After she had rescued the pudding from being baked without
the plums, and it was nearly dinner-time, her grandfather came home. He
had been over to the village to buy the Thanksgiving turkey. Ann Mary
looked out with delight when he drove past the windows on his way to the
barn.
"Grandpa's got home," said she.
It was snowing quite hard, and she saw the old man and the steadily
tramping white horse and the tilting wagon through a thick mist of
falling snow-flakes.
Before Mr. Little came into the kitchen, his wife warned him to be sure
to wipe all the snow from his feet, and not to track in any, so he
stamped vigorously out in the shed. Then he entered with an air of
pride. "There!" said he, "what do ye think of that for a turkey?" Mr.
Little was generally slow and gentle in his ways, but to-day he was
quite excited over the turkey. He held it up with considerable
difficulty. He was a small old man, and the cords on his lean hands
knotted. "It weighs a good fifteen pound'," said he, "an' there wasn't a
better one in the store. Adkins didn't have a very big lot on hand."
[Illustration: MR. LITTLE SELECTS THE THANKSGIVING TURKEY]
"I should think that was queer, the day before Thanksgivin'," said Mrs.
Little. She was examining the turkey critically. "I guess it'll do," she
declared finally. That was her highest expression of approbation. "Well,
I rayther thought you'd think so," rejoined the old man, beaming.
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