Sophie Swett seemed to specialize in broods of adorable moppets, occasionally orphaned or from large, poverty-stricken families. However all this little family must contend with is a greedy city cousin.It did seem as if Thanksgiving never would come.
The November page of the Farmers' Almanac that hung under the clock bore innumerable prints of small thumbs that had laboriously traveled across it, counting the number of days that must be lived through before that happy day arrived which, according to the Governor's proclamation, was to be "a day of thanksgiving and praise."
Little Darius and Lucy Ann thought praise meant plum-pudding, and even Jonah, who was getting to be an old boy, and could do problems in cube root, owned that it was npt very long ago that he thought so too.
There was a continual weighing and measuring of goodies, and odors of spice and sweetness floated out of the great kitchen all over the house. The children seeded raisins, and sliced citron, and cracked walnuts, and chopped apples for the mince-pies, but Lucy Ann and little Darius were getting discouraged, for it seemed every day as if the next must be Thanksgiving, and yet when they awoke in the morning it was n't.
This was not going to be only an ordinary Thanksgiving day, with almost everything nice that could be thought of for dinner, and a great many aunts and uncles and cousins, all grown up, and all wanting to sit down and talk (instead of having a good time), for visitors. This year, their little city cousin, whom they had never seen, was coming to spend Thanksgiving with them.
Her name was Mabel Hortense, and the children were very proud of having a cousin who lived in the city and was named Mabel Hortens3. At Damsonfield Four Corners, where they lived, all the little girls were named Mary Jane or Sarah Ann or Lucy Maria, or, at the best, Hattie and Carrie; they had scarcely even heard of so fine a name as Mabel Hortense. But a little girl who lived in a great city, where there was scarcely a bit of anything so common as grass, and the "great big houses were all hitched on to each other," as Roxy Jane, the hired girl, said, and hand-organs and monkeys were as thick as huckleberries in August, and there was a candy store at every corner, could not be expected to have a common name.
They had a photograph of Mabel Hortense, with her hair banged and a doll almost as large as a real live baby in her arms. She had a necklace around her neck and bracelets on her arms and ear-rings in her ears. Becky borrowed Hannah Olive Judson's blue-glass beads to wear during Mabel Hortense's visit, and made Lucy Ann a necklace of red alder-berries, and then, as they all had on their Sunday clothes, she felt ready for Mabel Hortense's arrival.
It was the very night before Thanksgiving Day, and all the aunts and uncles and cousins had arrived, except Mabel Hortense and her mother, and Peter Trott, the hired man, had driven over to the station to bring them.
Even little Darius, who had begun to think that Thanksgiving Day had been postponed until next year, was now convinced that it was coming tomorrow. There was a blazing log-fire in the great fireplace in the sitting-room, and Priscilla sat on the rug in front of it, herself and her three kittens in that condition of holiday freshness which becomes New England cats on the eve of Thanksgiving Day. The canary birds were singing so loud that they had to be muffled in Grandpa's bandana handkerchief, that the aunts and uncles and cousins might hear each other relate all the happenings of the past year.
Little Darius was continually running to the door, with his cage of white mice under one arm and his tame squirrel under the other, so that he might show them to Mabel Hortense the very first thing.
"I wouldn't be such a silly," said Lucy Ann, who had her black Dinah, with raveled yarn for wool, and two great white buttons for eyes, in her arms, and wanted Mabel Hortense to see her the very first thing. "Why in the city, where she lives, the mice are all white, and so tame that they come out and dance when people play on the piano. Peter Trott says so. And they keep squirrels in the stores, all with white aprons and caps on, to crack nuts for customers. Peter Trott says so."
"They ain 't so nice as my mice and my squirrel, anyway, and Grandpa says not to b'lieve Peter Trott,'cause he tells wicked, wrong stories!" cried little Darius, almost moved to tears at the possibility that any mice or any squirrels were more attractive than his. "I should n't think you 'd want to show any city girl your old Dinah. She was homely enough before Grandpa sat on her and flattened her all out; she 's orfl now!"
