The clouds you so much dread
Are full of mercy, and shall break
In blessings on your head.”
She sang to herself, as she rose with a quicker step and lighter heart than she had had before that day.
There was a knock at the front door, and she opened it, wondering a little who of her neighbors had left their families, Thanksgiving evening, to pay her a visit.
But she had never seen the face before, and the stranger did not know her either, for he asked “if Mrs. Gilman lived here?” He took off his fur travelling cap when he came into the room, and his dark, handsome face,—strange enough it looked to her, with its heavy beard and moustache, lighted up with a pleasant smile, as he said—
“I bring my introduction, and I hope my welcome, too, in a letter from your son, madam.”
“Oh, sir, from Sam—from California? Have you seen him? Is he well? I am so thankful.”
Mrs. Gilman had found her Thanksgiving Day at last.