Cashion Advance. (Cashion, Okla.), Vol. 2, No. 25, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 28, 1901 Page: 6 of 8
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HE SHALL DIRECT
THY PATH."
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Tt\ r\k ((lvh->rt Story.
"Trust in the Lord with all thy heart
• * • He shall direct thy path."
Old Martha Brent, murmuring
snatches (if her (lay's verses, little real-
ized that a chal enge to her faiih was
close at hand.
She was dusting some bool<s on a
Bhe.f in her sittirg 10 in. and just then
Khe accidentally knocked one of them
to the tioor.
The books hail belonged to Martha's
husband. She dusted them daily, but
r,he never bad op neil them since his
death, ten years b tore. Above the
buok shelf hung a bronze medal her
husband had won for bravery in battle.
Stooping to get the fallen book, Mai -
tba also picked up a paper that had
tumbled out of it. It was a deed con-
ferring a small piece of property below
the town to one Frederick Willis.
"Well, now, to think; I never knew
James deeded that away! thought
Martha.
She had just laid the paper aside
when the door bur.-t op--n and a little
boy came flying in.
"Granny!" he whispered, hurriedly,
"you -won't let him take mo from you
■will you?"
"Why. Jacky!" said Martha.
The boy't beautiful, flushed face
was upturned to hers full of eager en-
treaty.
"Promise, you won't, Granny!"
"No, no, Jacky," she said, patting
lils head; "you never shall leave Gran-
ny unwillingly."
"Morning, Martha," said a large,
rather determined-looking man, ap-
pealing in the doorway.
He was Stephen Butts, a relative of
tbe man who had married Martha's
only daughter, who, with her husband,
now was dead.
He presently stated the object of his
1
accidentally knocked one to
the floor.
visit. lie bad come to town from his
ranch, wishing to take .Tacky back with
bim. He and his wife would be glad
to adopt the boy, he said.
-No, Butts," Martha repliod. with a
touch of asperity, "1 shouldn't feel a
bit relieved to bo rid of Jacky."
"And I must stay to take care of
Granny," chimed in the child, slipping
his linn, pink hand Into the wrinkled,
brown one.
Butts argued the matter awhile. He
wanted the boy. Finally ho went
nway, saying that he would not accept
Martha's decision as final. He would
be in town again for Thanksgiv-
ing. * ' *
That afternoon Martha went to tho
office of her lawyer, Mr. Crell.
Mr. Crell greeted her cordially. "I'm
glad you called in today, Mrs. Brent."
lie said, giving her a chair. "I wanted
to see you."
"No good news!" he said. "i've
heard from Mr. Ford, but I'm sorry to
bo obliged to tell you that he writes he
does not see much use of continuing
your pension cas \ He cannot d scover
any one who knew Sergeant William
Clay n James Brent."
James Brent had retaken his true
name when he got his discharge front
the army three years before his death,
and came to live in this western town,
and now it seemed impossible to prove
that he and Sergeant Clay were the
same man.
His widow mortgaged the home to
Lawyer Ford, the pension attorney,
who seeiug no chance of winning the
case demanded payment of the mort-
gage. Crell told of Ford's demands.
Martha started. She grew very
white. She had a poor head for busi-
ness matters, and she had not fully
realized, when she mortgaged her
property to meet the expenses of em-
ploying the Washington lawyer, that
she must lose it if she did not get her
pension, in the latter event the ten
years' arrears due her would easily
have paid up the mortgage.
"I hope we may be ab e to save the
place some way," said Mr. Crell, ob-
serving her distress. ' flow* about sell-
ing that land on the river?"
"Oh, sir, I cannot sell that; it—'
Martha, half < xtendlng the deed from
under her thawl, drew it sharply back
into hiding.
A llerco flood of terror set every
nerve in her old body trembling.
"What did you say. sir?" she asked,
weakly. Mr. Crell explained that it
would bo wise to sell the land. "I'm
sure your husband would approve," he
said.
Martha rose from her chair abruptly.
"Yes, I believe James would want
me to sell it," she declared; "he'd want
anything rather than Jacky and I'd be
without a home!" She went away
quickly.
Martha did not work well that after-
noon. Here mind was distracted. She
kept slipping her hand into her pocket
to feel the deed. It's possession con-
fused her actions.
Unable to stand the strain any long
er she started to Crell's office to tell
the story. But on the way she met
Jacky returning from school.
"Come, you're tired. I/et's hurry
home," said Jacky. "Why, thats not
the way home. Granny! You re start-
ing uptown. See, it's well I came to
fetch you. Take my shoulder; I'm
pretty big now."
Martha's determination wilted weak-
ly away. She went home with her boy.
It was not until they were seated at
supper that her sense of right put in a
claim again.
"I've taken the second wrong step,
and I've got to stop here"' She. pulled j
herself up.
She knew that if the worst came to j
the worst she might go to the poor-
house. and tried to pursuade him to go
to Butts'.
Jacky's face clouded: he flung him-
self back in his chair.
"Now, Granny," be cried with tears, i
"you're talking as though you wanted
me to go and yon said you didn't;
you promised that I might always stay
with you."
