ut
they praised her pluck, nevertheless.

"Those Corner House girls are all right!" was the general comment.

Poor Seneca came running to the end of a neighboring dock and took a
flying leap--linen duster, carpet slippers, and all--down upon the ice.
He was determined at first to get to his shack on the wharf, for he did
not see what the boys were doing for him.

Men in the crowd ran to hold the poor old prophet back from what would
likely have been his doom. He screamed anathemas upon them until they
led him to where Ruth stood and showed him the great heap of books. Then
almost immediately he became calm.

CHAPTER XXI

THE CORNER HOUSE THANKSGIVING

It was truly a Thanksgiving feast at the old Corner House that day, and
it was enjoyed to the full by all. Nor was there a table in all Milton
around which sat a more apparently incongruous company.

At first glance one might have thought that the Corner House girls had
put forth a special effort to gather together a really fantastical
company to celebrate the holiday. Uncle Rufus, at least, had never
served quite so odd an assortment of guests during all the years he had
been in Mr. Peter Stower's employ.

At one end of the table the old Scotch housekeeper presided, in a fresh
cap and apron. Her hard, rosy face looked as though it had received an
extra polishing with the huck towel on the kitchen roller.

At the far end of the long board, covered with the best old damask the
house afforded, and laid with the heavy, sterling plate that Unc' Rufus
tended so lovingly, and the cut glass of old-fashioned pattern, was
silver-haired Mr. Howbridge. He was a man very precise in his dress,
given to the niceties of the toilet in every particular. He wore
rimless glasses perched on his aristocratic beak of a nose, a well
cared-for mustache much darker than his hair, and had very piercing
eyes.

On his right was prim Aunt Sarah--Aunt Sarah, who never seemed to belong
to the family, who lived so self-centered an existence, but who was sure
to have her meddling finger in everything that went on in the old Corner
House, especially if it was desired that she should not.

Aunt Sarah glared across the table at a tall, lean, ascetic-looking man
in a rusty, old-fashioned, black, tail coat that was a world too wide
for him across the shoulders, and with his sleek, long hair parted very
carefully in the middle, and falling below the high collar of the coat.

Those who had