Good Cheer Stories Every Child Should Know | Page 9

without measure by those who had adored her. To complete her misfortune, she lost her cat. Alas for Mother Mitchel!
The King received the reward of his wisdom. His grateful people called him neither Charles the Bold, nor Peter the Terrible, nor Louis the Great, but always by the noble name of Prosper I, the Reasonable.

THANKFUL[1]
BY MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN.
This tale is evidence that Mrs. Freeman understands the children of New England as well as she knows their parents. There is a doll in the story, but boys will not mind this as there are also two turkey-gobblers and a pewter dish full of Revolutionary bullets.
Submit Thompson sat on the stone wall; Sarah Adams, an erect, prim little figure, ankle-deep in dry grass, stood beside it, holding Thankful. Thankful was about ten inches long, made of the finest linen, with little rosy cheeks, and a fine little wig of flax. She wore a blue wool frock and a red cloak. Sarah held her close. She even drew a fold of her own blue homespun blanket around her to shield her from the November wind. The sky was low and gray; the wind blew from the northeast, and had the breath of snow in it. Submit on the wall drew her quilted petticoats close down over her feet, and huddled herself into a small space, but her face gleamed keen and resolute out of the depths of a great red hood that belonged to her mother. Her eyes were fixed upon a turkey-gobbler ruffling and bobbing around the back door of the Adams house. The two gambrel-roofed Thompson and Adams houses were built as close together as if the little village of Bridgewater were a city. Acres of land stretched behind them and at the other sides, but they stood close to the road, and close to each other. The narrow space between them was divided by a stone wall which was Submit's and Sarah's trysting-place. They met there every day and exchanged confidences. They loved each other like sisters--neither of them had an own sister--but to-day a spirit of rivalry had arisen.
[Footnote 1: From Harper's Young People, November 25, 1890.]
The tough dry blackberry vines on the wall twisted around Submit; she looked, with her circle of red petticoat, like some strange late flower blooming out on the wall. "I know he don't, Sarah Adams," said she.
"Father said he'd weigh twenty pounds," returned Sarah, in a small, weak voice, which still had persistency in it.
"I don't believe he will. Our Thanksgiving turkey is twice as big. You know he is, Sarah Adams."
"No, I don't, Submit Thompson."
"Yes, you do."
Sarah lowered her chin, and shook her head with a decision that was beyond words. She was a thin, delicate-looking little girl, her small blue-clad figure bent before the wind, but there was resolution in her high forehead and her sharp chin.
Submit nodded violently.
Sarah shook her head again. She hugged Thankful, and shook her head, with her eyes still staring defiantly into Submit's hood.
Submit's black eyes in the depths of it were like two sparks. She nodded vehemently; the gesture was not enough for her; she nodded and spoke together. "Sarah Adams," said she, "what will you give me if our turkey is bigger than your turkey?"
"It ain't."
"What will you give me if it is?"
Sarah stared at Submit. "I don't know what you mean, Submit Thompson," said she, with a stately and puzzled air.
"Well, I'll tell you. If your turkey weighs more than ours I'll give you--I'll give you my little work-box with the picture on the top, and if our turkey weighs more than yours you give me--What will you give me, Sarah Adams?"
Sarah hung her flaxen head with a troubled air. "I don't know," said she. "I don't believe I've got anything mother would be willing to have me give away."
"There's Thankful. Your mother wouldn't care if you gave her away."
Sarah started, and hugged Thankful closer. "Yes, my mother would care, too," said she. "Don't you know my Aunt Rose from Boston made her and gave her to me?"
Sarah's beautiful young Aunt Rose from Boston was the special admiration of both the little girls. Submit was ordinarily impressed by her name, but now she took it coolly.
"What if she did?" she returned. "She can make another. It's just made out of a piece of old linen, anyhow. My work-box is real handsome; 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