  Having helped make the Victory Park, all the Westmore children felt responsible for its welfare. Any dog who imprudently walked on its flower-beds, or ran in circles on the grass-sown level, was at once called off, scolded, and slapped. Before the middle of November most of the dogs understood that the park was no place for them to play, at least when the children saw them. At that time of year nothing could be expected to grow, but the children felt it their duty to see that nothing was dug up nor disturbed. Every child remembered the place where his bulb was planted and kept an eye on All over New England November means Thanksgiving, and it did in Westmore. There were no cousins and no grandmother to come to the Merrill cottage, for Uncle John lived in far California. Some time, Father said, when their ship came in, they would buy a little Ford, and a tent, and go to see Uncle John and Aunt Nell. But whenever Lucy and Dora asked whether the ship was coming, Father would smile and shake his head. Still, there was to be company for dinner. Olive and her father were invited. Everybody wanted Olive, and it would not be polite to ask her without asking Mr. Gates. Olive would not come alone, because she kept house for her father. She would not go to the beach until “Mother,” asked Dora on the Monday before Thanksgiving, “are we going to have a turkey?” “Not at seventy-two cents a pound,” said Mrs. Merrill. “Even if I could afford to pay that much, I would not. I don’t think there is any need for them to cost so much.” “Will there be a chicken?” asked Dora. “I think we may manage that,” said Mrs. Merrill, “if they are at all reasonable in price, but we may have just a nice piece of pork or beef to roast. It isn’t what we have to eat that makes the Thanksgiving dinner, child. It is the being thankful for it.” “Mr. Thorne said last Sunday that we must save all the pennies we can for the Christmas manger. Because there are children in Europe and Asia who haven’t even bread to eat.” “I know it,” said Mrs. Merrill, and she went on sewing Dora’s school dress. “I am not going to buy any more candy,” said Dora. “Yesterday Uncle Dan gave me ten cents for caramels. Wouldn’t you put it in your mite-box if you were I, Mother?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Merrill. “Sometimes it chokes me to have enough to eat when I think about those children. If you and Lucy and Dan are willing, we will have pork for our Thanksgiving dinner. I will ask how much more the chicken would cost. Then we will put the difference into the fund for the hungry children.” “Lucy will want to,” said Dora. “Uncle Dan may want things very nice because of Olive. Perhaps he would be disappointed not to have chicken. Will you ask him, Mother?” “Ask him yourself, child. He’ll do it for you if he will for anybody.” That evening Dora asked Uncle Dan. She did not need to coax him. Uncle Dan had heard about the hungry children. “Sure thing,” he said. “Roast pork is good enough for me.” When Mrs. Merrill went to market she inquired the price of a large chicken. A big one would be needed for a dinner for seven people. Then she bought the pork. When she came home she took ninety-eight cents from her purse and gave it to the children. “You may divide it between your mite-boxes,” she said. Thanksgiving Day was cold and blustering, which made the warm house seem all the more pleasant. A cheerful fire blazed in the Franklin stove and Father was at home. He helped make the dining-table larger. Mother put on the best table-cloth. The pattern woven into it was bunches of drooping In the centre they put a vase of dark red chrysanthemums, cold and fragrant from the garden. Dora loved their spicy smell. They were only about as big as buttons, but something in their odor made her think of ferns and brooks and pleasant things which would come with spring. Never was table set more carefully. Each knife and fork was laid as though the proper spot were located with a foot-rule. Dora felt that Lucy was too particular. Lucy moved almost everything Dora put in place. When Lucy’s back was turned, Dora quietly put things as they were before. And the distance either moved them was so slight that when Lucy looked back she did not notice what Dora had done. There was to be apple-sauce, as is the custom with roast pork, but Mother had also made cranberry sauce because Father and Uncle Dan were fond of it. Everybody would want apple-sauce, so Lucy took a spoon and filled seven glass dishes. She placed one at each plate. The cranberry sauce was in a large dish. It was to go in front of Olive, with a spoon and more glass saucers. Dora brought the dish from the pantry, holding it carefully in both hands. What possessed Timothy just then? He liked to weave himself in and about people’s feet when he was hungry, but Timmy had eaten his dinner. If he had not been fed, there would be no peace for anybody in the Merrill kitchen. Timothy was not hungry and he should have been washing his face before the parlor fire, not walking in front of Dora. Dora tripped over him. She held on to the “Now, see what you’ve done!” cried Lucy, perfectly horrified. Poor Dora picked herself up. What cranberry wasn’t on the table-cloth was on her pretty white dress. What a dreadful thing to happen! But the worst was that Lucy spoke as though she thought Dora meant to do it. Would Mother think the same? Mrs. Merrill came out of the pantry and for a moment she looked as though she didn’t know what to do any more than the children. Dora stood with her lip quivering and her eyes full of tears. “Well, that is too bad,” said Mrs. Merrill. “Stop crying, Dora; it doesn’t mend matters. Of course you didn’t mean to do it.” What possessed Timothy just then?