son severely. "What difference does it make if one
weighs a pound or two more than the other, if there is enough to go
round?"

"Submit looks as if she was sorry ours weighed the most now," said
Jonas.

"My thumb aches," said Submit.

"Go and get the balm of Gilead bottle, and put some more on," ordered
her mother.

That night when she went to bed she could not say her prayers. When
she woke in the morning it was with a strange, terrified feeling, as
if she had climbed a wall into some unknown dreadful land. She
wondered if Sarah would bring Thankful over; she dreaded to see her
coming, but she did not come. Submit herself did not stir out of the
house all that day or the next, and Sarah did not bring Thankful until
next morning.

They were all out in the kitchen about an hour before dinner.
Grandfather Thompson sat in his old armchair at one corner of the
fireplace, Grandmother Thompson was knitting, and Jonas and Submit
were cracking butternuts. Submit was a little happier this morning.
She thought Sarah would never bring Thankful, and so she had not done
so much harm by cheating in the weight of the turkey.

There was a tug at the latch of the kitchen door; it was pushed open
slowly and painfully, and Sarah entered with Thankful in her arms. She
said not a word to anybody, but her little face was full of woe. She
went straight to Submit, and laid Thankful in her lap; then she turned
and fled with a great sob. The door slammed after her. All the
Thompsons stopped and looked at Submit.

"Submit, what does this mean?" her father asked.

Submit looked at him, trembling.

"Speak," said he.

"Submit, mind your father," said Mrs. Thompson.

"What did she bring you the doll baby for?" asked Grandmother
Thompson.

"Sarah--was going to give me Thankful if--our turkey weighed most, and
I was going to--give her my work-box if hers weighed most," said
Submit jerkily. Her lips felt stiff.

Her father looked very sober and stern. He turned to his father. When
Grandfather Thompson was at home, every one deferred to him. Even at
eighty he was the recognized head of the house. He was a wonderful
old man, tall and soldierly, and full of a grave dignity. He looked at
Submit, and she shrank.

"Do you know," said he, "that you have been conducting yourself like
unto the brawlers in the taverns and ale-houses?"

"Yes, sir," murmured Submit, although she did not know what he meant.

"No godly maid who heeds her elders