n't like roast goose," said Guy, pouting. "I'd rather have
turkey. Turkey is best for Thanksgiving, anyway. Goose is for
Christmas."

[Footnote 18: From the _Youth's Companion_, November 26, 1908.]

Guy's mother did not answer. He watched her while she carefully wrote
G. T. W. on the corner of a pretty new red-bordered handkerchief. Five
others, all alike, and all marked alike, lay beside it. The initials
were his own.

"Why didn't you buy some blue ones? I'd rather have them different,"
he said.

Mrs. Wright smiled a queer little smile, but did not answer. She
lighted a large lamp and held the marked corner of one of the
handkerchiefs against the hot chimney. The heat made the indelible ink
turn dark, although the writing had been so faint Guy hardly could see
it before.

"Oh, dear," he cried, "there's a little blot at the top of that T! I
don't want to carry a handkerchief that has a blot on it."

"Very well," said his mother. "I'll put them away, and you may carry
your old ones until you ask me to let you carry this one. I don't care
to furnish new things for a boy who doesn't appreciate them."

"I don't like old--"

"That'll do, Guy. Never mind the rest of the things that you don't
like. I want you to take this dollar down to Mrs. Burns. Tell her that
I shall have a day's work for her on Friday, and I thought she might
like to have part of the pay in advance to help make Thanksgiving
with. Please go now."

"But a dollar won't help much. She won't like that. She always acts
just as if she was as happy as anybody. I don't want to go there on
such an errand as that."

Mrs. Wright smiled again, but her tone was very grave.

"Mrs. Burns is 'as happy as anybody,' Guy, and she has the
best-behaved children in the neighbourhood. The little ones almost
never cry, and I never have seen the older ones quarrel. But there are
eight children, and Mr. Burns has only one arm, so he can't earn much
money. Mrs. Burns has to turn her hands to all sorts of things to keep
the children clothed and fed. She'll be thankful to get the
dollar--you see if she isn't! And tell her if she is making mince pies
to sell this year, I'll take three."

Guy walked very slowly down the street until he came to the little
house where the Burns family lived.

"I'd hate to live here," he thought. "I don't see where they all
sleep. My room isn't big enough, but I don't believe there's a room in
this house as big as mine. I shouldn't have a