— Mrs. Merrill looked at the table-cloth. Then she looked at Dora and looked at the clock. She unbuttoned Dora’s dress. “Take this into the shed, Lucy,” she said, “and put it in one of the tubs. Go and put on your blue gingham, Dora. Hurry, both of you, for we must take off the dishes and put on another cloth.” Trying not to cry, Dora went up-stairs. “Dora was very careless, wasn’t she?” asked Lucy, coming back from the shed and helping gather up the plates and silver. “It was an accident,” said Mother with a sigh. “It might have happened to you.” All the same, Lucy had not spilled the apple-sauce, and she felt virtuous. “Put that cat out,” said Mrs. Merrill. “I can’t have him under foot a minute longer.” Lucy put the beloved pussy into the shed and when she came back she no longer felt proud because she had not spilled things. “Mother,” she said when the table was cleared, “I think I will put on my pink gingham.” Mrs. Merrill looked at her. “Because,” said Lucy, “Dora hasn’t another white dress to wear.” “That is a good plan,” said Mother, and she smiled at Lucy. Dora came back, rather wet about the eyelashes. Lucy buttoned the blue dress and Dora settled the Chinese kitten in place. After all, Vega was enchanting against blue. The stained table-cloth went into the tub with Dora’s dress. There was no time to attend to them. Mother put on another cloth, not so fine nor so pretty, but just as white. The children set the table again and this time neither was fussy about the way the other did things. Only at intervals Dora’s lip quivered. “Is there any more cranberry sauce?” she asked Mother. Mrs. Merrill shook her head. “I bought only a quart of berries,” she said. “There won’t be any for Father and Uncle Dan,” said Dora. “They never knew there was any,” said Mrs. Merrill. “They won’t miss it at all.” “Oh, Mother!” said Lucy, “something is wrong with the gas stove.” Mrs. Merrill hurried to the stove. Yes, the flame was turned too high and the macaroni was scorching. “This dinner seems possessed,” she sighed as she turned down the gas and took out the macaroni. Just then Olive came running in with a gay greeting. She kissed the little girls and Mother, too, because it was Thanksgiving. She ran up-stairs and left her coat and “What shall I do?” she asked. “Mash these potatoes?” “Yes,” said Mrs. Merrill. “Unless you’d rather make the gravy.” “Your gravy is better than mine,” said Olive and she stuck a fork into the potatoes. They were done and she whisked them off the stove. With Olive’s coming, ill-luck went away. Nobody upset anything more, and nothing burned. Father, Uncle Dan, and Mr. Gates came in together and Mother sent them directly into the parlor. She said it was bad enough to have a cat getting underfoot; she could not stand three men. When they sat down to dinner, nobody could have guessed that the table had twice been completely The roast pork was done to a turn. Everybody enjoyed it and was glad that it wasn’t chicken. Forty-nine cents apiece, in two mite-boxes, would be quite an addition to the Christmas manger. They sat a long time at the table, talking and enjoying the early twilight. Indeed, it was really dark when the last piece of pie was eaten and the last nut cracked. “Now, we will do the dishes,” said Mr. Merrill. “Wash or wipe, Dan?” Mother Merrill gave a gasp and the children laughed. Sometimes, Father wiped dishes, but neither he nor Uncle Dan was ever trusted to wash them. Uncle Dan was game. He took Mother’s “Dan, you will never get those kettles clean,” said Mrs. Merrill, but she did not speak as though she meant him to stop. Mother was tired. She had cooked dinner and still had Dora’s dress and the table-cloth to wash. “I shall wash,” said Olive, grabbing another apron. “Dan and Dad shall wipe. Molly Merrill, you may gather up the food and put it away. Mr. Merrill may scrape the dishes.” Everybody did what Olive said. In half an hour all the kettles and dishes were clean and in place. The dish-wipers were rinsed and hung to dry and the kitchen was tidy and cosy. There was nothing to do but enjoy themselves. Olive and Uncle Dan went out to walk. They said they needed exercise. The rest went into the parlor and sat before the open Mr. Gates was much interested. He took a piece of wood and opened his own knife. He said he used to do something in that line himself. On the edge of the open stove the children put some chestnuts to roast. Father had brought them purposely for the evening. Each nut had slits cut on one side. If this were not done, the heated nut would sometimes shoot across the room or even explode. Lucy and Dora had learned that it was best to cut the slit. Mother brought her knitting and the children sat on the floor and watched the chestnuts and Mr. Merrill and Mr. Gates whittling. “It is a good plan,” said Mr. Merrill, “to put into words sometimes how much we have to be thankful for. Now I am glad I have “For my home and my family, and yes—for my job, too,” said Mother with a little laugh. “That my husband never drinks and that Dan is a good lad.” “I am thankful for my daughter,” said Mr. Gates, “even though I expect to go shares in her some day.” “Your turn, Lucy,” said Mr. Merrill, smiling. “I am thankful for the marionettes you are making and for my new coat,” said Lucy, after thinking half a minute. “How about Dora?” asked Mr. Merrill. “I am thankful for my Chinese kitten and that I had Arcturus once,” said little Dora. “That I have enough to eat, not like the poor children across the sea. And that Mother doesn’t scold when I spill the cranberry sauce.” |
|
