried eagerly.
"I'll be--convinced," she said demurely, looking down.
Jim sat down again and sighed.
"Will you be anything else?" he asked.
"Convince me first," she said firmly.
"I think I can do it," he said, "I always have to write down what I
want to do each day, and what I need to buy when I come in here, and
once, when I wrote my list, nails, coffee, ploughshare, mail, I forgot
to put on it, 'come back,' and perhaps you may remember I came here
that evening and stayed and stayed--I was trying to think what to do
next."
"That need not worry you again, Jim," she said sweetly. "I can easily
remember that, and will tell you every time."
"To 'come back'?" he said. "Thank you, Camilla, and I will do it too."
She laughed.
"Having to make a list isn't anything. Poor Mrs. Francis makes a list
and then loses it, then makes a second list, and puts on it to find the
first list, and then loses that; and Jim, she once made biscuits and
forgot the shortening."
"I made biscuits once and forgot the flour," Jim declared proudly.
Camilla shook her head.
"And, Camilla," Jim said gravely, "I am really very irresponsible, you
know Nellie Slater--she is a pretty girl, isn't she?"
"A very pretty girl," Camilla agreed.
"About your size--fluffy hair--"
"Wavy, Jim," Camilla corrected.
"Hers is fluffy, yours is wavy," Jim said firmly--"lovely dark
eyes--well, she was standing by the window, just before the lamps were
lighted, and I really am very absent-minded you know--I don't know how
it happened that I mistook her for you."
Camilla reached out her hand.
He seized it eagerly.
"Jim--I am convinced," she said softly.
Fifteen minutes afterwards Camilla said:
"I cannot tell her, Jim, I really cannot. I don't how know to begin to
tell her."
"Why do you need to tell her?" Jim asked. "Hasn't the lady eyes and
understanding? What does she think I come for?"
"She doesn't know you come. She sees somebody here, but she thinks it's
the grocery-boy waiting until I empty his basket."
"Indeed," Jim said a little stiffly, "which one, I wonder."
"Don't you remember the night she said to me 'And what did you say this
young man's name is, Camilla'--no, no, Jim, she hasn't noticed you at
all."
Jim was silent a moment.
"Well now," he said at last, "she seemed to be taking notice that
morning I came in without any very good excuse, and she said 'How does
it happen that you are not harvesting this beautiful day, Mr. Russell?'"
"Yes, and what did you say?" Camilla asked a trifle severely.
Jim looked a little embarrassed.
"I said--I had not felt well lately, and I had come in to see the
doctor."
"And what was that?" Camilla was still stern.
"The ingenious device of an ardent lover," he replied quickly.
"'Ardened sinner you mean, Jim," she laughed. "But the next time you
had a splendid excuse, you had a message from Pearl. Was my new suit
done?"
"Yes, and then I came to see--"
There was a frou-frou of skirts in the hall. Camilla made a quick move
and Jim became busy with the books on the table.
Mrs. Francis entered.
"Camilla," she began after she had spoken cordially to Jim, "Mr.
Francis is in need of a young man to manage his business for him, and
he has made up his mind--quite made up his mind, Camilla, to take Mr.
Russell into partnership with him if Mr. Russell will agree. Mr.
Francis needs just such a young man, one of education, good habits and
business ability and so, Camilla, I see no reason why your marriage
should not take place at once."
"Marriage!" Camilla gasped.
"Yes," Mrs. Francis said in her richest tones. "Your marriage, Camilla,
at once. You are engaged are you not?"
"I am--convinced," Camilla said irrelevantly.
And then it was Mrs. Francis who laughed as she held out a hand to each
of them.
"I do see--things--sometimes," she said.
End of Project Gutenberg's Sowing Seeds in Danny, by Nellie L. McClung