(A Thanksgiving Story)

A kindness shown to others is never lost and sometimes brings an unexpected reward.

One summer morning in a New England village Mrs. Grafton was sitting on her porch shelling peas for dinner. John and Jean, her children, were playing around the yard, when an Indian woman, carrying a baby on her back, passed the house. John ran out of the gate and after the woman. He saw something was the matter with the baby, and asked what it was.

“Papoose sick,” said the Indian mother, “see doctor.”

John said: “Bring the baby in here and my mother will make it well.”

The Indian woman followed John into the yard, and Mrs. Grafton took the sick little papoose on her lap and gave it some medicine. After a while the little baby stopped crying and went to sleep in Mrs. Grafton’s lap. The Indian mother took her papoose home, saying that Mrs. Grafton was “a good doctor.”

The next day the mother again appeared with the baby, and Mrs. Grafton washed it, put on it some clean clothes and gave it some more medicine. After a while the baby got well, and the Indian woman came no more.

That winter was very hard and cold; snow everywhere and cold biting winds. Thanksgiving came, and Mrs. Grafton started to make pies for dinner. She cut up the pumpkin and then looked in the molasses jug. Not a drop of molasses there!

“Oh, my! what shall we do? There is no molasses to make the pies,” she exclaimed in dismay. John looked thoughtful.

“I will go and get some from the store,” he said, and was off in a moment with the empty jug, right through the woods. The jug was heavy and it was already late in the afternoon, but they must have pies for the next day.

John reached the store. The jug was filled and he started home again. It began to snow as John entered the woods. The path was soon covered and poor John took the wrong turn, then tried to come back, and soon was hopelessly lost. He ran on as fast as he could and then stopped and began to cry. A tall man stood before him. It was an Indian with a gun. John said:

“Please, I am lost. Take me back home.” But the Indian took him on his shoulder and carried him to a camp fire near a tent. There was an Indian woman with a papoose there. She looked at John and said a few words to the tall man who had brought him in. The Indian grunted and smiled, and then lifted John to his shoulders, and with him and his jug tramped through the snow-drifts back to John’s home. He set him down on the doorstep and said:

“My squaw and my papoose you helped last summer. Me have thanksgiving here,” and he touched his breast and disappeared.