st legally appointed Thanksgiving Day in California; I had only to
close my eyes, and in thought would reappear the longest and most
bountifully spread table I had ever seen. Turkey, chicken, and wild
duck, at the ends; a whole roasted pig in the centre, and more than
enough delicious accompaniments to cover the spaces between. Then the
grown folk dining first, and the flock of hungry children coming later;
the speaking, laughing, and clapping of hands, with which the old home
customs were introduced in the new land.

There, I wore a dark calico dress and sun-bonnet, both made by poor
Mrs. McCutchen of the Donner Party, who had to take in sewing for a
livelihood; but to the Seminary, I should wear grandpa's gift, a costly
alpaca, changeable in the sunlight to soft mingling bluish and greenish
colors of the peacock. Its wide skirt reached to my shoetops, and the
gathers to its full waist were gauged to a sharp peak in front. A wide
open V from the shoulder down to the peak displayed an embroidered
white Swiss chemisette. The sleeves, small at the wrist, were trimmed
with folds of the material and a quilling of white lace at the hand.

On the all-important morning, grandma was anxious that I should look
well; and after she had looped my braids with bows of blue ribbon and
fastened my dress, she brought forth my dainty bonnet, her own gift.
Deft fingers had shirred the pale-blue silk over a frame which had
been cut down from ladies' size, arranged an exquisite spray of
Marechal Niel rosebuds and foliage on the outside, and quilled a soft
white ruching around the face, which emphasized the Frenchy style and
finish so pleasing to grandma.

Did I look old fashioned? Yes, for grandma said, "Thou art like a
picture I saw somewhere long ago." Then she continued brightly, "Here
are thy mits, and thy little embroidered handkerchief folded in a
square. Carry it carefully so it won't get mussed before the company
see it, and come not back late for milking."

The Seminary playground was so noisy with chatter and screams of joy,
that it was impossible to remember all the games we played; and later
the dining-room and its offerings were so surprising and so beautifully
decorated that the sight nearly deprived me of my appetite.

"Mumps. Bite a pickle and see if it ain't so!" exclaimed a neighbor to
whom Georgia was showing her painful and swollen face. True enough, the
least taste of anything sour produced the tell-tale shock. But