Uncle Simon had chosen to abide alone ever since her death; not from necessity, but from choice. He did his own cooking and washing, and wore his clothes unironed, spent his days in puttering about his little garden and among his chickens and other poultry, and was peacefully content and seemingly happy. Once every day he traveled down to the corner store and sat a while among his old companions and neighbors, listening to the reading of the daily paper, and talking over the items of village news; and Sundays he always put on his old blue suit with the brass buttons, and went to morning service. The balance of the time Uncle Simon sat on the little porch in his old arm chair, gazing wistfully at the blue sky and distant hills. Often a neighbor would stop, lean on the little gate and chat for half an hour with the old man, whose genial ways and kindly, unselfish heart made him a universal favorite; and, on this particular November evening, the neighbor happened to be Josiah Pratt.
“Hello, Uncle Simon!” he called out cheerily; “how goes it?”
“Firstrate, firstrate, Josiah,” replied the old man. “Couldn’t be better. Did you ever see a finer sunset than that? Looks almost like the gates of heaven was throwed wide open, don’t it? and the glory light was streamin’ out.”
“It does that,” said Josiah. “You’re right there, for sure, Uncle Simon. There’s a heap of mighty fine color in that there sky. By-the-way, what you going to do with your turkey, Uncle Simon? Going to eat him for Thanksgiving?”
Susan M. Griffith, “Uncle Simon’s Turkey,” in The Christian Herald (New York; November 27, 1907) : 1013, 1027 —
An adopted daughter — prodigal, in her way — returns with a young granddaughter, named Jerusha after Simon’s late wife. And so Simon has a family (and friends) to celebrate Thanksgiving with. A nice story.
20 April 2026
Tufts U copy/scan (via archive.org) : link
same (via hathitrust) : link