That evening Dora asked Uncle Dan. She did not need to coax him. Uncle Dan had heard about the hungry children.
“Sure thing,” he said. “Roast pork is good enough for me.”
When Mrs. Merrill went to market she inquired the price of a large chicken. A big one would be needed for a dinner for seven people. Then she bought the pork.
When she came home she took ninety-eight cents from her purse and gave it to the children. “You may divide it between your mite-boxes,” she said.
Thanksgiving Day was cold and blustering, which made the warm house seem all the more pleasant. A cheerful fire blazed in the Franklin stove and Father was at home.
He helped make the dining-table larger. Mother put on the best table-cloth. The pattern woven into it was bunches of drooping lilacs and Lucy and Dora thought it very pretty. Mother smoothed out every wrinkle and then the children set the table.
In the centre they put a vase of dark red chrysanthemums, cold and fragrant from the garden. Dora loved their spicy smell. They were only about as big as buttons, but something in their odor made her think of ferns and brooks and pleasant things which would come with spring.
Never was table set more carefully. Each knife and fork was laid as though the proper spot were located with a foot-rule. Dora felt that Lucy was too particular. Lucy moved almost everything Dora put in place.
When Lucy’s back was turned, Dora quietly put things as they were before. And the distance either moved them was so slight that when Lucy looked back she did not notice what Dora had done.