Garfield County Democrat. (Enid, Okla.), Vol. 5, No. 48, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 27, 1902 Page: 3 of 8
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KF ''
j\ I^ose-W^ming
(JinNKJ°GiVl/MQ' £)iN/siny
[By Charles H. Robinson.]
It was all on account of the Widow
^mesy.
During the lifetime of her lord and
master Mrs. Amesy was nothing but
in atom flurrying around on the edge
of the social whirlwind, but, as a wid-
ow with a tidy bit of money left her
i y the lamented departed—that was
another matter. Then, the storm cen-
ter sought to draw her in and squeeze
the money out of her. Being a wise
woman, she resisted the pressure and
Invested her windfall in a little cot-
tage, which possessed three rooms be-
low and two more in the attic. This,
clay, which drew their prey down into 1
the depths without hope of extrication.
Naturally careless and reckless, Mr.
Jimson plunged into a quagmire, and
when he felt himself sinking, he
shouted for help. Fortunately the
widow heard his cries and rushed to
the rescue.
"What in the world are you doing in
there, Mr. Jimson?" she inquired after
locating him In the semi-darkness.
"The cows, widow; I started after
them and forgot the slough in goin'
cross lots."
"Wait, Mr. Jimson, and I will pull
you out," and she made as If she
m
. ■<&
The Limb Bent Lower and Lower.
with even simple furnishings, took all
her avails and compelled her to look
around for the wherewith to satisfy
the cravings and clamors of her phys-
ical nature, for she was a jolly and
weighty specimen of widowkind. As
the doctor frequently said of her:
"The widow Amesy is a good-sized
chunk of a woman; able to take care
of herself and stand on her rights."
For some inscrutable reason the
widow had set herself up as the cham-
pion of the weak—men, women or
children, there was no difference to
her—even in the case of a helpless
bird or dog, she would ruffle up as if
she had the feathers of a motherly
hen guarding her brood from the at-
tacks of a ravenous hawk, and stay
the injurious hand. To the sick and
suffering she was kindness personi-
fied, and her gentle disposition com-
bined with her physical strength and
the knowledge of how to use it
brought her into constant demand as
a skillful nurse. Everybody knew her,
respected her and had reason to be
grateful to her for services performed
at some period or other, and was
ready to fight for her if the occasion
required war on her behalf.
There was once a faint breath of
scandal, but the doctor dissipated it in
the most startlingly vigorous manner,
and after that, neither It nor any
other ill-wind blew in her direction.
"If that woman isn't a saint, she's
next door to being one," was his
wind-up when he told the story.
Mr. Adoniram Jimson was the in-
dividual in question. A "ne'er do well,"
but he took care of the widow's cow
and calf, looked after her chickens
and ducks as a labor of love, and to
reciprocate many of her little surrep-
titious acts of kindness in the shape
of fresh baked bread, an occasional
roast chicken or a luxuriant pie, that
found its way into his scant pantry.
He accepted and ate everything he
found there in a perfunctory manner,
somewhat after the style of the raven-
fed prophet, or rather like the hog
under the oak, that rcots up and de-
vours the succulent nuts without ever
looking up to see whence they come.
It so happened, late one evening,
that Mr. Jimson started after the
widow's cow and calf that had been
wandering among the brush all day
for pasture, and had apparently for-
gotten the way home. It had been
raining steadily for forty-eight hours,
and the numerous sloughs, rivorbed*
and buffalo wallows were so saturated
with water that it meant death to fall
into any of them because of the bot-
tomless quicksands mixed with mlrej
would go in after him, but he quickly
stopped her.
"No, no, widow, for God's sake, go
back. You'll mire yourself an' both of
us'll be lost."
"I have it," said the widow, quickly
taking In all the surroundings. "Have
patience, Mr. Jimson, and do not
struggle, or you will sink faster," then
adding under her breath: "I must do
it; there's no time to get help; be-
sides, nobody can see me."
The big lower limb of a sycamore
tree stretched out over and beyond
him, but out of his reach, and her
thought was, that if she could cllm
out on the limb, her weight would
bend it down so that he could seize
hold of it, and either draw himself
out or hold on to it until she could
procure other aid.
She climbed the tree and reached
the big limb after encountering numer-
ous bruises and scratches, which, how-
ever, she did not heed. Then resting
a moment, she stretched her body out
along the branch and begdn to crawl
slowly toward Jimson, who soon un-
derstood what she intended to do.
"Widow," he cried imploringly,
"you'll fall off an' be lost. Never
mind me, widow, I ain't of no account;
I'm in my last hole, an' it's jest as
well. For God's sake, widow, go
back; don't resk your life for me!"
