The room was very still. One could almost hear the dishes steam.
There was a sound in the corner of the room. The old clock-case quivered. Farmer Overfield became nervous in this part of his long prayer, opened his eyes and said:
“Oh, I thought I heard something somewhere. Where was I? Liddy, she says that she heard the latch lift in the night. I didn’t know——”
Just here there was a crash of dishes. Little Liddy had seen the old clock-case shake, which caused her to lose nerve power just as she was very carefully moving some dishes when she thought all other eyes were shut. The guests started.
“Accidents will happen,” said Farmer Overfield. “Now, all fall to and help yourselves. It seems like old times to find all the family here again just as it used to be—all except Annie, Annie, Annie. Her name has not been spoken to-day. I shall keep this plate and seat for her here close by my side. Annie’s heart is true to me still. I seem to feel that. I wish she were here to-day. The true note of Thanksgiving is lacking in a broken family. There can be no true Thanksgiving where there is an empty chair that might be filled. I shall always take Annie’s part. A father is always true to his daughter. I will yet die in her arms. A daughter is the angel for the father’s room when the great shadow falls.”
He stood, knife and fork in hand, the tears running down his face.
There was a little shriek in the door leading to the pantry.
“What now, Liddy?” asked the farmer.
“I saw something,” said Liddy, with shuttling eyes.
“What did you see, Liddy?”