"He says that Joe Marchant hasn't any home of his own this Thanksgiving, because his father has gone out West on business, and left Joe all alone with those people that his father and he boarded with just after his mother died; and Tommy pities Joe so, he says he is going to invite him here for next Thursday, and I knew you wouldn't want him."
"Of course not; the boy is ill-mannered and disagreeable, and he is always quarrelling with Tommy."
"I told Tommy that," laughed Elsie, "and he said he guessed he'd done his share of the quarrelling, and that, anyway, Joe Marchant was the under dog now, and he was going to forgive and forget."
"Dear little Tommy!" exclaimed Mrs. Lambert, admiringly.
"And he said, too, mother, that he knew you wouldn't object; that you always told him that Thanksgiving Day was the very day to make up with folks and be good to 'em, but I knew you would object to Joe Marchant, and so—"
"I—I don't know about it, Elsie. If Tommy feels like that, I—I don't believe it would be wise for me to check him. No, I don't believe I can. Tommy is nearer right than I am. He is doing a fine, generous thing, and it is the right thing, and I think we must put up with Joe Marchant, Elsie, after all."
"Oh, I don't mind, if you don't, mamma; but I thought you wouldn't like it, and it would spoil the day."
"No, nothing done in that spirit could spoil the day; and, Elsie, I hope the rest of you will make your choice of guests with as good reason as Tommy has."
Elsie looked at her mother with an odd, eager expression, as if she were about to speak. Then she suddenly lifted up her head with a little air of resolution, and starting forward hurriedly left the room.
Mrs. Lambert laughed as the door closed.