of paper and he did the
same. You never said I mustn't _write_ it, Gail."

"What did you write?" asked Gail, faintly.

"I just said--well, here's the paper. I kept it 'cause he is such a
pretty writer."

She drew a crumpled scrap out of her pocket, smoothed it out carefully,
and passed it over to Gail. At the top of the page in Peace's childish
scrawl were scribbled these words, "Didn't you reely put that muny in
our barn?" Below, in Mr. Strong's firm, flowing handwriting, was the
answer, "I reely didn't." "Are you purfickly shure you aint lying just
to be plite?" was the next question. "Purfickly shure." "Cross your
heart?" "Cross my heart."

Silently Gail dropped the slip back onto the table and fell to moulding
her biscuit vigorously, biting her lips to hide a telltale smile.

Peace watched her for a time and then began again, "Are we going to have
meat of any kind tomorrow?"

"I am afraid not, dear."

"What--what do you 'xpect to have?"

"Just potatoes and cabbage and beets, I guess."

"It will seem kind of hard to be thankful for such a dinner as that,
won't it?" sighed Peace.

"There are lots of people in the city who won't have that much--unless
the churches and Associated Charities give them dinners."

"I wish someone would give _us_ a turkey. I could be lots thankfuller
over a drumstick than over a cabbage leaf or a beet pickle."

"That isn't the right spirit, dear," remonstrated Gail, wondering how
she could clinch her argument with this small sister. "Thanksgiving Day
was created so we might have a special day to thank the Lord for the
blessings He has given us during the year--food and clothing and home
and family."

"Yes, teacher told us all about that, but seems to me people ought to
give thanks every day instead of saving them up for a whole year and
praying them all in a lump."

"Oh, Peace! I didn't mean that. People do thank Him every day. Don't we
always say grace when we sit down at the table? But Thanksgiving Day is
a special time for giving thanks. It is in the fall after the crops are
all in, and the barns are full of hay and grain, and the cellars filled
with vegetables; and we thank Him for the good harvests."

"S'posing the harvests ain't good? We didn't get much off from our farm
this year. I am tired already of turnips and carrots."

"What if we had no vegetables at all?"

"Well, that would be worser, wouldn't it? I s'pose we ought to be glad
for even that."

"Yes, dear