I didn't, Rebecca Randall. I just sat at the gate and held the
horse."

"Yes, but WHOSE horse was it that took us to North Riverboro? And
besides, it just happened to be my turn. If you had gone in and found
Mr. Aladdin you would have had the wonderful lamp given to you; but
what's the trouble?"

"The Simpsons have no kerosene and no wicks. I guess they thought a
banquet lamp was something that lighted itself, and burned without any
help. Seesaw has gone to the doctor's to try if he can borrow a wick,
and mother let me have a pint of oil, but she says she won't give me
any more. We never thought of the expense of keeping up the lamp,
Rebecca."

"No, we didn't, but let's not worry about that till after the party. I
have a handful of nuts and raisins and some apples."

"I have peppermints and maple sugar," said Emma Jane. "They had a real
Thanksgiving dinner; the doctor gave them sweet potatoes and
cranberries and turnips; father sent a spare-rib, and Mrs. Cobb a
chicken and a jar of mince-meat."

At half past five one might have looked in at the Simpsons' windows,
and seen the party at its height. Mrs. Simpson had let the kitchen fire
die out, and had brought the baby to grace the festal scene. The lamp
seemed to be having the party, and receiving the guests. The children
had taken the one small table in the house, and it was placed in the
far corner of the room to serve as a pedestal. On it stood the sacred,
the adored, the long-desired object; almost as beautiful, and nearly
half as large as the advertisement. The brass glistened like gold, and
the crimson paper shade glowed like a giant ruby. In the wide splash of
light that it flung upon the floor sat the Simpsons, in reverent and
solemn silence, Emma Jane standing behind them, hand in hand with
Rebecca. There seemed to be no desire for conversation; the occasion
was too thrilling and serious for that. The lamp, it was tacitly felt
by everybody, was dignifying the party, and providing sufficient
entertainment simply by its presence; being fully as satisfactory in
its way as a pianola or a string band.

"I wish father could see it," said Clara Belle loyally.

"If he onth thaw it he'd want to thwap it," murmured Susan sagaciously.

At the appointed hour Rebecca dragged herself reluctantly away from the
enchanting scene.

"I'll turn the lamp out the minute I think you and Emma Jane are home,"
said Clara Belle. "And, oh! I'm so glad you both live where you ca