Lucy Ann might have reseated this, for she was very fond of Dinah, and thought her a beauty in spite of the accident that had befallen her,— which was a very cruel one, for Grandpa weighed over two hundred pounds, —but just then the carriage drove up, and a little girl was lifted out by Peter Trott, and set down inside the door.
There was Mabel Hortense, bangs and doll and all, just as she looked in the photograph, only that both she and the doll had on traveling costumes, so there was not so much jewelry to be seen.
She did not look in the least like a Damsonfield little girl, nor the doll like a Damsonfield doll. The doll wore a suit trimmed with fur, just like her mamma's, and it fitted her just as nicely. (Becky could only make a doll's dress like a sacque, with slits for the arms, and Aunt Eunice did n't think it was worth the while to make dolls' dresses at all.) And she had on the daintiest gloves and boots imaginable, without a wrinkle in them. Gloves and boots were entirely unknown in doll society in Damsonfield.
For one moment Lucy Ann felt ashamed of Dinah, but she gave her an extra hug the next moment to make up for it.
Becky was glad that she had on Hannah Olive Judson's blue beads, and that Lucy Ann had on brand-new shoes, for Lucy Ann's toes were almost always threatening to stick out through her shoes, and she did hope that Solomon would n't tell that the beads were borrowed; that would be just like Solomon, and she wished she had thought to warn him about it when Aunt Eunice was cautioning him not to tell that they had borrowed the sugar-tongs of Aunt Jemima, and that they did n't always have two kinds of preserves for supper.
The first thing that Mabel Hortense seemed to notice was Dinah.
"Oh, what a perfectly beautiful doll!" she exclaimed. "She is truly colored, is n't she?"
"She was born so," said Lucy Ann, proudly displaying the raveled-yarn wool, which was Dinah's strong point in the way of looks.
"I don't think I ever saw a colored doll before! You will give her to me, won 't you?"
Lucy Ann was very much surprised, and did n't know what to say. Becky gave her a little poke with her elbow. Aunt Eunice had said they must do everything that their city cousin asked them to do, and Becky thought Lucy Ann ought to give Dinah to her; but Dinah was n't Becky's, and she did n't know how it felt to part with her.
"To keep?" said Lucy Ann, falteringly, after Becky had given her a second poke.
"Oh, of course! I shall carry her home," said Mabel Hortense.
"Will you give me yours for her?" said Lucy.
"Oh, no; I want them both!" said Mabel Hortense, decidedly.
And taking Dinah out of Lucy Ann's arms—by her wool—she thrust her under one arm and her own doll under the other, and followed her mother into the sitting-room. Lucy Ann's tears began to flow, but Becky whispered:
"I suppose that 's the way city people do. You must n't cry."
Mabel Hortense seated herself on a stool before the fire, and immediately picked up the three kittens, dropping a doll on each side of her.
"I like kittens. I shall take these home with me," she said.
Lucy Ann received a warning look from Becky, but she felt that, when it came to carrying off kittens, the ways of city people could not be endured, and she said, firmly: "The Maltese one, with the very peaked tail, is Becky's, and the black one with a spot on his nose is Solomon's, and the little, white, fuzziest one is mine, and Priscilla herself belongs to Jonah."
Little Darius at this moment thrust his cage of white mice and his squirrel before Mabel Hortense's eyes, and she dropped the kittens.
"Oh, what funny little things! And the squirrel, with his tail the most of him, is too sweet! I shall carry them all home with me."
Even Becky began to doubt whether she should like city ways. Lucy Ann's eyes and mouth grew into round O's with astonishment, and little Darius set up such a howl that Aunt Eunice forthwith shut him up in the china-closet.
"I am afraid these children are not very obliging," remarked Mabel's mother. "Mabel Hortense has always been accustomed to have everything she wants."
Lucy Ann drew Becky into the hall, and shut the door. "We must n't let her see the play-house, nor my tea-set, nor Solomon's soldiers, nor little Darius's elephant, nor anything. I think we 'd better carry them all up to the attic closet and lock the door!" she exclaimed.
