A dull red came into the man’s face.
“For--me?” stammered Cyrus.
“Y-yes,” faltered Huldah; then her chin came up defiantly.
The man laughed; and there was a boyish ring to his voice.
“Well, Huldah, I didn’t have any turkey, but I did have a tidy little piece o’ black silk for yer gown, an’ I saved it, too. Mebbe we could eat that!--eh?”
It was not until just as they were falling asleep that night in Deacon Clark’s spare bedroom that Mr. and Mrs. Gregg so much as hinted that there ever had been a quarrel.
Then, under cover of the dark, Cyrus stammered:
“Huldah, did ye sense it? Them ’ere words we said at the foot of the stairs was spoke--exactly--together!”
“Yes, I know, dear,” murmured Huldah, with a little break in her voice. Then:
“Cyrus, ain’t it wonderful--this Thanksgiving, for us?”