It would be better to postpone it.
Both Huldah and Cyrus hoped that this would end the subject of
Thanksgiving; but it did not. The very next day Cyrus encountered
neighbor Wiley in the village store. Wiley's round red face shone like
the full moon.
"Well, well, Cy, what ye doin' down your way Thanksgivin'--eh?" he
queried.
Cyrus stiffened; but before he could answer he discovered that Wiley had
asked the question, not for information, but as a mere introduction to a
recital of his own plans.
"We're doin' great things," announced the man. "Sam an' Jennie an' the
hull kit on 'em's comin' home an' bring all the chicks. Tell ye what,
Cy, we
be a-Thanksgivin' this year! Ain't nothin' like a good old
fam'ly reunion, when ye come right down to it."
"Yes, I know," said Cyrus gloomily. "But we--we ain't doin' much this
year."
A day later came Huldah's turn. She had taken some calf's-foot jelly to
Mrs. Taylor in the little house at the foot of the hill. The Widow
Taylor was crying.
"You see, it's Thanksgiving!" she sobbed, in answer to Huldah's dismayed
questions.
"Thanksgiving!"
"Yes. And last year I had--
him!"
Huldah sighed, and murmured something comforting, appropriate; but
almost at once she stopped, for the woman had turned searching eyes upon
her.
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