Tom's Thanksgiving

"It was very provoking that seamstresses and such people would get married, like the rest of the world," Mrs. Greenough said, half in fun and half in earnest. Her i'all sewing was just coming on, and here was Lizzie Brown, who had suited her so nicely, going off to be married, and she had no resource bnt to advertise, and take whornsoever she could get. No less than ten women had been tliere that day, and not one wouid answer. " There comes number eleven; you will nee," shecried, as the bell rang. Kitty Greenough looked on with interest. Indeed, it was her gowns, rather than her mother's, that were most pressing. She was just 16, and since last winter ah e had shot up suddenly, as girls at that age so of ten do, and left all her clothes behind her. Mrs. Greenough was right - it was another seamstress, and Bridget showed in a plain, sad-looking woman of about 40, with an air of intense respectability. Mrs. Greenough explained what she wanted done, and the woman said quietly that she was accustomed to such work - would Mrs. Greenough be so kind as to look at some recommendations ? Whereupon she handed out several ladylike looking notes, whose writers indoraed the bearer, Mrs. Margaret Graham, as faithful and capable, used to trimmings of all sorts, and quick to catch an idea. " Very well indeed," Mrs. Greenough said, as Hhe flnished reading them; "I could ask nothing better. Can you be ready to come at once V' "To-morrow, if you wish, madam," was the answer, and then Mrs. Graham went away. . Kitty Greenough was an impulsive, imaginative girl; no subject was too dull or too unpromising for her fancy to I touch it. She made a story for herself j about every new person who came in her way. After number eleven had gone down stairs, Kitty laughed. "Isn't she a sobersides, mamma? I don't believe there will be any frisk in j my dresses at all if she trims them." '■' There'll be frisk enough in them if you wear them," her mother answered, smiling at the bright, saucy, winsome face of her one tall daughter. Kitty was ready to turn the conversation. " What do you think she is, mamma - ■ wife or widow ?" And then answering her own question: " I think she's married, and he's sick and she has to take care of him. That solemn, still way she has comes of much staving in a sickroom. She's in the habifc of keeping quiet, don't you see ? I wish she were a a little prettier; I think he would get well quicker." " There'd be no plain, quiet peoplein your world if you made one," her mother said, smiling; " but you'd make a mistake to leave them out. You would get tired even of the sun if it shone all the time." The next day the new s eamstress came, and a thoroughly good one she proved; "better even than Lizzie," Mrs, Greenough said, and this was high praise. She gewed steadily, and never opened her lips except to ask some question about her work. Even Kitty, who used to boast that she could make a dumb man talk, had not audacity eaough to intrude on the reserve in which Mrs. Graham intrenched herself. "He's worse thismorning," whisperod saucy Kitty to her mother; "and she can lo nothing but think about him and mind her gathers." But, by the same token, "he" must have been worse every day, for during the two weeks she sewed there Mrs. Graham never spoke of anything beyond her work. When Mrs. Greenough had paid her. the last night, she said: " Please give me your address, Mrs. Graham, for I may want to find you again. " "Seventeen Hudson street, ma'am; up two flights of stairs; and, if I'm not there, Torn alwajs is." "There, didn't I teil you?" Kitty cried, exultingly, after the woman had gone. " Didn't I teil you that bewas sick? You see, now, 'Tom's always there.' " " Yes; but Tom may nofc be her husband, and I don't think he is. He is much more likely to be her child." "Mrs. Greenough, I'm astonished at you. You say that to be contradictious. Now, it is not nice to be contradictious; besides, she wouldn't look so quiet and sad if Tom were only lier boy." But -yeeks passed on, and nothing more was heard of Mrs. Graham, until at last Thanksgiving day was near at hand. Kitty was to have a new dress, and Mrs. Greenough, who had und ertaken to finish it, found that she hal not time. "Oh, let me go for Mrs. Graham, mamma," cried Kitty, eagerly. "Luke can drive me down to Hudson street, and then I shall see Tom." Mrs. Greenough laughed and consented. In a few minutes Luke had brought to the door the one-horse coupe, which had been the lastyear's Christmas gift of Papa Greenough to his wife, and in which Miss Kitty was always glad to make an excuse for going out. Arrived at 17 Hudson street, she ripped up two flights of stairs, and apped at a door, on which was a printed card with the name of Mrs. Graham. A voice, with a wonderful quality of musioal sweetness in it, answered , " Pleafw to oome i ; T oaanot open the door." If that were "he," he had a very singular voice for a man. " I guess mamma was riglit af ter all," thouglit willful Kitty. " It's rather curious how often mamma ia right, when I come to think of it." She opened the door, and saw, not Mrs. Grabnm's husband, nor yet hei son, but a girl, whose face looked as if she might be about Kitty's own age, whose shoulders and waist told the same story ; but whose lower limbs seemed curiously misshapen and shrunken - no larger, in fact, than those of a mere child. The face was a pretty, winning face, not at all sad. Short, thick brown hair ourled round it, and big, brown eyes, full of good-humor, met Kitty's curious glance. "Tam Torn," the same musical voice - which made Kitty