needles and the
gold beads on her neck all shone in the sunlight.

"You had better come downstairs, child," said she. "Dinner's 'most
ready, and mebbe you can help your mother. Your father isn't going to
whip you this time, because you told the truth about it, but you
mustn't ever do such a dreadful wicked thing again."

"No, I won't," sobbed Submit. She looked across, and there beside
Sarah's face in the window was another beautiful smiling one. It had
pink cheeks and sweet black eyes and black curls, among which stood a
high tortoise-shell comb.

"Oh, Submit!" Sarah called out, joyfully, "Aunt Rose says I can go
down to dinner!"

"Grandmother says I can!" called back Submit.

The beautiful smiling face opposite leaned close to Sarah's for a
minute.

"Oh, Submit!" cried Sarah, "Aunt Rose says she will make you a doll
baby like Thankful, if your mother's willing!"

"I guess she'll be willing if she's a good girl," called Grandmother
Thompson.

Submit looked across a second in speechless radiance. Then the faces
vanished from the two little windows, and Submit and Sarah went down
to their Thanksgiving dinners.

BEETLE RING'S THANKSGIVING MASCOT[2]

BY SHELDON C. STODDARD.

Beetle Ring had the reputation of being the toughest lumber
camp on the river. The boys were certainly rough, and rather
hard drinkers, but their hearts were in the right place,
after all.

Six months of idleness following a long run of fever, a lost position,
and consequent discouragement had brought poverty and wretchedness to
Joe Bennett.

The lumber camp on the Featherstone, where he had been at work, had
broken up and gone, and an old shack, deserted by some hunter, and now
standing alone in the great woods, was the only home he could provide
for his little family. It had answered its purpose as a makeshift in
the warm weather, but now, in late November, and with the terrible
northern winter coming swiftly on, it was small wonder the young
lumberman had been discouraged as he tried to forecast the future.

His strength had returned, however, and lately something of his old
courage, for he had found work. It was fifteen miles away, to be sure,
and in "Beetle Ring" lumber camp, the camp that bore the reputation of
being the roughest on the Featherstone, but it was work.

[Footnote 2: From the _Youth's Companion_, November 30, 1905.]

He was earning something, and might hope soon to move his family in