Between going to school and playing after school and taking care of Philip and Annabel Lee, the cat, and running errands and going with Father Blossom for rides in the car, the days passed swiftly and, almost before they realized it, Thanksgiving Day was just around the corner. And at Thanksgiving time, the children in school were asked to bring donations of food which were taken in charge by the Charity Bureau and by them given to people who otherwise might not have any dinner on the holiday.
And now that you know all about the four little Blossoms, we’ll go back to where we left Sam carrying the potatoes and apples into the school.
“Is that all?” he asked, when he had cleared the back seat of the boxes and bundles. “All right, then, I must go right back for your father. Don’t forget to see that the Bureau gets the cologne, Meg,” and he grinned.
Sam drove off in the car and Meg and Bobby ran down the stone steps into the basement of the school where the thank-offerings were to be stored. Once it had been the custom of the school to arrange everything in neat rows on the platform in the assembly hall, but after a handsome pyramid of apples had shifted during the opening prayer and had bumped—one at a time—down over the edge of the platform and into the aisles and, another time, a jar of preserves had burst and stained the green velvet carpet, it was wisely decided that everything should be carried into the basement and kept there.
“Oh, look at all the stuff!” cried Bobby when he saw the collection of gifts spread out on the plain wooden tables which were used for lunch tables on the days when it was too stormy to go home at noon. “Look, Meg, someone even brought a turkey!”
Sure enough, there was a fat turkey, neatly folded into a basket lined with orange crepe paper. One of the pupils who lived on a farm had brought him as her thank-offering and if the fortunate family who found that turkey in their basket Thanksgiving Eve admired the gift as much as the boys and girls of Oak Hill school did, there could have been no doubt of their thankfulness.
Mr. Carter, the principal of the grammar and primary grades, and Miss Wright, the vice-principal of the primary school, were busy taking the things the children brought and finding places for them on the tables.
“What fine, clean potatoes!” said Miss Wright, smiling at Meg. “You scrubbed those well, didn’t you, dear? I’m so glad when the children take special pains to make their gifts attractive, for I believe the pleasure is doubled for the giver and the receiver. What is that in your hand, Meg? Something for the thank-offering?”
Meg had forgotten Twaddles’ bottle of cologne which she held tightly in her hand.
“My little brother, Twaddles, sent it,” she explained shyly, blushing a little. “It’s—it’s cologne, and he meant it for the Charity Bureau. He’s only four years old and he doesn’t understand about the Bureau very well.”