It was a queer country that their eyes fell upon. There were no houses, and the only people were the Indians. At first the Pilgrims were very much afraid of these Indians, but they soon became good friends. The Pilgrims were not idle. They went to work, cutting down trees and building log cabins so that the women and children would have some place to sleep.
Before many days had passed, they had plowed the fields, planted corn and other grains and erected a little church. The following year they had a splendid harvest. So they decided to have a feast and to invite the Indians who had been kind to them, and to thank God for His goodness to them throughout the year. They called it a Thanksgiving Feast.
The white men and the Indians went hunting and killed wild turkeys and deer for the feast. The women cooked the meat, broiled the fish, baked the bread, and the young people waited on the tables. Under the trees the tables were spread. Around them sat the Pilgrims and their Indian friends. Jokes were passed, stories were told, and the old times in England and Holland were talked over. Then followed games and shooting matches, and by night the Indians danced and sang war songs.
That was our first Thanksgiving Day, but ever since then we have set apart the last Thursday in November to give thanks to God for His goodness to us.
THE GRATEFUL INDIAN
(A Thanksgiving Story)
A kindness shown to others is never lost and sometimes brings an unexpected reward.
One summer morning in a New England village Mrs. Grafton was sitting on her porch shelling peas for dinner. John and Jean, her children, were playing around the yard, when an Indian woman, carrying a baby on her back, passed the house. John ran out of the gate and after the woman. He saw something was the matter with the baby, and asked what it was.
“Papoose sick,” said the Indian mother, “see doctor.”