"I didn't know I had any," said Lloyd, seriously, looking up with wondering eyes. "I always took grandfathah's side, you know, because the Yankees shot his arm off. I hated 'em for it, and I nevah would hurrah for the Union. I've despised Republicans and the Nawth from the time I could talk."
"Don't say that, Lloyd," said Mrs. Walton, still caressing her soft hair. "What have we to do with that old quarrel? Its time has long gone by. I, too, am a daughter of the South, Lloyd, but surely such lives as his have not been sacrificed in vain." She pointed impressively to the portrait. "That, if nothing else, would make me want to forget that North and South had ever been arrayed against each other. Surely such lives as his by their high loyalty should inspire a love of country deep enough to make America the guiding star of the nations."
Bedtime came long before Lloyd was ready for it. "Do you want to tell your mother good night?" asked Mrs. Walton, stopping at the telephone as they passed through the upper hall.
"Oh, yes," cried Lloyd. "How different it is from the Cuckoo's Nest. You can't get homesick when you know you're at one end of a wiah, and yo' mothah is at the othah."
Mrs. Walton called up Aunt Jane's number, and, putting the receiver into Lloyd's hand, passed on into her room.
"Oh, mothah," Allison heard her say, "it's like livin' in that fairy tale, where everything in the picture was made alive. Don't you remembah? The birds sang, and the fishes swam, and the rivah ran. Everything in the picture acted as if it were alive and out of its frame. Everything in the house talks, for it has a story of its own. All the family have been tellin' me stories, and I've had a lovely Thanksgiving Day."
There was a long pause while Mrs. Sherman answered, then Allison heard Lloyd's voice again.
"The lesson is a beautiful one this time. It isn't patience any moah. It is Patriotism. Good night. Can you catch a kiss? Heah it is." Allison heard the noise of her lips, and then a laughing good night as she hung up the receiver.
They often had what they called night-gown parties at the Waltons, and they had one that night, when they were all ready for bed. The little group of white-robed figures gathered on the hearth rug at Mrs. Walton's feet, counting their causes for thankfulness, and chattering sociably of many things. Presently, across the merry conversation, fell a recollection that rested on Lloyd's mind like a shadow. She remembered Molly in her bare little bedroom over the kitchen, at the Cuckoo's Nest. Poor little Molly, who could never know a happy Thanksgiving so long as Dot was away from her!