the little beggar they had
entertained Him. It was all written out in rhyme and was _so_ pretty.
What is the matter, Gail? You aren't eating anything."

The other sisters paused to look at the older girl's plate, and Gail's
sensitive face flushed crimson, but before she could offer any
explanation, Peace abruptly dropped her knife and fork, pushed her
dishes from her, and burst into tears.

"Why, what ails you, child?" cried Faith, who herself had scarcely
touched the dinner before her.

"I can't be a _carnival_ and eat my bunnies," sobbed Peace. "I'd as soon
have a slab of kitten."

"That's just the way I feel," said Cherry, and no one laughed at Peace's
rendering of _cannibal_.

In the midst of this scene there was a knock at the kitchen door, but
before anyone could answer, Mrs. Grinnell rustled in, bearing in her
arms a huge platter of roast turkey, which she set down upon the table
with the remark, "It was that lonesome at home I just couldn't eat my
dinner all by myself, so I brought it over to see if you didn't want me
for company."

"You aren't a ragged beggar," Peace spoke up through her tears, before
the others had recovered from their surprise; "but I guess you'll do.
You can have the chair we set for Jesus."

Gail explained, while the platter of stewed rabbit was being removed,
and once more dinner was begun. The turkey was done to a turn, the
dressing was flavored just right and filled with walnuts and oysters,
the vegetables had never tasted better, the biscuits were as light as a
feather, Mrs. Strong's cranberry sauce had jelled perfectly, and the
Hartman mince-pie was a miracle of pastry. The seven diners did the meal
full justice, and when at last the appetites were satisfied, the table
looked as if a foraging party had descended upon it.

"That was quite a dinner," remarked Peace, as she pushed her chair back
from the table. "If I had just known it was going to happen, Mr. Hartman
needn't have skinned the rabbits. There is a whole platter full of
Winkum and Blinkum left, and it's all wasted. Mercy me, what a shame!"

She went out into the kitchen and surveyed the rejected delicacy with
mournful eyes. Then a new idea occurred to her, and, with no thought of
irreverence, she murmured to herself, "I don't believe the Christ Child
would have cared whether He had turkey or rabbit for dinner. I'm going
over and get that _passle_ of half-starved German kids to eat this up."

Throwing Gail's faded