“Suppose we all accompany the basket party,” proposed Miss Peaseley slowly, and taking her feet away from the cheerful blaze of the snapping hickory; “that is, those who care to,” she added, with a thought in time for the widow and her daughter, and lame Joey Clark.
Joey looked wistfully across at his sister; but she shook her head, and he sat back obediently in the depths of his chair.
“Want to go, Joey?” asked Mr. Higginson.
“Yes, sir,” Joey’s thin cheek glowed at once, and his eyes sparkled.
“Now, I feel just like a ride on this cold afternoon,” declared Parson Higginson, jumping up, and swinging his arms. “I’m going over cross lots to ask Farmer Hooker to lend me his green wagon and Betty the mare. Want to go, Jack and Corny, and help harness?” Both boys signified without any hesitancy, that they did.
“Joey, you have the first invitation,” said the parson, nodding over at the lame boy; “get all bundled up in fine style,—and all you others,” waving his ministerial hands merrily toward the group; “follow suit, and we’ll pick you up in about ten minutes—oh! here’s my coat; thank you, Jack, and Rosy, for my hat. Come on, boys!”
And so, what was supposed to be rather a hard and unwelcome duty of trudging down to the Corners with a heavy basket containing some of the Thanksgiving goodies, turned out to be, under the minister’s management, the most royal frolic of the season, and one well suited to wind up a Thanksgiving party with.
And then came Christmas.
There was no party at the old Brimmer place, of course. Mother Brimmer would have held up her hands in amazement at such an idea. One festive occasion was quite enough to indulge in for a year, and the memory of it would follow each day of the twelvemonth, with inspiration to heartier work than ever.
“It’s Thanksgiving all the year,” said Corny one day, well along in December. “Didn’t we have a good time? I haven’t got the taste of those pies out of my mouth yet,” and he smacked his lips.