“Can it be our house?” asked Johnny.
“No, there are no cobblestones in front of our house,” replied Mary, quickly.
Johnny looked out of the front of the wagon. He saw a little house, not very nice looking, for it was rather ragged, as if it needed a new suit of clothes, and the chimney was almost falling off the roof, and the fence in front was full of holes, and, altogether, it was a very pretty sort of a house indeed.
“What is there?” asked Mary, of her brother.
“This is the place where the Thanksgiving dinner belongs, I guess,” said Johnny. “The horse stopped here of his own accord, so it must be the place.”
“Then, as long as the grocery boy isn’t here, we had better carry the things in,” suggested Tommy. “We can make-believe we are the grocery boys.”
“I can’t be a boy,” said Mary.
“No, you’ll have to be a grocery girl,” spoke Tommy. “But that will be all right. I’ll take the turkey, ’cause I’m the strongest.”
“I wish Jiggily Jig, or Simple Simon, or the nice newsboy was here to help us,” spoke Johnny.
“Oh, we can do it all right,” said his brother. And then, while the kind horse stood very still, the three Trippertrots took the Thanksgiving things out of the wagon, and marched up to the shabby-looking house with them. Tommy put the big turkey down on the step, and knocked at the door.