THE clock in the warm, bright kitchen was striking nine; not nine in the morning, but nine in the evening, which is a very different thing, as the old clock seemed to know, for it counted off the chime with a soft, sleepy roll, as if bent upon making the least possible disturbance.
Dolly put the cookies into the deep tin box that had held thousands of such dainties in its day, set the lid a-tilt upon the edge, gave a glance of satisfaction at the great loaves peeping out from the white cloth that covered them, the row of pies on the shelf below, and the plump chickens trussed up sociably on the platter, and then came out from the pantry, and shut the door upon the savory smells. Dolly was not a beauty, but she had a clear, fresh face, and was full of health and vigor and content. She was a model housekeeper, too, as the old clock could have testified, and this was the first time it had been called upon to countenance such irregular doings as the turning of night into day. But this was the night before Thanksgiving, and when one is cook, chambermaid, housekeeper, and mistress of the manse, she certainly has a right to regulate her own days in spite of the almanac-man.
Yes, and nurse besides; for on the lounge lay Dolly’s mother, not exactly sick, but weak from a long fever that had left her ankles so swollen and painful that she could not walk a step without assistance. Bess and Johnny had been away through it all, but now their father had gone for them, and early in the morning they would reach home,—the pleasant prairie home, with its broad, boundless fields, from which they expected some day to reap a fortune.
The lounge was in the kitchen, for the Marshalls cared a great deal more for comfort than ceremony, and Dolly’s kitchen, with its clean yellow floor, bright rugs, white table, and window full of growing plants, was a famous place for comfort.
“I hope you are through at last,” said Mrs. Marshall, looking up sleepily at Dolly.
“All but the candy, and that’ll not take long,” said Dolly cheerily.
“For pity’s sake, do let the candy go; the children are just as well off without it.”
“Oh, but I promised Johnny I’d have some for him, and it wouldn’t seem like Thanksgiving without it. The nuts are all cracked, and I’ll sit here and pick out the goodies while the molasses boils,” and Dolly whisked out the clean iron skillet, and poured the molasses in so quickly her mother could only say: “You’ll kill yourself working so hard, and what good do you think that will do the children?”
“Choog! choog!” said the molasses in its hurry to get out of the jug, and Dolly smiled as she coaxed it to make less haste and more speed.