but you can do just as you are a mind to."

"Do you mean I can have the work-box to keep?" inquired Sarah.

"Course I do, if your turkey's bigger."

Sarah hesitated. "Our turkey is bigger anyhow," she murmured. "Don't
you think I ought to ask mother, Submit?" she inquired suddenly.

"No! What for? I don't see anything to ask your mother for. She won't
care anything about that rag doll."

"Ain't you going to ask your mother about the work-box?"

"No," replied Submit stoutly. "It's mine; my grandmother gave it to
me."

Sarah reflected. "I _know_ our turkey is the biggest," she said,
looking lovingly at Thankful, as if to justify herself to her. "Well,
I don't care," she added, finally.

"Will you?"

"Yes."

"When's yours going to be killed?"

"This afternoon."

"So's ours. Then we'll find out."

Sarah tucked Thankful closer under her shawl. "I know our turkey is
biggest," said she. She looked very sober, although her voice was
defiant. Just then the great turkey came swinging through the yard. He
held up his head proudly and gobbled. His every feather stood out in
the wind. He seemed enormous--a perfect giant among turkeys. "_Look_
at him!" said Sarah, edging a little closer to the wall; she was
rather afraid of him.

"He ain't half so big as ours," returned Submit, stoutly; but her
heart sank. The Thompson turkey did look very large.

"Submit! Submit!" called a voice from the Thompson house.

Submit slowly got down from the wall. "His feathers are a good deal
thicker than ours," she said, defiantly, to Sarah.

"Submit," called the voice, "come right home! I want you to pare
apples for the pies. Be quick!"

"Yes, marm," Submit answered back, in a shrill voice; "I'm coming!"
Then she went across the yard and into the kitchen door of the
Thompson house, like a red robin into a nest. Submit had been taught
to obey her mother promptly. Mrs. Thompson was a decided woman.

Sarah looked after Submit, then she gathered Thankful closer, and also
went into the house. Her mother, as well as Mrs. Thompson, was
preparing for Thanksgiving. The great kitchen was all of a pleasant
litter with pie plates and cake pans and mixing bowls, and full of
warm, spicy odours. The oven in the chimney was all heated and ready
for a batch of apple and pumpkin pies. Mrs. Adams was busy sliding
them in, but she stopped to look at Sarah and Thankful. Sarah was her
only child.

"Why, what makes you look so sober?" said she.