Martha's face fell from the wheed-
ling expression it had assumed. She
gave up the effort to persuade the
child to wish to leave her as beyond
her strength. She rose abruptly after
a few minutes and walked to the stove.
She lifted a lid and snatched the deed
from her pocket.
"Why. what are you doing now?"
Jacky asked, surprised at the nervous
intensity of lier actions.
Martha stopped herself shortly at
his question.
"I was going to burn this paper, but
maybe I'd better not," she muttered.
She sat down again, quite spent
from the day's perplexities. She did
not coherently plan what, she should
| do. She let matters drift for the next
, few days.
Then one morning Mr (""roll came
to her house with a notary and a deed
all drawn tip for her to sign He gave
her the deed to sign She trembled
and before she could write her name
the pen fell to the floor. She would
not pick It up. "I won't sell tbe land,"
she said. "Let this place go if it will,
and Jacky and I aro going to live on
the shack on the river land "
Nothing the perplexed lawyer could
say would alter this decision, and at
last he took the notary away.
However, sincerely desirous of sav-
ing the old woman from the conse-
quences of what seemed a strange
vagary, Mr. Crell tame to her another
day, saying that he had arranged by
telegraph to postpone the timo of pay-
ing the mortgage.
But Marttia stubbornly refused to
alter her plans. She put a little furni-
ture Into the two-roomed log shack
on the river property, and moveu
there with Jacky.
"There won't be any crime in jusi
borrowing the land whil-s I live, she
told herself.
One evening, when they had been
in the shack some weeks, as he sat
studying the depressed lines that had
come into her face, an idea occurred
to Jacky.
"Granny," ho broke out, "the reason
we're not very cheerful here is just
because we haven't enough honor-
ableness."
Then, as Martha caught her breath,
she glanced at him sharply.
"We ought to have grandfather's
medal hanging up as it was at tbe
cottage," he explained. "You see.
Granny, we're always so proud and
happy when we look at it and remem-
ber what a brave soldier he was. 11
makes us wish to be all honorable and
right ourselves. Why Granny!
Martha had suddenly dropped her
face in her hands, and was swaying
her poor old body to and fro.
"Jacky! Jacky!" she cried out, "Go
get the medal, quickly!
He Hew for it, quite distracted at
the remarkable effect of his words. He
had merely repeated things she had
often said to him.
Martha had controlled her agitation
when he came back to her side aftei
a few minutes. She was sitting up
very straight and calm, and there was
a brightness in her eyes, as if the
spirit behind them was working
strongly. Her mouth had Trooped
from the set look it had recently worn.
It trembled slightly.
"Jacky," she said, "stand before me,
my man. Jacky, you say that think-
ing of grandfather ought to make us
brave and honorable. Do you mean
'i
The night before Thanksgiving I
found mamma sitting alone by the
window in the dark, and when I put
my cheek against hers it was all wet,
and I said out quick;
"Oh, pretty mamma, what is the mat-
ter?" and cried, too.
"I was thinking about your uncle
Jefferson," she answered, then she
dried her eyes and mine. "He will
be the only one who will not be here
at our Thanksgiving dinner."
"But why don't he ever come?" 1
said
"Three years ago he had a misun-
derstanding with your father," said
mamma.
"That means a quarrel," I said.
"What did he quarrel about?"
"The pronunciation of a word," said
mamma.
"The way a word ought to (><• spok-
en?" I asked.
"Yes," said mamma.
I thought that such a queer thing
"Oh. yes, Granny."
"And if he was ready to do his duty
In his way, we must do ours in our
liva v as bravely ?
"Ye-es, Granny."
"Then, Jacky, we shall. I'll do mine
' and you'll do yours, little lad, even
j though it's the hardest trial that
| could come for us to be parted."
Mi V #
The next morning Martha carried
> the deed to Mr. Crell and told him the
! story of how she had found it and
of her resolve to restore the land to
! Willis.
"Oh. Mrs. Brent!" he exclaimed
when he was through reading it,
springing up to grasp her hand. How
glad we are you brought me this at
last! You say you were not able to
read all of it? Well, Frederick Willis
was a soldier serving with your hus-
Q
Di
Ji&5> '/
A^ii
WifwP
■ TiSi OSS
J '' >• I
"HOW GLAD WE ABE."
band, and the land is left him in grat-
itude for once saving Brent's life. It
is mentioned here that Brent served
under the assumed name of Clay. Now-
all to do is to find Willis, and through
him prove Brent's identity, and we
shall get your pension!"
Thanksgiving Day, when Stephen
liutts drove in from his ranch, Martha
was back in her cottage. He looked
at her pleasantly as she opened the
door for him.
"I haven't come to urge you to let
' us have the boy, Martha,' he said
kindly. "Jenny said I shouldn't, since
you're so set by each other.
He had his wagon loaded with
pumpkins and butter and eggs and
other good things produced on his
I ranch. He stored them away in Mar-
tha's chair.
Martha felt herself blessed beyond
all deserving this day. She went about
stuffing a little turkey and making a
pie for Jacky's dinner full of thank-
fulness and penitence.
"He shall direct thy paths." she
murmured, with new fervor.
