MISS RAINES was very earnest that day. Deb and Dora noticed as she bent over them and whispered, “Where two agree, just two, dear ones,” that her face was filled with a strange light.

They went home from Sabbath-school, wondering about that promise and why their teacher gave them such a tender look as she said “Two, remember; you are two, dear ones; haven’t you some great thing you’d like to ask of your Heavenly Father—something for Thanksgiving Day? Think now, won’t you? and then just you two agree to ask Him.”

And she gave each a kiss, and went her way; they, theirs. But they turned about to catch one more sight of their “beautiful teacher.” She had turned, too, and was looking after them. She waved her hand with another kiss, and disappeared around the corner.

On they went their weary way and talked as to what they should agree to ask. They thought of a turkey and cranberries and mince pie as it used to be when papa was “right” and had work and brought home money, and mamma bought what she liked. But a turkey and no papa there to eat it with them, or, if there, to curse, and mamma crying! that would be no Thanksgiving for them. Besides, how could they expect a turkey with no money or friends? and they two walked on together, wondering what Miss Raines could mean. Then a thought struck them, and at once they stopped and their faces shone like Miss Raine’s, and there on the street they fairly leaped up and down for joy.

“What is it?” said Deb.

“And what is it, you?” answered Dora.

“Let’s ask Him,” said Deb.

“Let’s,” answered Dora, “but what?”

“To give us our own papa back again.”

“Agreed, Deb; and let’s begin now.”

And away they ran down, down the dirty street. Dogs barked; ragged boys laughed and hooted, but Deb and Dora were soon up the old stairs, into the little dark bedroom, on their knees.

Just one thing they plead, they two; first Deb, “Give back our papa,” then Dora, the same.

Then with radiant faces to poor mamma.

Wednesday they two went through the market.

Turkeys, chickens, ducks, by the ton. So many were buying, their eyes were hungry. But they could not buy one cent’s worth, not having even that. Still, somehow, they murmured not, nor charged God foolishly. They knew there was a good time coming. They looked from the fat stalls and smiled into each other’s face.

That evening it was a bare floor at their home, an almost empty grate, little or no bread, mamma sad as usual.

But Deb and Dora laughed and chatted joyously as though they were at a king’s banquet. They had come from their knees.

Then a knock, and the door slightly opened, and a turkey, ready for the oven, looked in and a hand came after it and—dear poor papa after the hand, and mamma sobbed out something. Deb and Dora seized the turkey and cranberries, then bounded into papa’s outstretched arms. Then they danced about the room as though they were mad.

Papa had that very morning signed the pledge and found work, and there was his wages—that turkey with needful sauce and vegetables.

He was trusted for half a ton of coal. Just then the coal man rapped at the door to know where to put it.

The next day was Thanksgiving. They four went to church. They were shown into a seat near Miss Raines.

Deb and Dora whispered to her. She whispered back, “Did not I tell you so?”

That day “poor papa” asked the blessing. And so ever after.

Rev. C. M. Livingston.