A “THANKSGIVING” SCENE.
By J. W. B.
Thanksgiving day, 1897, dawned bleak and cold, with a fierce wind blowing the snow in the face of all exposed to its force. After a ride of fifteen miles, a halt is made at a sod house to warm our bodies, and the hearts of the inmates. And while we talk with the old folks, and draw from them their story, our eyes are making an inventory of the house and its contents, and this is what we see: A room 11x15 feet in size, no floor but the earth, the roof in a leaking condition with the ridge-pole cracked and ready to fall, a stove with a little fuel, bed with scant bedding, a few chairs, a table, and a trunk completed the furniture. The inmates were an old man of 62 years, an ex-soldier, crippled for life and quite feeble, his wife in poor health, and neither one with sufficient clothing, a little granddaughter of seven years, father a drunkard and worse, and the mother, with three small children, yet to come to the home of the aged parents. This was the situation at the time of our visit. Their Thanksgiving dinner consisted of cold biscuit (with no flour to make more), boiled potatoes, with a little milk and butter. How does this picture correspond to the Thanksgiving scenes in some homes of those who call themselves Christians, with fine houses, fine clothes, rich food, and all the luxuries of the season? How shall we answer when the Master says, “Inasmuch as ye did it not to one of the least of these, My brethren, ye did it not to Me”? In this case we were permitted, by the help of kind friends, to relieve their present needs, and left them with the tears flowing, but with hearts singing for joy. O, that all could realize that it is more “blessed to give than to receive”!—J. W. B., in Nebraska Reporter.