Becky thought so, too, and they hurriedly collected all their playthings, and hustled them into the attic closet, and locked the door securely. Becky even took off Hannah Olive Judson's blue beads and left them there. It would be so dreadful if Mabel Hortense should decide to carry those home with her!
But Becky's conscience troubled her a little as she went back to the sitting-room, for Aunt Eunice had said they must be hospitable, and do everything they could to make Mabel Hortense have a good time. Becky resolved that she would not refuse to do anything that Mabel Hortense wanted her to do.
As she reentered the sitting-room, Solomon was entertaining Mabel Hortense.
"I have my old clothes on, because 1 "m a boy and don't care, but you ought to see how the others have been fixing up, all in their Sunday things, and Becky borrowed Hannah Olive Judson's beads. Say, are the sidewalks all made of gingerbread in the city? Peter Trott says so."
"No," said Mabel Hortense, slowly and reflectively. "They are made of pound-cakes."
"True as you live?" said Solomon. "I thought it was only one of Peter Trott's yarns. And are the houses made of molasses candy?"
"Oh, no, only some of the poor people's houses; ours is made of ice-cream."
"I should think it would melt!" exclaimed Solomon.
"It does n't, but sometimes we eat it up, and build ourselves another," said Mabel Hortense.
Becky looked at her. It was a feeble imitation of the way in which Aunt Eunice looked at Lucy Ann and her when they misbehaved in church.
"I am afraid you tell very wrong stories," she said, severely. "People could n't possibly live in houses made of ice-cream."
Mabel Hortense blushed very red, and cast down her eyes. But then she answered, snappishly:
"Well, who ever s'posed he would believe it! Such a big boy! I never saw one so silly!"
It was not the first time that Solomon had been told he was silly, but coming from a girl who lived in the city it was especially cutting.
Solomon made a resolve then and there that he would "get even" with Mabel Hortense.
"Do you like Thanksgiving Day?" asked Becky, politely. She was afraid she had spoken rather severely to Mabel Hortense, and was trying to make amends for it.
"Not so very much," said Mabel Hortense. "I like to see the stained glass in church make the people's noses look red and yellow, and then there 's the dinner, but that 's disappointing, because one can't have all the plums."
Becky and Solomon and Lucy Ann looked astonished and inquiring.
"In the pudding, you know. I don't care anything about the dinner, except the pudding, and I don't care anything about the pudding, except the plums. Mamma gives me hers, and Grandpa gives me his, but other people are so selfish. They eat their own plums. Could n't you manage, tomorrow, so that I could have all the plums?"
Solomon and Lucy Ann looked at each other in silent astonishment. Lucy Ann was very fond of plums, but it never had occurred to her that she could, by any possibility, have more than her share. Solomon was particularly fond of plums, and had been known to imitate on the sly the example of little Jacky Horner, but he had never wanted to eat all the plums out of a Thanksgiving plum-pudding. Mabel Hortense seemed to him almost as wonderful as the hen that Mother Goose was acquainted with, that
"Ate a cow and ate a calf.
Ate a butcher and a half,
Ate a church and ate a steeple,
Ate the priest and all the people!"
"I will ask Aunt Eunice to give you a very plummy piece, but I don't see how you could have all the plums," said Becky, seriously.
Solomon was thinking. An idea had suddenly popped into his mind that here was a chance for mischief. Solomon loved mischief. And there might be also a chance to "pay up" Mabel Hortense, who had laughed at him and called him silly.
"Oh, I think we could manage it," said he. "Roxy Jane always bakes the pudding the day before Thanksgiving, because on Thanksgiving Day the oven is filled with the turkey and chickens and things, and then she warms it up or serves it with a hot sauce. The pudding is in the pantry this very minute; I Ve seen it."
"Well, what if it is?" asked Becky.
"We might slip into the pantry when nobody was looking, and carry it off and hide it somewhere,—out in the barn, on the hay-mow, would be a good place,—and to-morrow we could eat it and have all the plums!"
