ly shaped,
high-buckled hat which threatened to slide down over his ears at any
moment. Louise, in a Priscilla gray gown, waited for the pilgrim father
to begin his lines. The class applauded wildly, for the spirit of make
believe threw them back into those tempestuous early days along the
Atlantic Coast.

John heard not a word of the scenes which followed. He was sorely
disturbed. There was Sid on the platform with his beloved, waving his
arms back and forth in fervid, pump-handle motions which Louise seemed
to mind not a bit. Hang it all, that kid must be trying to cut him out!
But he'd show him. Just wait until his thousand dollars was earned.

Then his calculations of that Saturday evening came back to throw an icy
feeling into the pit of his stomach. What right had he to hope when
housefurnishings were at such a figure?

Mrs. Fletcher set him to picking the pinfeathers from the turkey when he
came in from his paper route that night. He turned to with a gusto,
mindful of the culinary treats which were to come, and blissfully
conscious of four long holidays, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday,
in which he could sleep as late as he wanted--besides, he could see a
little more of Louise. He didn't like the way she had acted on the
platform. Perhaps he had been a little neglectful, but just wait a few
years. Then he'd--but the thought of that costly furniture put an end to
his dreams.

Thanksgiving morning he haunted the kitchen incessantly, dancing now to
the little pantry to swing back the doors and feast his eyes on the huge
mince pie which waited on the bottom shelf, and then back to the kitchen
where he pestered his mother with innumerable questions until she drove
him out into the snappy, late November air. He scampered up to Bill's
house, where the two boys retired to the chilly seclusion of the shack
and compared notes.

"We've got a fifteen-pound turkey," said John boastfully.

"That's nothing," Silvey dug scornfully into the hard dirt floor with
his heel. "You ought to see ours. Twenty pounds, and my, such a big
fellow! Cranberry sauce an' roast potatoes, an' squash to go with him.
Umm-m-m."

"So've we," retorted John, undaunted by this itemized account. "Your
turkey may be bigger'n ours, but it won't taste as good, for my ma (he'd
forgotten his assertion regarding Louise) is the best cook in the whole
world and there isn't anyone can beat her."

Certain empty pangs in nature's alarm clock brought