company with Mrs.
Gray, had come from Oakdale. J. Elfreda Briggs had won a reluctant
consent from her family, who invariably spent their Thanksgivings at
Fairview, to make one of Miriam's house party. Anne, who was playing an
extended engagement in New York City, was transplanted from the
Southards' to Miriam's home for a week's stay. There were, of course,
many loved faces missing, but this only made those who had assembled for
a brief sojourn together more keenly alive to the joy of reunion.

"This is the first Thanksgiving since my senior year in high school that
I've been given the chance to sit between Father and Mother and count
my blessings," Grace continued, looking fondly from one to the other of
her parents. She was occupying a low stool between them, her favorite
seat at home when the day was done, and the devoted little family
gathered in the living room to talk over its events.

"We are counting our blessings, too," smiled Mr. Harlowe. "One of them
is very lively, and runs away almost as soon as it arrives." He pinched
Grace's soft cheek.

"But it always runs back again," reminded Grace, "and it's always yours
for the asking. I'd leave my work, everything, and come home on wings if
you needed me."

"I used to hate Thanksgiving when I was a youngster," broke in J.
Elfreda. "We always had a lot of company and I always behaved like a
savage and spent Thanksgiving evening in solitary confinement. I'd wail
like a disappointed coyote and make night generally hideous for the
company. I've improved a lot since those days," she grinned boyishly at
her friends. "I can see now that it was a pretty good thing the Pilgrim
Fathers set aside a day for counting their blessings. If they thought
they were lucky, I wonder what we are."

Elfreda had unconsciously gone from the comic to the serious.

"We are favored beyond understanding," Mrs. Harlowe said solemnly.
"When one thinks of the poor and unfortunate, to whom Thanksgiving can
bring nothing but sorrow and bitterness, it seems little short of
marvelous that we should be so happy."

"I don't wish to be selfish and forget life's unfortunates, but I'd
rather not think about them now," was Miriam's candid comment. "We
mustn't be sad to-night. Grace must sparkle, and Elfreda be funny, and
Anne must recite for us, and I'll play and David must sing. I've
discovered that he has a really good tenor voice. We've been practising
songs together this fall."

"Really?" aske