When they told of the pumpkin Edward Kurler had brought and of the trouble Tim Roon had made for himself, Twaddles listened breathlessly, but Dot turned up her small nose.
“Huh!” she said scornfully. “I think Edward is a very queer boy. Nobody could eat a hollow pumpkin, could they, Norah?”
“Not a very hollow one,” admitted Norah, “but neither can I make tarts from a hollow bowl, Dot. If you don’t stop ‘tasting’ pretty soon, we’ll have no tarts for tomorrow.”
The four little Blossoms were in the kitchen, helping Norah who was very busy getting ready for the Thanksgiving Day dinner. Bobby and Meg had found the twins hovering around the kitchen table when they came home from school and they had had their lunch in the kitchen, for Mother Blossom was in the city for the day and Father Blossom seldom came home to lunch.
“And now we’ll help you,” said Meg, as soon as they had finished lunch. So Norah had four helpers for the rest of the afternoon.
“I’d as lief have four whistling winds to help me rake leaves,” said Sam, coming in for a drink of water and finding Norah surrounded by willing hands and exceedingly willing little mouths. “But then, ’pears to me you are managing to turn out some work, Norah,” and Sam helped himself to a couple of sugar cookies from a golden-brown pile left to cool on a clean cloth.
“You’re as bad as the children,” sighed Norah, but she gave Sam two more cookies before she told him to “be off.”
“Sam says he’s thankful it hasn’t snowed yet,” reported Meg at the dinner table that night. “He says he wants to finish painting the garage roof before it snows.”
“What are you thankful for, Meg?” asked Father Blossom suddenly.
“Tarts!” cried Dot, before Meg could answer, managing to tip her glass of milk into her lap.