“Oh, that would be terrible!” exclaimed Tommy.
“Indeed, it would!” said Johnny. And, at this thought, the poor children, who had been sniffing the smell of the roast turkey, and who had been looking at the nuts, and the cranberries, and the oysters, and oranges, and candy, and grapes, and celery, and other good things that the Trippertrot children had brought—at this thought, I say—fearing that their nice dinner might be taken away, the poor children nearly cried. And their mamma looked worried, too.
But you just wait and hear what the grocery boy said. He looked first at Mary, and then at Johnny, and then at Tommy.
“It was no mistake at all,” said the grocery boy, as he waved his white apron like a flag. “That dinner belonged just here, and here it stays. The grocery man I work for is very kind, and he put up a big Thanksgiving dinner, and told me to take it to some poor family. I started out with it, but I saw a poor little doggie, with a tin can tied to his tail.
“So I got out of my wagon to take off the can, and then my horse, that was fastened to the grocery wagon, started off. It must have been then that you children tried to stop him, and I’m much obliged to you. So you see, the horse knew just where to stop, and the Thanksgiving dinner stays right here.”
“Oh, I’m so glad!” cried the poor woman.
“And so are we,” said the poor children.
Then Mary Trippertrot looked in the oven again, and as soon as she opened the stove door out came that nice smell once more, and really it almost makes me hungry to tell you about it.
“Well, I guess it’s time we started away,” said the grocery boy, after a while.
“Oh, yes, you are going to take us home; aren’t you?” asked Mary, as she went up to him, and took hold of his hand, for he was a very nice, kind, gentle grocery boy, and whenever he delivered eggs, he never broke one, he was so careful.