think of abird'swarble - said, in a tone of explanation. "I can't get up to open the door because, don't you see, I can't walk." "And why- what- Torn " Kitty struggled desperately with the question she had begun to ask, and Torn kiudly helped her out. " Wliy am I Torn, do you mean, when it's a boy 's name ; or why can't I walk ? I'm Torn because my father called me Tomasina, after his mother, and we can't afford such long names in this house ; and I can't walk becauso I pulled a kettle of boiling water over on myself when I was 6 years old, and the only wonder is that I'm alive at all. I was left, you see, in a room by myself, while mother was busy somewhere else, and when she heard me scream, and carne to me, she pulled me out from under the kettle, and saved the upper half of me all right." "Oh, how dreadful!" Kitty cried, with the quick tears rushing to her eyes. " It must have almost killed your mother." "Yes; that's what makes her so still and sober. She never laughs, but she never frets either; and oh ! how good she is to me." Kitty glimced around the room, which seemed to her so bare. It was spotlessly clean, and Tom's chair was soft and comtortable - as, indeed, a chair ought to be which must be sat in from morning till night. Opposite to it were a few pictures on the wall - engraviugs taken from books and magazines, and given, probably, to Mrs. Graham by some of her lady customers. Within easy reach was a little stand, on which stood j a rose-bush in a pot, and a basket full of j of bright-colored worsteds, while a book or two laid beside tliem. "And do you never go out?" cried Kitty, forgetting her errand in her sympathy, forgetting, too, that Luke and his imputient horse were waiting below. ' ' Not lately. Mother used to take me down into the street sometimes; but I'm not very dull, even when she's gone. You wouldn't guees now many things I see from my window; and then I make worsted mats and tidies, and mother sells them; and then I sing." Kitty stepped to the window to see wllltt rjmgre of vioion ifc offorotl, aucl lior eye feil on Luke. She recalled lier business. "Icameto see if I could get your mother to sew two or three days for me this week." Torn was alert and business-like at once. "Let me see," she said; " to-day is Tuesday," and she drew toward her a little book, and looked it over. " Tomorrow is engaged, but you could have Thursday, Friday and Saturday, if you want so much. Please write your name against them." Kitty pulled off her pretty gray glove and wrote her name and address with the little toy-pencil at the end of her chatelaine; and then she turned to go, but it was Tom's turn to question. "Please," said the sweet, fresh voice, which seemed so like the clear carol of a i bird, " would you mind telling me how old you are? I'm IC myself." "And so am 1 16," said Kitty. ' ' And you have a father and mother both, haven'tyou?" " Yes indeed," said Kitty. "Oh, I've only mother, but she is good as two. Must you go, now ? And I wonder if I shall ever see you again?" "Yes, yomvill see me again," answered Kitty, cheerily; and then, moved by a sudden impulse of her kind, frank young heart, she bent over and touched lier lips to the bright, bonny face of the j poor girl who ciust sit prisoner there forever, and yet who kept this bright j cheerfulness all the time. " Oh, mamma, I'vehad alesson," cried Kitty, bursting into her mother's room like a fresh wind, "and Torn has taught it to me; and he isn't he at all - she's a girl just my age, and she can't walk not a step since she was years old." And then Kitty told all the sad, tender little story, and got to crying over it I self, and made her mother cry, too, before she got through. After dinner she sat half the evening i in a brown study. Fmally she came out of it, and begin talking in her usual iinpulsive manner. "Can't we iiave them here to Thanksgiving, mamma? There's not a single pretty hing in that house except Torn, herself, andtherosebush; and sverything did look so bare, and clean, and povertystricken ; and I kaow they'll never afford a good dinner in the world. .Oh, say yes, mamma, dear. I know you'll say yes, because you're suoh a dear, and you love to make every one happy." "Yes; but first of all, I must love to to make papa happy, must I not? You kaow he never wauts any company on Thanksgiviüg but grandpa, and grandma, and Uncle John. I'm sure you would not like to spoil papa's old-fashioned Thanksgiviug day." Kitty's countenance feil. She saw the justiceof her mother's remark, and there was no more to be said. She sat thinking over her disappointment in a silence wbich her mother was the one to break. "But I've th ought of a better thing, Puss," said thia wise mamma, who was herself every bit as tender of heart as Kitty, and cared just as much about making people happy. ' ' No doubt Mrs. Graham and Torn would just as much prefer being alone together as papa prefers to be alone with his family; and how will it suit you if I have a nice dinner prepared for them, and let you go and take it to them in the coupe ? Mrs. Graham is hardly the woman ono could take suoh a liberty with; but I'll beg her to let you have the pleasure of sending dinner"to Torn." " Oh, you darling !" and Mrs. Greenough's neck-ruffle euffered, and her hair was in danger, as was apt to be the case when Kitty was overeóme with emotion, whioh could only flnd vent in a rapturous squeeze. Before bed-time Kit'y had it all planned out. She was to go in the coupe and take Bridget and the basket. Bridget was to mosnt guard by the hor? e's head while Luke went up gtairs with Kitty and brougtit