Then, the first thing the hens in the barn-yard knew, they didn't know anything! but lay on the kitchen table with their yellow boots kicked up in the air, waiting to be singed, stuffed, and skewered. Poor things, they had laid their last egg, and swallowed their last kernel of corn, every rooster's daughter of 'em!
What a party of horses stamped their iron shoes in Grandpa Scott's barn on Thanksgiving morning! What a party of little children in bright autumn-leaf dresses and white aprons, went scampering through the house! What a fuss they all made over the littlest baby! What a fire (big enough to roast an ox whole) blazed in the great, wide, sitting-room fireplace!
How Grandpa Scott walked round, not knowing whether to laugh or to cry, patting this one on the head, chucking the other under the chin, and tossing a third up to the wall. How he looked all round, with his arms a-kimbo, and said if any grandpa in the United States had a prettier set of grandchildren than that, he'd like to see them; and how Grandma said, "Pshaw! Grandpa," because she was so proud of them herself that she didn't know what else to say!
And how Grandma looked as if she never would grow old, with her nice lace cap, and her own brown hair, with scarce a silver thread in it, curling round her happy face; and how Grandpa would whisper slily to the boys, "After all, your mother is handsomer than any child she ever had!"
How contented and satisfied Grandmamma looked, sitting at the head of her Thanksgiving table; plenty of chickens and turkeys boiled and roasted before her. What a time she had getting all the little Scott-ites seated to her mind, and napkins tucked properly under each chubby chin; how she would carve the turkey herself, because, when Grandpa got busy talking, he cut off the wings before he did the legs!
How she insisted upon "all just tasting some of that chicken-pie," when it was quite impossible to stow away another mouthful, because "she had no idea of making it for nothing."
How she would give the little wee baby a "wish-bone," though it could not hold it one minute in its limpsy little fingers; and how she would keep on passing round nuts, and oranges, and grapes, and apples, and wonder what had become of all their appetites.
And then how all the family would go back into the sitting-room after dinner; and how Tom, the family "Mozart," would sing "Home, Sweet Home;" and how Grandma Scott would rub her eyes with her handkerchief, and declare that the room smoked! And how all the grown-up boys and girls would begin to look hysterical; and how Maggie, who believed in "a time to dance," would jump up and seize sober Uncle Walter by the waist, and waltz round the room with him; and how Grandmamma would smile and say, "Will anything ever tame that girl?" Poor, merry Maggie! she's "tame" enough now, though Grandmamma didn't live to see the sorrow that it took to do it.
And bright-eyed Hal, and golden-haired Letty, and brave, handsome Walter, and cherry-lipped Susy, and dimpled little Benny,—and Grandmamma with her warm, big heart and cheerful smile; and Grandpapa with his silvery locks, and beaming eye, and kindly hand of welcome—oh, where are they all now?
Dear children,