At the Little Brown House Part 9

"Dito cause Mr. Strong is our preecher--he's got some sense.

"Dito for his wife.

"Dito for Towzer. He's a good dog.

"Dito for all the rest of our family.

"Dito cause we have some shoes to wear this winter.

"Dito cause for carrots and beets and turnips and cabbige and potatoes. They don't take the place of turkey, but they are good vittles.

"Dito for the hens that lay eggs so we cant kill them for Thanksgiving dinner.

"Dito for the eggs. They meen muny, Gale says.

"Dito for the hot biskits we are going to have for supper.

"Dito cause this paper wont hold any more. My hand akes.

"Amen. Peace Greenfield."

For a long moment Gail sat with tear-dimmed eyes fixed on the queer list before her; then she reverently tucked the badly-written sheet away among her treasures, and in her heart offered up a little prayer of thanksgiving for the blessed gift of so many sisters.

Thanksgiving Day dawned clear and cold upon a world of dazzling whiteness, and with the first ray of the sun, Peace flew out of bed, scrambling into her clothes with such eager haste that Cherry opened her eyes and demanded, "What are you hurrying for? The house is cold as a barn. Gail slept late this morning, and the fire can't be more than beginning to burn."

"Huh, I don't care! It snowed last night, and I'm going out to shovel,"

was the scornful reply. "If you want a chance to help, you will have to hurry."

Allee scrambled out from the warm blankets, but Cherry snuggled down closer in the pillows with a contented grunt, and was soon lost in slumberland again, so the two youngest sisters had the whole snow-covered world to themselves when they stepped out into the winter morning with shovel and broom.

"Whee! Isn't this fine!" cried Peace, whirling a cloud of feathery flakes off the porch with one sweep. "We won't need the shovel at all, the snow is so light."

Beauty-loving Allee stopped awestruck on the threshold to drink in the glory of the winter dawn, saying slowly, "It is--it looks like--"

"Ice-cream," finished Peace. "S'posing it was ice-cream and we could have all we wanted. Wouldn't we be a sick crowd by night?"

The startled sister pulled on her mittens and trudged down the steps to work, and in a few minutes, the porches and paths were swept clean.

"Wish there was more to do," sighed Allee, when they had finished their chosen task, unwilling to go indoors even for breakfast.

"Tell you what," cried Peace, from her perch on the gatepost. "Let's go down to the village and sweep paths for money. Perhaps we could earn enough to buy a chicken."

"All right! Where will we go?"

"Judge Abbott will pay us, I'm sure, and Mr. Strong would hire us, too, if he hasn't swept his own walks. Maybe Lute Dunbar isn't home yet and we can get their paths."

Without further discussion they sped away to town, dragging their brooms behind them. But here disappointment awaited the small toilers, for at nearly every house some enterprising soul had already cleared away the light snow.

"Lute Dunbar must be at home, I guess," sighed Peace, when she beheld the neat paths circling that house; "and Mr. Strong has swept his whole yard, looks like. Well, Judge Abbott's porch is all covered yet. Hector is lazy. We will try him."

Marching up to the door, she knocked timidly, but to her dismay, no one answered, though three times she repeated the summons.

"What shall we do, go back home?" asked Allee, visibly disappointed, for visions of roast chicken were very alluring to her.

"No," answered Peace with sudden decision. "We'll sweep his paths and collect our pay when it is done."

So again they fell to work making the snow fly briskly, and in a short time had cleared steps and walks, but apparently no one was yet stirring within doors.

"Guess they are still in bed," suggested Allee. "We will have to come back later."

"If we are going to have chicken for dinner we ought to get it as soon as possible, so's Gail can fix it, 'cause it takes hours to cook. I'm going to knock again and see if I can't wake someone. It's time they were up anyway. Rich folks do sleep an awful long time in the morning."

Mounting the steps once more, she knocked loudly, with no result. A happy inspiration seized her, and picking up her broom, she tapped on the door with the handle. No one came.

"I don't b'lieve that is loud enough," whispered Allee. "You'd better pound."

"I think so myself," answered Peace, clutching the broom like a battering ram and giving the door three resounding thumps that shook the house from cellar to garret, and sounded like the booming of a cannon.

"Try it again," urged impatient Allee, and again the broom struck the panels with thunderous force, once, twice--

The door burst open with sudden fury, and an angry-faced man in a long bathrobe confronted the paralyzed children with the fierce demand, "What in creation do you want?"

"It--it's time to get up," stammered Peace. "I mean, it--it snowed last night. I mean, we've swep' your walks off. We s'posed you'd be glad to pay us for our trouble."

"Well!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the man, too much surprised for further speech.

"We've swep' real clean--better than Hector ever does."

"Well!" repeated the Judge, an amused gleam in his eyes chasing away the angry frown. "How much do I owe you, Peace? You are Peace Greenfield, are you not?"

"Yes, sir. A quarter will do, I think. The snow was very light, but you've got lots of porch and walk."

"That's a fact, we have. Here is a quarter for you, and many thanks for your good work."

"You are much obliged," she answered gravely, mixing her p.r.o.nouns in her haste to slip the coin inside her damp mitten. "I wish you a merry Thanksgiving."

With a whoop of delight she bounded down the steps, s.n.a.t.c.hed Allee's hand, and rushed away up the street to the butcher shop for their chicken, never pausing for breath until she had dropped the money onto the counter before the astonished proprietor, who was making ready to close his shop for the day. "A quarter's worth of chicken, Mr. Jones,"

she panted. "I was afraid you would be gone before we could collect from the Judge."

"Sorry, Peace," answered the astonished man, "but I haven't any chickens as small as that."

"Haven't you a cheap old hen?" she faltered, almost too disappointed to speak.

"No, I am afraid not."

"And you can't sell me a _piece_ of chicken?"

"No, we never do that, either."