ever so good when we dig them,” put in Dick, and Dolly
murmured his assent from behind the bone he was picking.
“I helped make the pies with my pumpkin,” called out Robby, with
a laugh which he stopped by retiring into his mug.
“I picked some of the apples that the cider is made of,” said Demi.
“I raked the cranberries for the sauce,” cried Nat.
“I got the nuts,” added Dan, and so it went on all round the table.
“Who made up Thanksgiving?” asked Rob, for being lately
promoted to jacket and trousers he felt a new and manly interest in
the institutions of his country.
“See who can answer that question,” and Mr. Bhaer nodded to one
or two of his best history boys.
“I know,” said Demi, “the Pilgrims made it.”
“What for?” asked Rob, without waiting to learn who the Pilgrims
were.
“I forget,” and Demi subsided.
“I believe it was because they were starved once, and so when they
had a good harvest, they said, ‘We will thank God for it,’ and they
had a day and called it Thanksgiving,” said Dan, who liked the
story of the brave men who suffered so nobly for their faith.
“Good! I didn’t think you would remember any thing but natural
history,” and Mr. Bhaer tapped gently on the table as applause for
his pupil.
Dan looked pleased; and Mrs. Jo said to her son, “Now do you
understand about it, Robby?”
“No, I don’t. I thought pil-grins were a sort of big bird that lived on
rocks, and I saw pictures of them in Demi’s book.”
“He means penguins. Oh, isn’t he a little goosey!” and Demi laid
back in his chair and laughed aloud.
“Don’t laugh at him, but tell him all about it if you can,” said Mrs.
Bhaer, consoling Rob with more cranberry sauce for the general
smile that went round the table at his mistake.
“Well, I will;” and, after a pause to collect his ideas, Demi
delivered the following sketch of the Pilgrim Fathers, which would
have made even those grave gentlemen smile if they could have
heard it.
“You see, Rob, some of the people in England didn’t like the king,
or something, so they got into ships and sailed away to this
country. It was all full of Indians, and bears, and wild creatures,
and they lived in forts, and had a dreadful time.”
“The bears?” asked Robby, with interest.
“No; the Pilgrims, because the Indians troubled them. They hadn’t
enough to eat, and they went to church with guns, and ever so
many died, and they got out of the ships on a rock, and it’s called
Plymouth Rock, and Aunt Jo saw it and touched it. The Pilgrims
killed all the Indians, and got rich; and hung the witches, and were
very good; and some of the greatest great-grandpas came in the
ships. One was the Mayflower; and they made Thanksgiving, and
we have it always, and I like it. Some more turkey, please.”
“I think Demi will be an historian, there is such order and
clearness in his account of events;” and Uncle Fritz’s eyes laughed
at Aunt Jo, as he helped the descendant of the Pilgrims to his third
bit of turkey.
“I thought you must eat as much as ever you could on
Thanksgiving. But Franz says you mustn’t even then;” and Stuffy
looked as if he had received bad news.
“Franz is right, so mind your knife and fork, and be moderate, or
else you won’t be able to help in the surprise by and by,” said Mrs.
Jo.
“I’ll be careful; but everybody does eat lots, and I like it better than
being moderate,” said Stuffy, who leaned to the popular belief that
Thanksgiving must be kept by coming as near apoplexy as
possible, and escaping with merely a fit of indigestion or a
headache.
“Now, my ‘pilgrims’ amuse yourselves quietly till tea-time, for you
will have enough excitement this evening,” said Mrs. Jo, as they
rose from the table after a protracted sitting, finished by drinking
every one’s health in cider.
“I think I will take the whole flock for a drive, it is so pleasant;