The Widow November was very busy indeed this year. What with
elections and harvest homes, her hands were full to overflowing; for
she takes great interest in politics, besides being a social body,
without whom no apple bee or corn husking is complete.
Still, worn out as she was, when her thirty sons and daughters
clustered round, and begged that they might have their usual family
dinner on Thanksgiving day, she could not find it in her hospitable
heart to refuse, and immediately invitations were sent to her eleven
brothers and sisters, old Father Time, and Mother Year, to come with
all their families and celebrate the great American holiday.
Then what a busy time ensued! What a slaughter of unhappy barnyard
families--turkeys, ducks, and chickens! What a chopping of apples
and boiling of doughnuts! What a picking of raisins and rolling of
pie crust, until every nook and corner of the immense storeroom was
stocked with “savoury mince and toothsome pumpkin pies,” while so
great was the confusion that even the stolid redhued servant, Indian
Summer, lost his head, and smoked so continually he always appeared
surrounded by a blue mist, as he piled logs upon the great bonfires
in the yard, until they lighted up the whole country for miles around.
But at length all was ready; the happy days had come, and all the
little Novembers, in their best “bib and tucker,” were seated in a
row, awaiting the arrival of their uncles, aunts, and cousins, while
their mother, in russet-brown silk trimmed with misty lace, looked
them over, straightening Guy Fawkes’ collar, tying Thanksgiving’s
neck ribbon, and settling a dispute between two little presidential
candidates as to which should sit at the head of the table.
Soon a merry clashing of bells, blowing of horns, and mingling of
voices were heard outside, sleighs and carriages dashed up to the
door, and in came, “just in season,” Grandpa Time, with Grandma Year
leaning on his arm, followed by all their children and grandchildren,
and were warmly welcomed by the hostess and her family.
“Oh, how glad I am we could all come to-day!” said Mr. January, in
his crisp, clear tones, throwing off his great fur coat, and rushing
to the blazing fire. “There is nothing like the happy returns of
these days.”
“Nothing, indeed,” simpered Mrs. February, the poetess. “If I had had
time I should have composed some verses for the occasion; but my son
Valentine has brought a sugar heart, with a sweet sentiment on it, to
his cousin Thanksgiving. I, too, have taken the liberty of bringing a
sort of adopted child of mine, young Leap Year, who makes us a visit
every four years.”
“He is very welcome, I am sure,” said Mrs. November, patting Leap
Year kindly on the head. “And, Sister March, how have you been since
we last met?”
“Oh! we have had the North, South, East, and West Winds all at our
house, and they have kept things breezy, I assure you. But I really
feared we should not get here to-day; for when we came to dress I
found nearly everything we had was lent; so that must account for our
shabby appearance.”
“He! he! he!” tittered little April Fool. “What a sell!” And he shook
until the bells on his cap rang; at which his father ceased for a
moment showering kisses on his nieces and nephews, and boxed his ears
for his rudeness.
“Oh, Aunt May! do tell us a story,” clamoured the younger children,
and dragging her into a corner she was soon deep in such a moving
tale that they were all melted to tears, especially the little
Aprils, who cry very easily.
Meanwhile, Mrs. June, assisted by her youngest daughter, a “sweet
girl graduate,” just from school, was engaged in decking the
apartment with roses and lilies and other fragrant flowers that she
had brought from her extensive gardens and conservatories, until the
room was a perfect bower of sweetness and beauty; while Mr. July
draped the walls with flags and banners, lighted the candles, and
showed off the tricks of his pet eagle, Yankee Doodle, to the great
delight of the little ones.
Madam August, who suffers a great deal with the heat, found a seat
on a comfortable sofa, as far from the fire as possible, and waved a
huge feather fan back and forth, while her thirty-one boys and girls,
led by the two oldest, Holiday and Vacation, ran riot through the
long rooms, picking at their Aunt June’s flowers, and playing all
sorts of pranks, regardless of tumbled hair and torn clothes, while
they shouted, “Hurrah for fun!” and behaved like a pack of wild colts
let loose in a green pasture, until their Uncle September called
them, together with his own children, into the library, and persuaded
them to read some of the books with which the shelves were filled, or
play quietly with the game of Authors and the Dissected Maps.
“For,” said Mr. September to Mrs. October, “I think Sister August
lets her children romp too much. I always like improving games for
mine, although I have great trouble in making Equinox toe the line as
he should.”
