uring sermon time?"

He took a step back and peeped slyly into the room; then stole across
to the old-fashioned cupboard, stealthily opening the doors, and such
an array of good things you never beheld! Sally was the best cook in
Brockton any day, but on Thanksgiving she could work wonders.

He looked with longing eyes from one dish to another. Now the big pies
were out of the question, and the cranberry tarts--he felt of them
lovingly--but no, they were altogether too sticky. He stood on tiptoe
to see what was on the second shelf. To his delight he found a platter
filled with just the daintiest little pink-frosted cakes you ever saw.

"O-oo, thimble cakes!" he exclaimed. "You are just the fellows I want!
I'll take you along to church with me." He cast one quick glance
around, then grabbed a handful of the tiny cakes and crammed them into
his trousers' pocket.

"Lucky for me ma isn't going to meeting to-day," chuckled the naughty
boy, "and I don't believe grandma'd ever tell on me if I carried along
the turkey!"

The early bell had now begun to ring, and Johnnie started for the
village church.

"Come, my son," said Doctor Goodwin, as they entered the
meeting-house, "you are to sit in the front seat with grandma this
morning: she is particularly anxious to hear every word of the sermon
to-day. And where's your contribution, boy? You haven't forgotten
that?"

"No, sir," meekly answered Johnnie, "it's tied up in my handkerchief."
But his heart sank--the front seat! How ever was his lunch to come in
now?

The opening hymn had been sung, the prayer of thanksgiving offered,
and now, as the collection was about to be taken, the pastor begged
his people to be especially generous to the poor on this day.

Up in the front pew sat Johnnie, but never a word of the notice did he
hear, so busy was he planning out his own little affair. It wasn't
such easy planning either, just supposing he got caught!

But what was that? Johnnie jumped as if he had been struck. However,
it was nothing but the money plate under his nose, and the good Deacon
Simms standing calmly by.

To the guilty boy it seemed as if the deacon must have been waiting
for ten minutes at the least, and in a great flurry he began to fumble
for his handkerchief. What _had_ he done with it? Oh, there it was at
last, way down in the depths of his right trousers' pocket.

He caught hold of the knotted corner, and out came the handkerchief
with a whisk and a f