ng imaginary turkeys, and discuss the one
before us," said old Sylvester, "but I must first put a question, and if
it's answered with satisfaction, we'll proceed. Now tell me," he said,
addressing himself to Mr. Carrack, who sat in a sort of dream, as if he
had lost his identity, as he had ever since the night-adventure in the
fez-cap and red silk cloak: "Now tell me, Tiffany, although you have
doubtless seen a great many grand things, such as the Alps, and St.
Peter's church at Rome, has your eye fallen in with anything wherever
you travelled over the world, grander than that Thanksgiving turkey?"

Mr. Carrack, either from excessive modesty or total abstraction,
hesitated, looked about him hastily, and not till the Captain called
across the table, "Why don't you speak, my boy?" and then, as if
suddenly coming to, and realizing where he was, answered at last, with
great deliberation, "It is a fine bird."

"Enough said," spoke up old Sylvester cheerfully; "you were the last
Peabody I expected to acknowledge the merits of the turkey;" and,
looking towards the Captain with encouragement, added, "now, knife and
fork, do your duty."

It was short work the jovial Captain made with the prize turkey; in
rapid succession plates were forwarded, heaped, sent around; and with a
keen relish of the Thanksgiving dinner, every head was busy. Straight
on, as people who have an allotted task before them, the Peabodys moved
through the dinner,--a powerful, steady-going caravan of cheerful
travellers, over hill, over dale, up the valleys, along the stream-side,
cropping their way like a nimble-toothed flock of grazing sheep, keenly
enjoying herbage and beverage by the way.

What though, while they were at the height of its enjoyment a sudden
storm, at that changeful season, arose without, and dashed its heavy
drops against the doors and window-panes; that only, by the contrast of
security and fire-side comfort, heightened the zest within, while they
were engaged with the many good dishes at least, but when another pause
came, did not the pelting shower and the chiding wind talk with them,
each one in turn, of the absent, and oh! some there will not believe
it--the lost? It was no doubt some thought of this kind that prompted
old Sylvester to speak:

"My children," said the patriarch, glancing with a calm eye around the
circle of glowing faces at the table "you are bound together with good
cheer and in comfortable circumstances; and ev