“That is because you are a schoolmaster,” laughed Mrs. October,
shaking her head, adorned with a wreath of gaily tinted leaves; “but
where is my baby?”
At that moment a cry was heard without, and Indian Summer came
running in to say that little All Hallows had fallen into a tub of
water while trying to catch an apple that was floating on top, and
Mrs. October, rushing off to the kitchen, returned with her youngest
in a very wet and dripping condition, and screaming at the top of
his lusty little lungs. He could only be consoled by a handful of
chestnuts, which his nurse, Miss Frost, cracked open for him.
The little Novembers, meanwhile, were having a charming time with
their favourite cousins, the Decembers, who were always so gay and
jolly, and had such a delightful papa. He came with his pockets
stuffed full of toys and sugarplums, which he drew out from time
to time, and gave to his best-loved child, Merry Christmas, to
distribute amongst the children, who gathered eagerly around their
little cousin, saying:
“Christmas comes but once a year,
But when she comes she brings good cheer.”
At which Merry laughed gaily, and tossed her golden curls, in which
were twined sprays of holly and clusters of brilliant scarlet berries.
At last the great folding-doors were thrown open. Indian summer
announced that dinner was served, and a long procession of old and
young was quickly formed, and led by Mrs. November and her daughter
Thanksgiving, whose birthday it was. They filed into the spacious
dining-room, where stood the long table, groaning beneath its weight
of good things, while four servants ran continually in and out
bringing more substantials and delicacies to grace the board and
please the appetite. Winter staggered beneath great trenchers of
meat and poultry, pies, and puddings; Spring brought the earliest
and freshest vegetables; Summer, the richest creams and ices; while
Autumn served the guests with fruit, and poured the sparkling wine.
All were gay and jolly, and many a joke was cracked as the contents
of each plate and dish melted away like snow before the sun, and the
great fires roared in the wide chimneys as though singing a glad
Thanksgiving song.
New Year drank everybody’s health, and wished them “many returns of
the day,” while Twelfth Night ate so much cake he made himself quite
ill, and had to be put to bed.
Valentine sent mottoes to all the little girls, and praised their
bright eyes and glossy curls. “For,” said his mother, “he is a sad
flatterer, and not nearly so truthful, I am sorry to say, as his
brother, George Washington, who never told a lie.”
At which Grandfather Time gave George a quarter, and said he should
always remember what a good boy he was.
After dinner the fun increased, all trying to do something for the
general amusement. Mrs. March persuaded her son, St. Patrick, to
dance an Irish Jig, which he did to the tune of the “Wearing of the
Green,” which his brothers, Windy and Gusty, blew and whistled on
their fingers.
Easter sang a beautiful song, the little Mays, “tripped the light
fantastic toe” in a pretty fancy dance, while the Junes sat by so
smiling and sweet it was a pleasure to look at them.
Independence, the fourth child of Mr. July, who is a bold little
fellow, and a fine speaker, gave them an oration he had learned at
school; and the Augusts suggested games of tag and blindman’s buff,
which they all enjoyed heartily.
Mr. September tried to read an instructive story aloud, but was
interrupted by Equinox, April Fool, and little All Hallows, who
pinned streamers to his coat tails, covered him with flour, and would
not let him get through a line; at which Mrs. October hugged her
tricksy baby, and laughed until she cried, and Mr. September retired
in disgust.
“That is almost too bad,” said Mrs. November, as she shook the popper
vigorously in which the corn was popping and snapping merrily; “but,
Thanksgiving, you must not forget to thank your cousins for all they
have done to honour your birthday.”
At which the demure little maiden went round to each one, and
returned her thanks in such a charming way it was quite captivating.
Grandmother Year at last began to nod over her teacup in the chimney
corner.
“It is growing late,” said Grandpa Time.
“But we must have a Virginia Reel before we go,” said Mr. December.
“Oh, yes, yes!” cried all the children.
Merry Christmas played a lively air on the piano, and old and young
took their positions on the polished floor with grandpa and grandma
at the head.
Midsummer danced with Happy New Year, June’s Commencement with
August’s Holiday, Leap Year with May Day, and all “went merry as a
marriage bell.”
The fun was at its height when suddenly the clock in the corner
struck twelve. Grandma Year motioned all to stop, and Grandfather
Time, bowing his head, said softly, “Hark! my children, Thanksgiving
Day is ended.”
[1] From _Harper’s Young People_, November, 1883.