“Indeed!”
“Yes, he holds a mortgage on our farm for eight hundred dollars. It was originally more, but it has been reduced to this. He will have the right to foreclose on the first of July.”
“Shall you have the money ready for him at that time?”
“No; we may have half enough, perhaps. I am sometimes troubled when I think of it. Father feels confident, however, that the squire will not be hard upon us, but will renew the mortgage.”
Henry Morton looked very thoughtful, but said nothing.
They had now reached the farmhouse.
Dinner was already on the table. In the center, on a large dish, was the turkey, done to a turn. It was flanked by the chickens on a smaller dish. These were supported by various vegetables, such as the season supplied. A dish of cranberry sauce stood at one end of the table, and at the opposite end a dish of apple sauce.
“Do you think you can carve the turkey, Mr. Morton?” asked Mrs. Frost.
“I will at least make the attempt.”
“I want the wish-bone, Mr. Morton,” said Maggie.