THANKSGIVING DAY LONG AGO.
The large kitchen was a busy place on Thanksgiving morning.
A log fire was burning in the fireplace. On the walls hung strings of dried apples. Long, yellow squashes hung up above.
A little girl sat beside the spinning-wheel dressing corncob dolls. She was taking care of the baby that lay in the queer old cradle.
Mother put the pudding in the kettle that hung before the fire. Then she said, “Come, Patty! It is time to set the table.”
Patty looked at the turkey that was roasting before the fire.
“I wish Thanksgiving came every day,” she said.
“What hard work that would make for Mother!” said Grandma, looking at the rows of pies.
After a while a loud shout made them all run to the door.
“Here they come! Here they come!” said Patty, dancing around the room.
Uncle John stopped the sleigh and out jumped Aunt Mary and the children.
What a good dinner it was! They all said that the turkey was the best they ever ate. And, oh, the pudding and the pies!
After dinner the fun began. There were games and songs, and at last a dance.
Grandma and Grandpa stood at one end. Father and little Patty stood at the other end. Then up and down the long kitchen they went, laughing all the time.
In the evening they sat around the log fire. They told stories, roasted apples, and ate the nuts the children had gathered.
At last they said good night. Then Uncle John put Aunt Mary and the children in the sleigh, and drove home through the softly falling snow.
Soon every one in the old farm-house was in bed and asleep.
Pussy sat in the warm firelight, alone, in the large kitchen.