"Why, of course ! That is just as easy! And you 're a very nice boy to think of it. I '11 never call you silly again. Of course, you '11 give me all the plums," said Mabel Hortense.
"It would be very wrong! What would Aunt Eunice say ? Why, Solomon, when last Sunday was your birthday, and you said you were surely going to be good a week!"
"I did n't know then that I was going to have company from the city," said Solomon. "And it is n't any harm, anyway. There '11 be plenty for dinner, without the pudding—maybe't would make some of them sick to eat it; and Aunt Eunice will never find out what became of it."
"I don't think it 's nice of you to say it would be wrong, when I 'm your company. People ought to do everything that company wants."
"Aunt Eunice said we must do everything that Mabel Hortense wants us to," urged Solomon.
"Yes, so she did," said Becky, rather faintly, "but–"
"It does n't make any difference whether you help or not, we 're going to do it," said Solomon. "And now, too, for they 're all talking and wont notice where we go, and Roxy Jane is setting the table, and can't see us go to the pantry."
Lucy Ann skipped along with Solomon and Mabel Hortense, not minding in the least that Becky looked reprovingly at her.
After a little hesitation, Becky arose and followed them. She might as well see what they were going to do, she thought.
There was the Thanksgiving plum-pudding, in a great, yellow earthen baking-dish, on the pantry shelf, rich and toothsome and sweet-smelling.
"I was going to take the pudding-bag to put it in, but it is n't big enough for such a whacker of a pudding, and the clothes-pin bag is n't clean enough. Becky, you go to the clothes-press and get a clean pillow-case! We can slip it into the wash-tub Monday morning, and nobody will notice."
Becky went. Since they were going to do it, anyway, she might as well join them, she said to herself. Perhaps it was n't polite to refuse company. And it was going to be great fun!
Solomon slipped a knife around the edge of the pudding, to separate it from the dish, as he had seen Roxy Jane do, and put it into the pillowcase. Then they all stole softly out through the long wood-shed to the barn, Solomon, with the pudding slung over his shoulder, leading the way.
Solomon looked cautiously around, to be sure that Peter Trott was not in the barn. Peter was not a tell-tale, but he had a sweet tooth, and it was just as well to be on the safe side.
There was not a sound to be heard as they entered the barn, and both Solomon and Becky soon forgot everything except that they were having great fun.
They deposited the pudding in its pillow-case bag in a bed of hay, covering it carefully so that scarcely a glimpse of the white cloth was to be seen. It was hardly done when Roxy Jane rang the supper-bell vigorously.
"Now we shall all have to go to church in the morning," said Solomon, as they hurried into the house, "but the very first thing after we come home we 'll go up on to the hay-mow and eat the pudding."
One who was watching Solomon closely might have seen a twinkle in his eye, when he said that, which meant mischief deeper than any of his companions in the pudding enterprise suspected.
For it would n't be paying up Mabel Hortense to let her eat all the plums. Oh, no, indeed!
At five o'clock the next morning, Solomon arose from his bed softly, that he might not awake Jonah, who was sleeping beside him, dressed himself in great haste, and stole down-stairs. He had meant to be up at four o'clock, but, unfortunately, had failed to awake. It was quite important for the accomplishment of his purpose that he should get to the barn before Peter Trott did, and Peter Trott was a very early bird.
The large lantern which Peter used was not hanging in its accustomed place, but that was not a sure sign that Peter had gone to the barn, because he was not very orderly and might have left it somewhere else.
Solomon lighted the small lantern, and tiptoed softly, listening intently, all the way through the wood-shed, which had never seemed so long nor so dark. There was no sign of Peter Trott's lantern, and Solomon came to the conclusion that Peter's alarm-clock had not yet gone off.
An industrious hen, who had been laying an egg at this unseasonable hour, flew off her nest with loud cackling, and startled Solomon so that he almost dropped his lantern into the hay. Perhaps she meant to lay more than one egg that day, because it was Thanksgiving Day, but Solomon thought she might have waited until daylight.