"Be still, poor man," said the wom-
an, crawling slowly along, her arms
and legs clasped around the limb. It
began to bend with her weight at
last, but she still kept on, almost fall-
ing off, for the limb was growing
smaller and she could not grip it tight.
She flattened her body down upon it
like a worm crawling on a quivering
twig, all the time telling Jimson to
cheer up and she would save him. The
limb bent lower and lower still, until
Jimson had a tiny branch in his grasp.
"Now, hold on tight," the widow
commanded, "and keep still. I am go-
ing back, and when my weight is off
the limb it will spring up and pull you
out."
So saying, she began to crawl back-
ward cautiously. Ie3t a single slip
should throw her off her balance and
her efforts prove in vain. The broken,
jagged twigs and branches caught her
dress and pierced her flesh, but with
resistless force she bore her whole
weight backward against them and
tore herself fr.je, reaching the trunk
in safety, whence she dropped panting
to the ground.
Jimson worked the sticky earth and
sand Into the consistency of gruel, by
turning and twisting, until finally the
downward suction ceased and the up
ward spring of the tree branch began
to draw him up and out. Then, climb-
ing hand over hand along the limb as
It bent back to its normal position,
the woman encouraging him all the
way, he finally reached safety, and,
dropping from the limb to the ground,
broke his leg and fell unconscious.
When he recovered his senses he
was lying on a couch in the widow's
little parlor, the widow herself bend-
ing over him with a bowl of steaming
tea which she made him drink.
"I must go home, widow," said Jim-
son trying to stand up and walk, but
falling to the floor, groaning with
pain. Lifting him back upon the
couch, the widow bade him lie still
while she went for the doctor.
"H-m-m, a very bad case," re-
marked the doctor after an examina-
tion of the fractured member.
"Crushed, twisted and broken. How
did it happen?"
When put in possession of the facts,
the doctor burst out into a roar of
laughter. "What a sight! What a
sight!" he exclaimed as soon as he
recovered his breath.
"What do you mean?" demanded the
widow, bridling up.
"Why, your crawling out on that j
limb and crawfishing back again." The
imaginative doctor again broke out
into a fit of laughter, which was sud-
denly checked by a sound box on the
ear aflministered by the angry wom-
an.
"You're hpre to fix this poor man's
leg, not to insult a woman!" she
snapped out with fire in her eyes.
"Widow, I beg your pardon," said
the doctor humbly as he turned to his
patient.
"It will be six weeks before he can
crawl about on crutches, and two
months before he can attempt to
walk," was the fiat when the opera-
tion had been completed.
"Six weeks? Two months?"
groaned Jimson. "Le'me go home. I
must go home," and he attempted to
rise, compelling the doctor to hold
him down on his back.
"But the cow, widow, I must git the
cow," said he plaintively. •
"Never mind the cow, Mr. Jimson,"
said the widow; let it go to Halifax.
You've got to lie still for six weeks or
two months. I'll take care of you."
And she did take care of him, pull
ing him through until he was able to
walk.
Not long afterward, about ten days
before Thanksgiving day, the widow's
little house was burned to the ground,
all she had in the world being con-
sumed with It. When the bucket bri
gade finished fighting the fiery demon,
the latter had the best of it—there was
nothing left but the widow—yes, there
was the hencoop, but that was not a
"D'ye think we're going to let you live
in a hencoop?"
At a town meeting, called for the
purpose, it was resolved to have the
widow's house rebuilt ready for occu-
pation on Thanksgiving day. gome
furnished money, others contributed
materials, and others still volunteered
to do the work.
There were delays and setbacks,
however, as is usual whenever any
work is promised at a certain, fixed
time, so that when Thanksgiving
morning arrived the problem of com-
pleting the job became knotty, but
having been promised and undertaken,
it had to be finished. By hard think-
ing 'Squire llobbs conceived the idea,
and to carry it into effect, he sum-
moned his fellow townsmen and laid
the matter before them.
"You women folks," said he by way
of consulting them, "you women folks
go home and cook up what you've got
in the house just the same as if you
were going to get dinner—Turkeys,
chickens, geese, ducks, anything, and
cranberry sauce. The pumpkin and
mince pies are already ripe on the
pantry shelves. Then bring every-
thing here by 4 o'clock. We men will
finish this house for the widow by
that time, and we'll all eat our
Thanksgiving dinner on the spot. It
will be a house warming Thanksgiving
dinner and an old-fashioned barn-rais-
ing combined. There'll be board ta-
bles laid outside for those who can't
get inside the house. You boys and
girls, get all the boxes and barrels
you can find—there's a lot of cord-
wood in my back yard that won't be
missed—and if we don't finish eating
| by dark, we'll have bonfires to see by
and warm up up. Widow, you just sit
j or stand around and boss things, it
being your house. No remarks, please!
I Scatter!