"MY POOR CHILD, WHAT DO YOU
WANT?"
to quarrel about, but I did not say
anything, for, of course, big folks
know best.
, "It was on Thanksgiving Day three
! years ago," said mamma, "and he has
never been in the house since."
"He must be very cross and bad,"
| I said.
"No, indeed, Hilda," said mamma.
"He is a splendid doctor, and very kind
to the poor. He is ready to go and
see them any time, day or night. I
have often known him to take the
ragged little children who were sent
for him in his gig."
Then she said again: "They will
ail be here but he."
"Shall I go and ask him to come?"
I said after a while. " I know where
be lives."
"No, Hilda, he would not listen to
you," said mamma.
"if I was a ragged little girl would
he come?" I asked.
"He might," said mamma. Then
she sat very quiet and looked out of
the window for a long time, and I
knew she was thinking about Uncle
Jefferson.
Next day every one came—grand-
ma, grandfather and all my aunts, un-
cles and cousins, big and little
The table in the dining room was
bright and glittering with pretty glass,
silver and flowers. Every one seemed
happy, 'out I knew just by her face
that mamma was still thinking,
"They are all here but Uncle Jeffer-
son."
So I went up to her and said
"Maybe Uncle Jefferson will come
after all, mamma," but she shook her
head and the tears came into her eyes.
"Would he come if I was a lagged
little girl and asked him?" I said.
"He might," said mamma. "He is
always so very good to poor chil-
dren."
"Then I will go and bring him," 1
said to myself, and ran away. Dinner
would not be ready for an hour so I
had plenty of time. I left all my
cousins playing and talking together.
I was afraid some one would call me
back, but I got away without being
seen and went into mamma's room
and into a closet, where I knew an
old coat of papa's hung. I knew no
one would mind, so I got the big
scissors and cut off some? of the sleeves,
th.-n I put it on; but it was so long a
that I could not walk, so 1 cut off tho
to make it ragged.
I climbed up on a (hair after I was
dressed and peeped into the glass. I
looked just like a poor, poor little beg-
gar girl. It almost made me cry.
"I hope I am ragged enough to suit
Uncle Jefferson," I said, and I ran
down stairs and out of the door. No
one heard me.
When I reached Uncle Jefferson s
office his gig was standing at the door,
so I waited close by until he came out
of the house. I was afraid that after
all he would not listen, but the mo-
ment he saw me he stopped and looked
at me all over through his glasses.
"Dear, dear, he said, "my poor
child, what do you want"
"I want you to come and see mam-
ma," I said.
He answered right away. "Certainly;
jump in and tell the boy where to
drive." ^
When the black boy lifted me into
the gig he laughed and said:
Well, little rag-uag, where shall I
take you?"
Just that moment I forgot our num-
ber, so I pointed.
Uncle Jefferson sat down on the
other side of me, and away we went
Well, before I knew it, tho boy drove
down the wrong street, but there was
a gate into our back garden in this
street, and I told him to stop there.
It was very dark in the garden, but
I went straight up to the dining-room
door, Uncle Jefferson following close
behind. As I ran up the seps I threw
away the old coat and handkerchief,
for I knew mamma wanted me to look
nice. |
When I pushed open the door and '
called out, "Here is Uncle Jefferson,"
every one stopped talking and turned
around.
Well, I don t know what happened
after that, but anyhow in a few mo-
ments they were all shaking hands,
and mamma was crying, but this time
she looked so happy.
When at last they all sat down, I
next to mamma on one side and Uncle
Jefferson on tbe other, she said: "You
dear little fairy, how did you man-
age to make him come?"
Then I told her about the old coat,
and she told everybody else, and they
laughed, Uncle Jefferson louder than
all the others.
Mamma said it was the very hap-
piest Thanksgiving Day she had ever
known, and all my cousins said it was
the very best Thanksgiving dinner
ever eaten.
Well, after that day Uncle Jefferson
and I were the best of friends, and
he always called me his Thanksgiving
fairy.
4
In planning for our Thanksgiving
dinner, our minds naturally recur to
the time-honored dishes as roast tur-
key, pumpkin pie. cranberry sauce. -
baked Indian pudding, etc., and our
feast never seems quite complete with-
out them. It is not always possible,
however, to have turkey and some
do not care for it. Itoast goose, chick ▼
en, duck, pork, or beef may be substi
tuteil for it. Another nice dish is
"mock duck," or pork tenderloins
baked with a bread dressing flavored
with herbs and onions. A menu that
is semi-old-fashioned but usually liked
Is oyster soup, roast turkey with
mashed potatoes, turnips, baked
squash, pickles—sweet and sour—jel-
lies; a salad, mince and pumpkin pie;
fruit, nuts and coffee. It is well to
have some kind of light pudding for
those who do not eat pie. if oysters
cannot be procured, vegetable oysters
may be substituted. Cream tomato is
a favorite kind of soup.
ii *
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Cashion Advance. (Cashion, Okla.), Vol. 2, No. 25, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 28, 1901, newspaper, November 28, 1901; Cashion, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc102669/m1/6/: accessed April 23, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.