Genius of Thanksgiving. Nay, I warrant me, he stopped not there.
Miss Grape. He pressed a kiss upon my cheek. He said 'twould give it a richer bloom.
Genius of Thanksgiving. Well, naughty, pretty child, canst give us grapes for our Thanksgiving dinner?
Miss Grape. That can I, both white and black, pretty to look upon, sweet to taste, and no harm within.
Genius of Thanksgiving. So? Good! Child, do. And you shall have my thanks.
Enter Miss Mince Pie, dressed in mixed black and white.
All shout. Oh, late Mince Pie! What has made thee late?
Miss Mince Pie. Your honor, I got lost. I thought I would take a short way hither, and it proved thrice as long as the other. I came whizzing, and nearly left my breath behind me.
Genius of Thanksgiving. Next time, Miss Mince Pie, take your shortening in your crust, and don't put it into your feet. But listen. Have you spices and boiled cider, apples and beef, so as to make us a right merry mince pie to eat after the Forresters' turkey to-morrow? Good heavens! It's to-day. The night is waning. We must hasten.
Miss Mince Pie. Your honor, as fine a mince pie as ever went on a Thanksgiving table shall be ready for Ethel Forrester's dinner to-morrow.