The house was on hand at the hour
named, so were the women and the
| combined Thanksgiving dinners.
Of course, the house was not big
, enough to accommodate all the merry
l crowd that wanted to get into it, but
those who could not squeeze in gath-
ered around It as close as they could
i to eat and hear the speeches of the no-
j tables, who practiced oratory until
! the small boys notified thom that the
fuel had given out. Then they all
went home tired, but full and happy.
Was the widow happy? Not a bit
1 more than the others.
he did see was the town messenger
waving a telegram.
"For me?" asked Billy expectantly.
"Naw!" cried the boy. "It's fer yer
mother. Sign fer It."
Billy Dick laboriously signed Ills full
uamo on the blank, and he and Flopsy
ran in with the telegram. Mrs. Mor-
ton was busy In the dining room cars- j
fully packing a valise with Thanksgiv j
ing goodies, pies and cake and jellies. '
"A telegram, mother," cried Billy
Dick, "for you."
"Oh, Hilly Dick!" was all she could
say, for telegrams caine so seldom that
they always frightened her.
I "It's it's probably from Mrs. Walk-
! or," suggested Billy Dick in his reas-
; tniring manner. "Open It and see."
j "Mrs. Walker is in Turkey," laughed
I Mrs. Norton at his cotulort.
! Billy Dick tore the envelope open
j and Mrs. Morton read the telegram
aloud:
"On way East. Arrive Thanksgiv-
ing 10 a. m. "John and Dorothy."
j "Goodness!" cried Billy Dick.
; Uncle Jack and Aunt Dot to visit us!"
and he capered around the table.
"Yes, It is nice," said Mrs. Morton,
j "but, Billy Dick, they're to arrive
| Thanksgiving day, and that means our
other plans are spoiled."
Billy Dick hadn't thought of that,
I that certainly wasn't pleasant, for the
I expedition they had planned was to go
| down to Norfolk, for the father, who
i was in the navy, was unable to leave
| the yard to come home for the holiday.
And such a cooking time as they had
had. Capt. Morton had written that the
food there was poor, and if they camo
down to bring some "frills," and It was
the "frills" that Mrs. Morton was now
packing In the bag.
"And—it busts our plans?" echoed
Billy Dick. "O mother!"
"We must stay at home, Billy Dick,
and disappoint your father, too." Mrs.
Posy and Flopsy and Mlsi Elsie,
was his Sunday school teacher and his
very best girl, and the fun he and
Flopsy had last year earning their
Christinas from Mr. Minders. And th«
old gentleman lauglied and enjoyed
the joke3, and in turn told Billy Dick
what he did years and years ago when
he was a boy.
So the time passed nv.ay quickly,
till word was brought to them that
there had been a wreck on the road
and that no train could run through to
Norfolk that night.
"But I must go," said Billy Dick.
"My father is waiting for me. I'll
give them a dollar If they can let me
through."
A dollar was a large sum to Billy
Dick, nnd as it was all he had It waj
a valuable ofTer.
The colored waiter showed his teeth
j pleasantly. 'Sho', dey ain' gwlne lef
| eben dc pres'dent troo," he said. "Sor-
ry, sah."
Hilly Dick looked frightened. "But—
but," he said, "my father was to meet
mo and telegraph to mother that I got
here all right, and mother'U be so
worried. And father says it is coward-
ly to worry a lady."
"Well, well. It is too had," said the
old gentleman. "Your father won't
worry because he knows I am here,
and we'll telegraph to your mother If
you like."
So Billy Dick ate the rest of th«
supper, convinced that a small boy
couldn't do much to clear the railroad
If they would not even do it for the
president himself.
After the ice cream was finished,
they went to the telegraph office and
sent the telegram.
"Can you give mother my love?"
asked Billy Dick.
The old gentleman chuckled and
nodded.
Then there was nothing else to do
An Outdoor Thanksgiving Dinner.
BILLY'S THANKSGIVING UNCLE,
"Thanksgiving's coming again, Flop-
sy," said Billy Dick. "But I forgot,
you don't know Thanksgiving, do you?
You were only the ragman's dog then.
You ought to have been here—why, do
t ' > '
iM
Morton's sv eet voice was trembling.
Billy Dick could not Btand it—he and
Flopsy had to go out on the piazza to
think it over.
"O, Flopsy, Flopsy," said Billy Dick,
burying his head in Flopsy's ears. "I'm
glad you don't know what Thanksgiv-
ing is like, and a visit to pops at the
yard, for you can't be disappointed. 1
feel—Jiminy Ann, there's something
the matter with my eyes, and I've got
a kind of a pain somewhere in my
stomach, I guess, and "
The door opened and Mrs. Morton
came briskly out. "I have It, Billy
Dick, I have another plan. We mustn't
disappoint your father entirely. You
and the goodies shall go to Norfolk,
while Itosy Posy and I stay at home
and receive Uncle Jack and Aunt Dot.
