Chanticleer: A Thanksgiving Story of the Peabody FamilyMathews, Cornelius
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Chanticleer: A Thanksgiving Story of the Peabody Family
Mathews, Cornelius
Thanksgiving Day -- Juvenile fiction
William Peabody was about to answer, it was nonsense for a man only
sixty and in sound condition of body and mind to think too much of that,
when his eye, ranging across the fields, espied in shadow as it were,
through the dim atmosphere, the mist clearing away a little in that
direction, an old sorrel horse--a long settler with the family and
well-known to all its members--staggering about feebly in a distant
orchard, and in her wanderings stumbling against the trees.--"Is old
Sorrel blind?" he asked, shading his own eyes from the light.
"She is, William," old Sylvester replied; "her sight went from her last
New-Year's day."
"My birth-day," said the merchant, a sudden pallor coming upon his
countenance.
"Yes, you and old Sorrel are birth-mates, my son."
"We are; she was foaled the day I was born," said William Peabody, and
added, as to himself, musingly, "Old Sorrel is blind! So we pass--so we
pass--young to-day--to-morrow old--limbs fail us--sight is gone."
They sat silently, contemplating the still morning scene before them,
and meditating, each in his own particular way, on the history of the
past.
To William, the merchant, it brought chiefly a recollection how in his
early manhood he had set out from those quiet fields for a hard struggle
with the world, with a bare dollar in his pocket, and when that was gone
the whole world seemed to combine in a desperate league against him to
prevent his achieving another. How at last, on the very edge of
starvation and despair, he had wrung from it the means of beginning his
fortunes; and how he had gone on step by step, forgetting all the
pleasant ties of his youth, all recollections of nature and cheerful
faces of friends and kinsfolk, adding thousand to thousand, house to
house; building, unlike Jacob, a ladder, that descended to the lower
world, up which all harsh and dark spirits perpetually thronged and
joined to drag him down; and yet he smiled grimly at the thought of the
power he possessed, and how many of his early companions trembled before
him because he was grown to be a rich man.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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