Her nest seemed to be very near the place where they had hidden the pudding. Solomon hoped that she had n't been having a peck at the plums. He meant to have all those plums for his own private refreshment. He would never have thought of it if Mabel Hortense had not suggested it, and he did not want to eat them all at once, but he thought it would be a very good plan to hide the pudding where nobody but himself could find it, and have a private nibble whenever he liked.
But the best of it was that he should be more than even with Mabel Hortense. Instead of having all the plums, she would n't have any of them. And would n't the girls all be surprised when they came, after church, to the place where the pudding had been hidden and found it gone? And should n't he have to pretend to be surprised? Solomon chuckled to himself, thinking of it.
By this time he had come to the place where he had put the pudding. He put his hand down to pull up the bag, but, lo and behold! there was only a deep hole where the pudding had lain.
The pudding had vanished, bag and all!
Solomon's first thought was that it must be magic—some fairy had spirited it away, to punish him for his misdeeds. But when his knees had stopped shaking, he thought of Peter Trott.
Peter wore soft shoes, and was always near when one did not suspect it, and he was very fond of goodies. He might like all the plums as well as Mabel Hortense. Just at that moment he heard the noise of the hay-cutter at the farther end of the barn, and a ray of light from Peter Trott's lantern was cast upon the barn-floor.
"Peter, Peter, what have you done with the plum-pudding?" cried Solomon, angrily.
"Sakes alive! Is that you up on the hay-mow? Do you want to scare a fellow to death?" said Peter, in a shaking voice. "What are you doin' up there at this time in the morning?"
"I 'm not so early but what you 've been before me, and carried off my plum-pudding, or else eaten it up!" said Solomon, almost in tears.
"Plum-puddin'! Plum-puddin'! You aint dreamin' or walkin' in your sleep, are you? It's Thanksgivin' Day, sure enough, and it 's likely there '11 be a plum-puddin' along about dinner time, good and spicy, and chock full of plums, but it's too early in the morning to talk about it now. I 'm a master hand for plum-puddin', myself, but I should n't consider it wholesome before breakfast!"
"I hid the plum-pudding, in a pillow-case, up on this hay-mow, and it's gone!" said Solomon, "and nobody has been here but you."
"Hid a plum-puddin'up in the hay? That's cur'us!" exclaimed Peter Trott, in a tone of great astonishment. "And it's gone?—that's cur'user still! But, now I think of it, that yaller-speckled hen was makin' a great fuss up there, and she's a master hand for victuals, that hen is, and she's got a terrible big swallow. Why, I see her swallow a pumpkin the other day and make no more of it than she would of a pea!"
"I sha' n't believe any more of your stories, Peter Trott!" cried Solomon. "I got called silly by doing it, and Grandpa says not to."
Peter looked very sad.
"Well, I s'pose I have got kind of an unfort'nit habit of stretchin' the truth a little. It kind of seems to come nateral. But I 'm a-breakin' myself of it fast. Now I come to think of it, it wa' n't a pumpkin but a squash, and not more 'n a middlin'-sized one, that I see that hen swallow. And it a'nt likely that she swallowed the puddin', on account of the bag; tbat would have stuck in her throat, certain sure."
"You have done something with that pudding," insisted Solomon, hotly.
"Well, now, I did toss some hay off that mow into Dandy Jim's stall. You don't s'pose the puddin' could have caught on the pitchfork, do you? Dandy Jim would n't have eaten the bag, anyhow, bein' dretful pertikler about his victuals, so it's easy enough to find out."
And Peter Trott, in a very eager and interested manner, went into Dandy Jim's stall, and searched about. Solomon followed him, with his lantern, and looked carefully all over the stall. But no traces of either pudding or bag were to be found, and Dandy Jim, after the closest inspection, did not seem to be suffering from indigestion, as Solomon thought he certainly would be if he had eaten the pudding-bag.
Peter Trott certainly looked very innocent, but Solomon had by no means lost his suspicions that he knew more about the disappearance of the pudding than he chose to tell. But to show anger toward him would never bring Peter to confession. So Solomon began to plead with him:
"Peter, please don't tease me. P-l-eas-e tell me all about it."
