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wood and left my sisters to their baking, and I mounted my pony and
scoured the neighborhood, inviting all the uncles, aunts and cousins to
1
eat a turkey dinner with me.
When my father and mother came home they found a houseful of
jolly people awaiting them, and what a meal and afternoon we all had
together. Everyone gratified my vanity by declaring, some that it was
the largest, others that it was the fattest turkey ever killed in that county;
and all agreeing that I was worthy of the nimrod blood that had come
down to me through the succeeding generations.
That night I pressed a happy pillow, for truly the day for me had
been full of honor and glory. Years have sped along and now all the older
ones who sat at that board have passed away. Their bodies rest beneath
the grass and daisies, and their spirits now await us in the beyond. But
still, while growing old, I remember that day with a thrill of joy and
pleasure; but there are some other things memory holds as well; and
while I would not take one joy from youthful pleasure, allow me to drop
a word to the young from what is growing now, to be for me, the evening
and shady side of life. You will not always be young; father, mother,
brothers, sisters and friends will not always be with you. As you grow
old these joys of youth grow less important and you begin to remember
with pain the acts of disobedience and unkindness, or with joy, the places
where you smoothed the paths for aged and tired feet, or by some sacrifice
of your own cast a ray of joy and made a happy day in the clouded life
of someone who was less fortunate.
When you begin to grow old, and the sun is low on the horizon of
life it is the memory of the kindness done our own, and the favors
shown to those beneath us, rather than the smiles and plaudits of those
above us in life that add a peaceful halo of love to closing days.
Wishing every boy and girl of the Companion a happy youth and
a contented old age, purchased by acts of love and charity, I am yours,
H. Clay Needham
IO