"Sarah--was going to give me Thankful if--our turkey weighed most, and I was going to--give her my work-box if hers weighed most," said Submit jerkily. Her lips felt stiff.
Her father looked very sober and stern. He turned to his father. When Grandfather Thompson was at home, every one deferred to him. Even at eighty he was the recognized head of the house. He was a wonderful old man, tall and soldierly, and full of a grave dignity. He looked at Submit, and she shrank.
"Do you know," said he, "that you have been conducting yourself like unto the brawlers in the taverns and ale-houses?"
"Yes, sir," murmured Submit, although she did not know what he meant.
"No G.o.dly maid who heeds her elders will take part in any such foolish and sinful wager," her grandfather continued.
Submit arose, hugging Thankful convulsively. She glanced wildly at her great-grandmother"s musket over the shelf. The same spirit that had aimed it at the Indian possessed her, and she spoke out quite clearly: "Our turkey didn"t weigh the most," said she. "I put the Revolutionary bullets in his crop."
There was silence. Submit"s heart beat so hard that Thankful quivered.
"Go upstairs to your chamber, Submit," said her mother, "and you need not come down to dinner. Jonas, take that doll and carry it over to the Adams" house."
Submit crept miserably out of the room, and Jonas carried Thankful across the yard to Sarah.
Submit crouched beside her little square window set with tiny panes of gla.s.s, and watched him. She did not cry. She was very miserable, but confession had awakened a salutary smart in her soul, like the balm of Gilead on her cut thumb. She was not so unhappy as she had been.
She wondered if her father would whip her, and she made up her mind not to cry if he did.
After Jonas came back she still crouched at the window. Exactly opposite in the Adams" house was another little square window, and that lighted Sarah"s chamber. All of a sudden Sarah"s face appeared there. The two little girls stared pitifully at each other. Presently Sarah raised her window, and put a stick under it; then Submit did the same. They put their faces out, and looked at each other a minute before speaking. Sarah"s face was streaming with tears.
"What you crying for?" called Submit softly.
"Father sent me up here "cause it is sinful to--make bets, and Aunt Rose has come, and I can"t have any--Thanksgiving dinner," wailed Sarah.
"I"m wickeder than you," said Submit. "I put the Revolutionary bullets in the turkey to make it weigh more than yours. Yours weighed the most. If mother thinks it"s right, I"ll give you the work-box."
"I don"t--want it," sobbed Sarah. "I"m dreadful sorry you"ve got to stay up there, and can"t have any dinner, Submit."
Answering tears sprang to Submit"s eyes. "I"m dreadful sorry you"ve got to stay up there, and can"t have any dinner," she sobbed back.
There was a touch on her shoulder. She looked around and there stood the grandmother. She was trying to look severe, but she was beaming kindly on her. Her fat, fair old face was as gentle as the mercy that tempers justice; her horn spectacles and her knitting needles and the gold beads on her neck all shone in the sunlight.
"You had better come downstairs, child," said she. "Dinner"s "most ready, and mebbe you can help your mother. Your father isn"t going to whip you this time, because you told the truth about it, but you mustn"t ever do such a dreadful wicked thing again."
"No, I won"t," sobbed Submit. She looked across, and there beside Sarah"s face in the window was another beautiful smiling one. It had pink cheeks and sweet black eyes and black curls, among which stood a high tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb.
"Oh, Submit!" Sarah called out, joyfully, "Aunt Rose says I can go down to dinner!"
"Grandmother says I can!" called back Submit.
The beautiful smiling face opposite leaned close to Sarah"s for a minute.
"Oh, Submit!" cried Sarah, "Aunt Rose says she will make you a doll baby like Thankful, if your mother"s willing!"
"I guess she"ll be willing if she"s a good girl," called Grandmother Thompson.
Submit looked across a second in speechless radiance. Then the faces vanished from the two little windows, and Submit and Sarah went down to their Thanksgiving dinners.
BEETLE RING"S THANKSGIVING MASCOT[2]
BY SHELDON C. STODDARD.
Beetle Ring had the reputation of being the toughest lumber camp on the river. The boys were certainly rough, and rather hard drinkers, but their hearts were in the right place, after all.
Six months of idleness following a long run of fever, a lost position, and consequent discouragement had brought poverty and wretchedness to Joe Bennett.
The lumber camp on the Featherstone, where he had been at work, had broken up and gone, and an old shack, deserted by some hunter, and now standing alone in the great woods, was the only home he could provide for his little family. It had answered its purpose as a makeshift in the warm weather, but now, in late November, and with the terrible northern winter coming swiftly on, it was small wonder the young lumberman had been discouraged as he tried to forecast the future.
His strength had returned, however, and lately something of his old courage, for he had found work. It was fifteen miles away, to be sure, and in "Beetle Ring" lumber camp, the camp that bore the reputation of being the roughest on the Featherstone, but it was work.
[Footnote 2: From the _Youth"s Companion_, November 30, 1905.]
He was earning something, and might hope soon to move his family into a habitable house and civilization.
But his position at Beetle Ring was not an enviable one. The men took scant pains to conceal their dislike for the young fellow who steadfastly refused to "chip in" when the camp jug was sent to the Skylark, the nearest saloon, some miles down the river, and who invariably declined to join in the camp"s numerous sprees. But Bennett worked on quietly.
And in the meantime to the old shack in the woods the baby had come--in the bleak November weather.
Night was settling down over the woods. An old half-breed woman was tending the fire in the one room of the shack, and on the wretched bed lay a fair-faced woman, the young wife and mother, who looked wistfully out at the bleak woods, white with the first snow, then turned her wan, pale face toward the tiny bundle at her side.
"Your pappy will come to-night, baby," she said, softly. "It"s Sat.u.r.day, and your pappy will come to-night, sure." She drew the covers more closely, and tucked them carefully about the small figure.
"Mend the fire, Lisette, please. It"s cold. And, Lisette, please watch out down the road. Sometimes Joe comes early Sat.u.r.days."
The old woman shook her head and muttered over the little pile of wood, but she fed the fire, and then turned and looked down the long white trail.
"No Joe yet," she said, with a sympathetic glance toward the bed. She looked at the thick gray clouds, and added, "Heap snow soon."
But the night came down and the evening pa.s.sed, while the women waited anxiously. It was near midnight when the wife"s face lighted up suddenly at a sound outside, and directly there was a pounding, uncertain step on the threshold. The door opened and Bennett came in clumsily.
The woman"s little glad cry of welcome was changed to one of apprehension at her husband"s appearance. The resolute swing and bearing of the lumberman--that had returned as he regained his strength--were gone. He clumped across the room unsteadily on a pair of rude crutches, his left foot swathed in bandages--a big, ungainly bundle.
"What is it, Joe?" the wife asked anxiously.
"Just more of my precious luck, that"s all, Nannie." He threw off the old box coat and heavy cap, brushed the melting snow from his hair and beard, and without waiting to warm his chilled hands at the fire, hobbled to the bed and bent over the woman and the tiny bundle.
"Are you all right, Nan?" he asked anxiously.
"All right, Joe; but I"ve been so worried!"
"And the baby, Nan?"
The wife gently pushed back the covers and proudly brought to view a tiny pink and puckered face. "Fine, Joe. She"s just as fine, isn"t she?"