Peter thrust both hands into his trousers pockets, and looked very benevolent.
"Well, now, I have been jokin' a little, that's a fact, but I don't want to hurt your feelin's. But as for that puddin', all I can say is that I saw a tramp eatin' somethin' out in the barn-yard last nfght, an' it may 'a' been that puddin'. I can't say certain that it was the puddin', but he was a-eatin' ez if he enjoyed it mighty well. He was sittin' kind of doubled up in that bushel-basket, with his legs kind of danglin', and he had a cloth tucked under his chin for a napkin. Of course, I did n't know how he come by it. I did n't once think that it might be our Thanksgivin' puddin'. I did think about orderin' him off, but he had such a queer look in his eye that I felt like givin' him a wide berth, and I let him alone. Judgin' from what you tell me, I 'm afraid your puddin' 's gone for good. But I can't say for certain."
Solomon felt satisfied that Peter was telling the truth, now. Tramps were plenty in the neighborhood, and, only the day before, he himself had seen just such an one as Peter described, resting under a tree. And Peter was always careless about the barn door.
Now that the pudding was gone, Solomon began to think anxiously of the probability of being found out. While there was a great deal of fun to be expected with the pudding, that probability had kept in the background of his mind, but now it loomed out fearfully. Aunt Eunice would be sure to make a strict investigation as soon as she knew that the pudding was gone, and Aunt Eunice could always find out things. Sometimes her finding out seemed really marvelous, and she said that a little bird told her. Jonah said she was only joking, and Becky did n't really believe it, but Solomon was inclined to think it was true. Solomon thought, now that he came to consider the matter, that anybody who had stolen the Thanksgiving plum-pudding wouldn't be "let off very easy." He deliberated whether he should throw the blame upon Mabel Hortense or not. It seemed rather mean to tell of a girl, but, "anyway, he should n't have thought of it, if it hadn't been for her."
The Thanksgiving sermon had always seemed endless to Solomon, but on this day it was actually too short; anything was better than having dinnertime come.
As soon as they reached home, Mabel Hortense and Lucy Ann came to him and whispered:
"Now we will go to the barn and have the pudding, wont we?"
Becky stood in the background, looking pale and sad. The truth was, Becky's conscience had been making her very unhappy.
"The pudding's gone," said Solomon, gloomily.
"Gone! Where?" exclaimed Mabel Hortense, Becky, and Lucy Ann, in a breath.
"Eaten up!" said Solomon.
"What! plums and all?" exclaimed Mabel Hortense, the corners of her mouth beginning to droop. "Who did such a cruel, wicked thing?"
"A tramp. He ate the pudding—plums and all."
"Oh, what a greedy thing, to eat all the plums! I wanted them myself," said Mabel Hortense.
"We have n't had a bit of fun. And what will Aunt Eunice say?" said Becky.
"Girls are always getting a fellow into trouble!" said Solomon, savagely.
The children showed a surprising lack of eagerness in obeying the summons to dinner, all except little Darius, who did not feel guilty, and still expected plum-pudding.
Solomon had a very small appetite for turkey, and Becky could scarcely force down a mouthful.
Solomon felt, when they were waiting for dessert to be brought in, that it was one of the most awful moments of his life, and Becky watched the door with a frightened and fascinated gaze.
But what did their eyes behold! Roxy Jane, with beaming face, bearing aloft a huge platter, on which reposed a great, rich-brown, plummylooking pudding! It looked exactly like the pudding they had stolen, and Roxy Jane said, in answer to a compliment upon the looks of her pudding, that "it got a splendid bake. She never knew one to slip out of the dish so easily."
It was placed on Solomon's end of the table, and he bent over and examined it critically. A tiny wisp of hay was clinging to its side. Solomon picked it off slyly and showed it to Becky.
"Grandpa, don't ever send Peter Trott away, for he 's a good fellow!" said Solomon, eagerly.
And all the grown people wondered why the plum-pudding made him think of that.
"I want all the plums!" said Mabel Hortense.
But nobody paid any attention to her, and she had only her share.
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