Could you go alone?"
Billy Dick began to grow tall. He
felt on a level with his pretty moth-
er's shoulder as he answered:
"Why, of course. That would b?
jolly, except for you and Rosy Posy."
So Billy Dick started that atternoon,
with a dollar in his pocket, and his
ticket carefully stowed away in an in-
side pocket. It was a three hours'
journey, and he had to change cars
twice.
As he stepped off the train a little
old man with white hair and a jolly
smile came up to him.
"Well, well, well," he said, "how you
have grown! This is Billy, isn't it?
Yes? Well, I declare—come right
along with ine. The train is late, and
we'd better get some supper here."
Billy Dick wasn't quite sure who
the old gentleman was, but as he
Beemed familiar with him, why of
course It was all right. It would not
be polite to ask him who he was, and
a Morton is always polite, you know.
Probably it was great uncle Howell,
whom he had seen years ago. Yes. it
must be, thought Billy Dick, though he
did not know that he lived in Rich-
mond.
but spend the night in Richmond with
the new-found uncle, and such fun it
was to stay at a hotel!
Early in the morning Billy Dick
and his great-uncle took the train for
Norfolk, and soon the engine was
puffing into the station.
And—O, joy! there was Dad anx-
iously peering through the window for
his boy. He had jumped on the train
before it stopped and had Billy Dick
in his arms.
In fact, Billy Dick forgot all about
his new-found uncle, for his father
was so glad to see him safe and sound.
"I must telegraph your mother at
once, Billy Dick," said his father. "She
has been almost worried to death
about you when I could not telegraph
her that you had arrived."
"But great uncle Howell telegraphed
—didn't you?" asked Billy Dick, turn-
ing to the old gentleman, who wan
greeting some friends.
"Who?" asked Capt. Morton.
"Why," began liilly Dick, and as ha
noticed that his father didn't shake
hands with the old gentleman, and
that the old gentleman apparently
didn't know his father, he introduced
them.
"This is my father; don't you re-
member him?" he said.
"Your father!" exclaimed the old
gentleman. "Your fathar is my
nephew, William Walters."
There surely was some mistake
somewhere, or was he dreaming?
"Aren't you Billy Waters, William
Walton Waters?" asked the old gen-
tleman.
"1 am Milton Montgomery Morton,
sir," said Billy Dick.
"You said your name was Billy,"
said the old man.
"Billy Dick," explained Capt. Mor-
ton. "He's always been called that
because "
Then the old gentleman began to
laugh, and Billy Dick laughed, too, as
1 did Captain Morton and the other
friends that came up. And the whole
So the two went off together across i thing was explained when one lady
Took Care of Him Until He Could Walk.
fit habitation for her, although sho
thought she might fix it up and get
along all right until she could afford
to build some sort of a shanty to pro-
tect her from the inclement weather.
She refused all offers of aid, but
'Squire Hobbs laid down the law and
she was compelled to yield.
"You will go over to my house and
stay there until we have built you an-
other house," said he with a deter-
mination that overcame her resistance.
| the street and round the
hotel.
Billy Dick had never been in a ho-
tel before, ami before lie was half J
through supper ho made up his mind
that as soon as he was big enough he j
would persuade the family to come
there—it was so nice to have hundreds
of tilings to eat all written out so
you might choose as many as you
wanted.
The two sat there, the very old man j
and the little boy hiving the be3t of |
I times. Billy Dick told the new-found
you know what 1 did last year? An
auto and I ran away together. And I
remembered, of course, that a boy
whose name is Milton Montgomery
Norton can't disobey, so we—Jiminy
Ann! What do you suppose Is the
matter?"
Flopsy's tail wagged knowingly, but
he didn't answer. He wa3 cither jeal-
ous of this "Jiminy Ann," whom ha
had never seen, but to whom Billy
Dick often talked In this way. What | great-uncle all about home and Rosy
said: 'Why, Blny Waters mother tele-
graphed that ho was sick and couldn'f
come."
"And—and the telegram?" gasped
Billy Dick.
"Went to Billy Waters' mother—
with your love in It." laughed the old
gentleman. "She must have been sur-
prised to get It with her own Billy
right at home!"
Billy Dick's own mother was noti-
fied at once, and his "great uncle
Howell" helped him and his father to
eat the goodies sho had packed In tb*
bag.
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Moore, E. P. Garfield County Democrat. (Enid, Okla.), Vol. 5, No. 48, Ed. 1 Thursday, November 27, 1902, newspaper, November 27, 1902; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc166511/m1/3/: accessed April 26, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.