live."

[Illustration: "How much do you suppose our turkey weighs?"]

And Submit did not let the tears fall. She came from a brave race. Her
great-grandfather had fought in the Revolution; his sword and
regimentals were packed in the fine carved chest in the best room.
Over the kitchen shelf hung an old musket with which her
great-grandmother, guarding her home and children, had shot an Indian.
In a little closet beside the chimney was an old pewter dish full of
homemade Revolutionary bullets, which Submit and her brothers had for
playthings. A little girl who played with Revolutionary bullets ought
not to cry over a cut thumb.

Submit finished paring the apples after her thumb was tied up,
although she was rather awkward about it. Then she pounded spices in
the mortar, and picked over cranberries. Her mother kept her busy
every minute until dinnertime. When Submit's father and her two
brothers, Thomas and Jonas, had come in, she began on the subject
nearest her heart.

"Father," said she, "how much do you think our Thanksgiving turkey
will weigh?"

Mr. Thompson was a deliberate man. He looked at her a minute before
replying. "Seventeen or eighteen pounds," replied he.

"Oh, Father! don't you think he will weigh twenty?" Mr. Thompson shook
his head.

"He don't begin to weigh so much as the Adams' turkey," said Jonas.
"Their turkey weighs twenty pounds."

"Oh, Thomas! do you think their turkey weighs more than ours?" cried
Submit.

Thomas was her elder brother; he had a sober, judicial air like his
father. "Their turkey weighs considerable more than ours," said he.

Submit's face fell.

"You are not showing a right spirit," said her mother, severely. "Why
should you care if the Adams' turkey does weigh more? I am ashamed of
you!"

Submit said no more. She ate her dinner soberly. Afterward she wiped
dishes while her mother washed. All the time she was listening. Her
father and brothers had gone out; presently she started. "Oh, Mother,
they're killing the turkey!" said she.

"Well, don't stop while the dishes are hot, if they are," returned her
mother.

Submit wiped obediently, but as soon as the dishes were set away, she
stole out in the barn where her father and brothers were picking the
turkey.

"Father, when are you going to weigh him?" she asked timidly.

"Not till to-night," said her father.

"Submit!" called her mother.

Submit went in and swept the kitchen floor. It was an hour after that