"I have news for you, dear heart, to-night," he said to his wife. "I have just come from the granary, and indeed there is goodly store laid up of corn and rye, and game that has been shot in the forest. The children's mouths will not hunger this winter."
"Praised be the Lord!" replied his wife, fervently. "But what is your news?"
"The governor hath decided to hold a thanksgiving for the bountiful harvest, and on the appointed day is a great feast to be spread; and he hath sent a messenger to bid Massasoit to break bread with us."
"Massasoit the Indian?"
"Ay; but a friendly Indian. He will come, and many of his braves with him. You will be kept busy, my heart, with the other housewives to bake sufficient food for this company."
"Oh, mother, may I go?" cried Prudence, her eyes dancing with excitement, clutching at her mother's skirts; but her father continued:
"How now, Mehitable? The news of a coming feast does not seem to make you merry as it was wont to do in Holland."
Mehitable was grave, and there was even a tear in her eye.
"I know," cried Joel, who was two years older than Prudence; "she is thinking of John Andrews, who is across the sea."
But the father frowned, and the mother said, "Peace, foolish children!" as she placed the porridge on the table.