s the range of eager Thanksgiving faces.

There was Uncle Ned--no forgetting him--who had a way of patting a boy
on the head so that the patting reached clear through to the boy's
heart, and made him sure of a blessing hovering over. That was the
patting I liked. _That's_ the sort of uncle to come to a Thanksgiving
dinner--the sort that eat double filberts with you, and pay up next day
by noon with a pocketknife or a riding whip. Hurrah for Uncle Ned!

And Aunt Eliza--is there any keeping her out of mind? I never liked the
name much; but the face and the kindliness which was always ready to
cover, as well as she might, what wrong we did, and to make clear what
good we did, make me enrol her now--where she belongs evermore--among
the saints. So quiet, so gentle, so winning, making conquest of all of
us, because she never sought it; full of dignity, yet never asserting
it; queening it over all by downright kindliness of heart. What a wife
she would have made! Heigho! how we loved her, and made our boyish love
of her--a Thanksgiving!

Were there oranges? I think there were, with green spots on the
peel--lately arrived from Florida. Tom boasted that he ate four. I dare
say he told the truth--he looked peaked, and was a great deal the worse
for the dinner next day, I remember.

Was there punch, or any strong liquors? No; so far as my recollection
now goes, there was none.

Champagne?

I have a faint remembrance of a loud pop or two which set some cousinly
curls over opposite me into a nervous shake. Yet I would not like to
speak positively. Good bottled cider or pop beer may possibly account
for all the special phenomena I call to mind.

Was there coffee, and were there olives? Not to the best of my
recollection; or, if present, I lose them in the glamour of mince pies
and Marlborough puddings.

How we ever sidled away from that board when that feast was done I have
no clear conception. I am firm in the belief that thanksgiving was said
at the end, as at the beginning. I have a faint recollection of a gray
head passing out at the door, and of a fleece of golden curls beside
him, against which I jostle--not unkindly.

Dark?

Yes; I think the sun had gone down about the time when the mince pies
had faded.

Did Dick and Tom and the rest of us come sauntering in afterwards when
the rooms were empty, foraging for any little tidbits of the feast that
might be left, the tables showing only wreck under the dim light of