down Torn for a drive; mn hile they were goue Bridget would take the basket ia nnd see that everything was right, and then go home. Mrs. Greenough consentid to it all. I think she enjoyed the prospect of Tom's ride herself, justas muchas Kitty did. While Mrs. Graham was sewiug there she made the arrangement with her, approaching the subject so delicately that the most sensitive of women could not be hurt, and putting the acceptance of both drive and dimier in the light of a personal favor to Kitty, who had taken such a fancy to Tom. The last afternoon of Mrs. Grahnm's stay Kitty called her mother into her room. Mrs. Graham saw spread out upon the bed a thick, warm, soft jacket, a woolsn dress, a lastyear's hat. " You know them by sight, don 't you, mother, mine ? They are the last winter's clothes that I grew away from, and have taken leave of. May Tom have tbem ?" " Yes, indeed, if you'll undertake to give them to Tom's mother." Kitty had seldom undertaken a more err barrassing task. She stole into the sewing-room with the things in her arms. "You'll be sure, won'tyou, Mrs. Graham, not to let Tom know she's_going to ride until I get there, because I want to see how surprised she'll look." "Yes, I'll be ture, neveriear." "And, Mrs. Graham, here are my coat and hat and dress that I wore last year, and I've growu away from them. Would you mind letting Tom wear them? " "Would I mind ?" A swift, hot rush of tears filled Mrs. Graham's eyes,which presently she wiped away, and somehow j then the eyes looked gladder than Kitty had ever seen tliern bef ore. " Do you think I am so weakly, wickedly proud as to be hurt because you take an interest in my poor girl, and want to put a little happiness into her life - that still, sad life which she bears so patiently ? God bless you, Miss Kitty; and if He doesn't it won 't be beeause I shall get tired of asking Him." " And you'lï not let her see the hat and jacket till I come, for i'ear she'll think something?" At last Mrs. Graham smiled - an actual smile. "How you do think of everything. No, I'll keep the hat and jacket out of sight, and I'll have the dress on her, all ready." When Thanksgiving came Kitty scarcely remembered to put on the new apron that Mrs. Graham had flnished with such care; scarcely gave a thought to the family festivities at home, so eager was she about Tom's Thanksgiving. She was to go to Hudson street just at noon, so that Tom might have the benefit of the utmost warmth of which the chili November was capable. First she saw the dinner packed. There was a ttirkey, and cranberry sauce, and mince-pie, and plum-pudding, and a great cake full of plums, too, and fruit, and mits, and then Mr. Greenough, who had heard about the dinner with real interest, brought out a bottle of particularly-nice sherry, and said to nis j wife : " Put that in also. It will do those frozen-up souls good once in the year." At last impatient Kitty was off. Bridget and the basket filled all the 3pare space in the coupe, and, when they reached Hudson street, Luke took the dinner and foliowed Kitty up stairs, while Bridget stood by the horse's liead, according to the programme. He set the basket down in the hall, where no one would be likely to notice it in opening the door, and then he stood out af sight himself, while Kitty went in. There was Tom, in the warm crimson thibet - & proud, happy-looking Tom as you could iind in Boston that Thanksgiving day. "I have come to take you to ride," 3ried eager Kitty. "Will you go ?" It was wortli ten ordinary Thanksgivings to seo the look on Tom's -the oy and wonder, and then the doubt, as the breathless question came : " How will I get down stairs ?" And then Luke was called in, and that mystery was solved. And then out of a closet came the warm jacket, and the hat, with its gay feather; and there were tears in Tom's eyes, and smiles round her lips, and she tried to say something, and broke down utterly. And then big, strong Luke took her up as if she were a baby, and marched down stairs with her, while she heard Kitty say - but it all seemed to her like a dream, and Kitty's voice like a voice in a dream : "I'm sorry there's nothing pretty to see at this time of year, It was so lovely out doors six weeks ago." Through Beach street they went, and then through Boylston, and tïie Common was beside them, with its tree-boughs I traced against the November sky, and the sun shone on the Frog pond, and the dome of the State House glittered goldenly, and there were merry people walking about with their Thanksgiving faces on; and at last Tom breathed a long, deep breath which was almost a sob, and cried: "Did yon think there was nothing pretty to see to-day - this day 1 Why, I didn't know there was such a world !" The olocks had struck 12 when they left Hudson street; the bells were ringing for 1 when they entered it again. Bridget was gone, but a good-uatured boy stood by the horse's head, and Kitty ran lightly up stairs, foliowed by Luke, with Tom in nis arms. Kitty threw open the door, and there was a table spread with as good a Thanksgiving dinner as the heart could desire, with Tom's chair dra wil up beside it. Luke set bis light burden down. Kitty waited to héar neither thanks nor exclamations. She saw Tom's brown eyes as they rested on thi table, and that was enough. She bent for one moment over the bright face - the cheeks whicli the out-door air had painted red as the rose that had just opened in honor of the day - and left on the young, sweet, wistful lips a kiss, and then went silently down the stairs, leaving Tom and Tom's mother to their Thanksgiving.