“Why, anywhere you’d like to go,” replied the grocery boy.
“Oh, then can you take us home?” begged Mary, eagerly, as she opened the oven door, and shut it again, and then the whole kitchen of the poor family was filled with the nicest cooking-smell—just like Christmas and Thanksgiving rolled into one, you know.
“Well, I guess I can take you home,” said the grocery boy. “But how did you get so far away, and are you lost, as usual?”
“Yes, we are lost, the same as we always are,” replied Johnny, as he gave the top to the poor boy to spin. “But we wouldn’t have been in this trouble only the horse first walked away with us and then he ran.”
“What horse?” asked the grocery boy.
“The horse that drew us here, with the Thanksgiving dinner,” said Johnny.
“It must have been your horse,” put in Mary. “You said you had been looking for one, and I think this was yours. And I hope we delivered the Thanksgiving dinner to the right place.”
“Oh, s’posin’ we haven’t!” gasped Johnny. “We’ll have to ask papa to pay for it for us.”
Then Mary told how they had looked out of the window of their home, and had seen the grocery horse walking away with no one on the seat to hold on to the lines, and how they had gotten in the wagon and been drawn along until they got to the house where the poor family lived.
“And,” said Mary, “we saw the Thanksgiving dinner in the wagon, and, as the horse stopped here, we thought it belonged in this house. But if we have make a mistake——”