"Then we'll get chickens," said Sue.
"And how about cranberry jelly?"
"Mother will give us apples from her barrel."
"And celery, and sweet-potatoes, and all the other goodies?"
"We must make it all do. I will go to Mr. Scott, the grocer, and tell him we want everything at the very lowest price."
"Well, I leave it all to you," said Charlie, with masculine disdain of details, and scorn for so small a sum.
"That is right. You'll see how I will manage," said Sue, confidently.
And manage she did.
Thanksgiving was a cold, bleak day, and old black Betsey had no idea of leaving her fireside for church.
"I can give my tanks jist as well one place as anodder," said she, in reply to a sweet coaxing voice which was urging her to go out.