HANKSGIVING-DAY.

Thanksgiving-Day had come. Among the multitude of good things it
brought with it, not the least important, in the eyes of the children,
was a visit from their grandmother, Mrs. Lee, who arrived the evening
previous. She was the mother of Mrs. Preston, and lived in a distant
town in Vermont. She had not visited the family for several years, and
the children and their parents were all very glad to see her once more.
She was much surprised to find how the young folks had grown since she
last saw them. Alice had shot up into a young lady, Oscar, who she
remembered as "a little bit of a fellow," was a tall boy, Ella, too,
was quite a miss, and Georgie, "the baby," had long since exchanged his
frock for the jacket, trowsers, and boots, of boyhood. All these
changes had happened since their grandmother's last visit; and yet she
was just the same pleasant, talkative old lady that she was years ago.
The children could not discover that time had left so much as one new
wrinkle on her well-remembered face.

[Illustration: Thanksgiving Market Scene.]

After breakfast, their grandmother proceeded to unpack her trunk. From
its capacious depths she drew forth sundry articles,--specimens of her
own handiwork,--which she distributed among the children, as gifts.
They were all articles of utility, such as warm, "country-knit" mittens
and socks for the boys, and tippets and stockings for the girls. A
large bag filled with nuts, and another of pop-corn, were also among
the contents of the trunk, and were handed to the children to be
divided among them.

In accordance with an agreement made the day before, Oscar soon left
the house, and went in search of Alfred. Having found him, they set
out for South Boston, in company with two or three boys, to witness a
shooting-match got up by a man who worked about the stable. The spot
selected for the sport was a retired field, where there was little
danger of being interrupted. On reaching the ground, the boys found a
small collection of young men and lads already engaged in the cruel
amusement; for the mark was a live fowl, tied to a stake. The company
assembled were of a decidedly low order, and Oscar at first felt almost
ashamed to be seen among them. Smoking, swearing, betting, and
quarrelling, were all going on at once, interspersed with occasional
shouts of laughter at some vulgar joke, or at the fluttering and cries
of a wounded fowl. Sometimes a poor chicke