“Yes, sir,” Kate answered. “I’m Katie Baxter, and I used to come with papa.”
“You Jack Baxter’s girl?” asked the marketman, stooping down and picking the child up.
“Yes, sir,” said Kate, “but please put me down.” But instead the man called to a marketman in the next stall,
“See here O’Neil, this is the Baxter girl. She’s come with another little kid to buy the littlest turkey for her mother. They’ve got the money out of their banks, and it’s a dollar fifteen. Can’t we fill the order?”
“Well, I guess we can,” said the other marketman heartily. “We’ll send them a bird—with the stuffing, too!”
“It’ll be all right,” said the first marketman, putting little Kate on her feet again. “Give me the number, and we’ll send the bird around to-morrow.”
Paul gave the number, untied the money from his handkerchief, and away they went through the noisy street home.
Paul and Kate had hard work to keep the secret of their marketing, but they did, all that day, and the next.
About four o’clock there was a knock at the door, and when the door was opened, there was nobody there. But there was something. A big, big market-basket, and in it was the giant turkey, and on the turkey’s breast a piece of paper, saying:
“From the friends of John Baxter to Mrs. Baxter and the little Baxters, hoping they’ll enjoy their Thanksgiving.”