in her chamber,
some hour the least expected appears before us, apparelled in all the
pomp and hue of brilliant beauty, the fair country, flushed with
innumerable tints of the changed autumn-trees, glided forth upon the
Indian summer scene, and taught that when kindly nature seems all
foregone and spent, she can rise from her couch fresher and more radiant
than in her very prime.

What wonder if with the peep of dawn the children leaped from bed, eager
to have on their new clothes reserved for the day, and by times appeared
before old Sylvester in proud array of little hats, new-brightened shoes
and shining locks, span new as though they had just come from the mint;
anxious to have his grandfatherly approval of their comeliness? Shortly
after, the horses caught in the distant pastures, the Captain and Farmer
Oliver having charge of them, were brought in and tied under the trees
in the door-yard.

Then, breakfast being early dispatched, there was a mighty running to
and fro of the grown people through the house, dresses hurried from old
clothes-presses and closets, a loud demand on every hand for pins, of
which there seemed to be (as there always is on such occasions) a great
lack. The horses were put to Mrs. Carrack's coach, the Captain's gig,
the old house-wagon, with breathless expectation on the part of the
children; and in brief, after bustling preparation and incessant
summoning of one member of the family and another from the different
parts of the house, all being at last ready and in their seats, the
Peabodys set forth for the Thanksgiving Sermon at the country
Meeting-house, a couple of miles away.

The Captain took the lead with his wife and Peabody Junior somewhere and
somehow between them, followed by the wagon with old Sylvester, still
proud of his dexterity as a driver, Oliver, much pleased with the
popular character of the conveyance and wife, with young Robert; William
Peabody and wife; little Sam riding between his grandfather's legs in
front, and allowed to hold the end of the reins. Slowly and in great
state, after all rolled Mrs. Carrack's coach with herself and son
within, and footman and coachman without.

Chanticleer, too, clear of eye and bright of wing, walked the garden
wall, carried his head up, and acted as if he had also put on his
thanksgiving suit and expected to take the road presently, accompany the
family, and join his voice with theirs at the little meeting-house.

Although the