The Lutheran Pioneer St. Louis — 1887, Page 15

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The Lutheran Pioneer.

15

Thanksgiving Ann.

In the kitchen doorway, underneath its arch
of swaying vines and dependent purple clus-
ters, the old woman sat, tired and warm, vigor-
ously fanning her face with her calico apron.
It was a dark face, surmounted by a turban,
and wearing, just now, a look of troubled
thoughtfulness not quite in accordance with
her name—a name oddly acquired from an
old church anthem that she used to sing some-
what on this wise:

‘‘Thanksgivin’ an’—
‘Johnny, don’t play dar in the water,
chile!”’
“‘Thanksgivin’ an’—”’
‘“Run away now, Susie, dearie.”’
“Thanksgivin’ an’—"’

‘Take care dat bressed baby!

gingerbread for him.”

Here’s some

“Thanksgivin’ an’ the voice of melody.”

You laugh? But looking after all these
little things was her appointed work, her
duty; and she spent the intervals in singing
praise. Do many of us make better use
of our spare moments?

So the children called her Thanksgiving
Ann; her other name was forgotten, and
Thanksgiving Ann she would be, now, to
the end of her days. How many these
days had already been, no one knew. She
had lived with Mr. and Mrs. Allyn for
years, whether as mistress or servant of
the establishment they could scarcely tell;
they only knew that she was invaluable.
She had taken a grandmotherly guardian-
ship of all the children, and had a voice
in most matters that concerned the father
and mother, while in the kitchen she
reigned supreme.

The early breakfast was over. She had
bestowed unusual care upon it, because an agent
of the Bible Society, visiting some of the coun-
try places for contributions, was to partake of
it with them. But while she was busy with a
final batch of delicate wafiles, the gentleman
had pleaded an appointment, and, taking hasty
leave of his host and hostess, had departed
unobserved from the kitchen windows; and
Thanksgiving Ann’s ‘‘Bible money’’ was still
in her pocket.

‘‘Didn’t ask me, nor give me no chance.
Just’s if, cause a pusson’s old an’ colored, dey
didn’t owe de Lord nuffin, an’ wouldn’t pay it
if dey did,’? she murmured, when the state of
the case became known.

However, Silas, the long-limbed, untiring,
and shrewd, who regarded the old woman with
a curious mixture of patronage and veneration,
had volunteered to run after the vanished guest,
and ‘catch him if he was anywhere this side
of Chainy.’’? And even while Thanksgiving
sat in-the doorway, the messenger returned,
apparently unwearied by his chase.

“Wa-ll, I come up with him—told ye I
would—and give him the three dollars. He

| seemed kind of flustered to have missed such a} wid prayin’s an’ thinkin’s dat I mos’ b’'lieve
nugget; and he said ’twas a ginerous donation|dey weigh double when dey does go.

—equal to your master’s. Which proves,”
said Silas, shutting one eye, and appearing to
survey the subject meditatively with the other,
| ‘that some folks can do as much good just off-
|hand as some other folks can with no end of
j pinchin’ an’ screwin’ beforehand.’’

| ‘Think it proves dat folks dat don’t have no
|} great mount can do as much in a good cause
by thinkin’ ’bout it a little aforehand, as other
folks will do dat has more, and puts der hands
in der pockets when de time comes. I believe
| in systematics ’bout such things, I does;’’ and
| with an energetic bob of her head, by way
jof emphasizing her words, old Thanksgiving
| walked into the house.

“Thanksgivin’ an’ the voice of melody,”

she began in her high, weird voice. But the

‘dened to sing.

“He is not Here.”

“Only three dollars out’n all the *bun-
dance!” she murmured to herself. ‘‘ Well,
mebby I oughtn’t to judge; but then I don't
judge, I knows. Course, I knows, when I’se
here all de time, and sees de good clo’es, an’ de
carr'ages, an’ de musics, an’ de fine times —
folks an’ hosses an’ tables all provided for, an’
de Lord of glory lef’ to take what happens
when de time comes, an’ no prep’ration at all!
Sure ’nough, He don’t need der help. All de
world is His; and He can send clo’es to His
naked, an’ bread to His hungry, an’ Bibles to
His heathen, if dey don’t give a cent; but den
dey're pinchin’ an’ starvin’ der own dear souls.
Well—'taint my soul! But I loves ’em—I
loves em, an’ dey’re missin’ a great blessin’.’”’

But there wasno one to hear her comment, and
affairs followed theiraccustomed routine. Mean-
while, out of her own little store, she carefully
laid aside one-eighth. ‘‘*Cause if dem ole Israel-
ites was tol’ to give one-tenth, I’d jist like to
frow in a little more, for good measure. Talk
*bout it’s bein like a tax to put some away for
such things! ’Clare! I get studyin’ what each
dollar mus’ do, till I get ’em so loadened up

“¢Q de Lamb! de lovin’ Lamb!
De Lamb of Calvary!

De Lamb dat was slain, an’ lives again,
An’ intercedes for me!’”’

4 ~ emo >

A New Heart.

An anecdote was published many years ago,
concerning the Indian chief Teedyuscung, King
of the Delawares. ‘‘One evening he was sit-
ting at the fireside of a friend. . Both of them
were silently looking at the fire, indulging their
own reflections. At length the silence was
broken by the friend, who said, ‘I will tell
thee what I have been thinking of. I have
been thinking of a rule delivered by the au-
thor of the Christian religion, which, from its

words died on her lips; her heart was too bur-| excellence, we call the Golden Rule.’

‘*«Stop,’ said Teedyuscung, ‘don’t praise it
to me, but rather tell me what it is, and
Jet me think for myself. I do not wish
you to tell me of its excellence; tell me
what it is.’

‘**Tt is for one man to do to another as
he would have the other do to him.’”’

‘««That’s impossible; it cannot be done,’
Teedyuscung immediately replied. Silence
again ensued. Teedyuscung lighted his
pipe and walked about the room. In about
a quarter of an hour he came to his friend
with a smiling countenance, and taking the
pipe from his mouth, said, ‘ Brother, [have
been thoughtful of what you told me. If
the Great Spirit that made man would give
him a new heart, he could do as you say,
but not else.’ Thus the Indian saw the
necessity of a new heart.””

—_—__—> - o~<a>o

In a Hollow Place.

A mother in New York was quietly engaged
in her domestic work, when the dreadful news
came:

‘“<Come at once to the police station. Your
child has been run over by an express wagon.”

She hastened to the police station and found
her child surrounded by strangers. The sur-
geon had not yet arrived. She was told that

the wheels had passed over his foot, but on ex--

amination she found no real injury. . She said
to the little darling:
“Why, Willie, how could the wagon have
passed over your foot and not have crushed it?”
The child looked up in his mother’s face and
said, ‘Mamma, I guess God put it in a hollow
place.””—Little Christian.

Ler your religion be seen. Lamps do not
talk, but they do shine. A light-house sounds
no drum, it beats no gong; yet far over the
waters its friendly light is seen by the mariner.

/