"Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Aunt Susanna skeptically, "because
that has to do with my errand her to-day. I'm in a peck of troubles.
Firstly, Miranda Mary's mother has had to go and get sick and Miranda
Mary must go home to wait on her. Secondly, I've just had a telegram
from my sister-in-law who has been ordered west for her health, and
I'll have to leave on to-night's train to see her before she goes. I
can't get back until the noon train Thursday, and that is
Thanksgiving, and I've invited Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert to dinner that
day. They'll come on the same train. I'm dreadfully worried. There
doesn't seem to be anything I can do except get on of you girls to go
up to the Pinery Thursday morning and cook the dinner for us. Do you
think you can manage it?"
We all felt rather dismayed, and nobody volunteered with a rush. But
as I had just boasted that I could cook it was plainly my duty to step
into the breach, and I did it with fear and trembling.
"I'll go, Aunt Susanna," I said.
"And I'll help you," said Kate.
"Well, I suppose I'll have to try you," said Aunt Susanna with the air
of a woman determined to make the best of a bad business. "Here is the
key of the kitchen door. You'll find everything in the pantry, turkey
and all. The mince pies are all ready made so you'll only have to warm
them up. I want dinner sharp at twelve for the train is due at 11:50.
Mr. and Mrs. Gilbert are very particular and I do hope you will have
things right. Oh, if I could only be home myself! Why will people get
sick at such inconvenient times?"
"Don't worry, Aunt Susanna," I said comfortingly. "Kate and I will
have your Thanksgiving dinner ready for you in tiptop style."
"Well I'm sure I hope so. Don't get to mooning over a story, Agnes.
I'll lock the library up and fortunately there are no fiddles at the
Pinery. Above all, don't let any of the McGinnises in. They'll be sure
to be prowling around when I'm not home. Don't give that dog of theirs
any scraps either. That is Miranda Mary's one fault. She will feed
that dog in spite of all I can do and I can't walk out of my own back
door without falling over him."
We promise to eschew the McGinnises and all their works, including
the dog, and when Aunt Susanna had gone we looked at each other with
mingled hope and fear.
"Girls, this is the chance of your lives," said Laura. "If you can
only please Aunt Susanna with this dinner it will convince her that
you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and
literature. I consider the illness of Miranda Mary's mother a
Providential interposition--that is, if she isn't too sick."
"It's all very well for you to be pleased, Lolla," I said dolefully.
"But I don't feel jubilant over the prospect at all. Something will
probably go wrong. And then there's our own nice little Thanksgiving
celebration we've planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to
provide. That is half spoiled now."
"Oh, what is that compared to Margaret's chance of going to college?"
exclaimed Kate. "Cheer up, Aggie. You know we can cook. I feel that it
is now or never with Aunt Susanna."
I cheered up accordingly. We are not given to pessimism which is
fortunate. Ever since father died four years ago we have struggled on
here, content to give up a good deal just to keep our home and be
together. This little gray house--oh, how we do love it and its apple
trees--is ours and we have, as aforesaid, a tiny income and our
ambitions; not very big ambitions but big enough to give zest to our
lives and hope to the future. We've been very happy as a rule. Aunt
Susanna has a big house and lots of money but she isn't as happy as
we are. She nags us a good deal--just as she used to nag father--but
we don't mind it very much after all. Indeed, I sometimes suspect that
we really like Aunt Susanna tremendously if she'd only leave us alone
long enough to find it out.
Thursday morning was an ideal Thanksgiving morning--bright, crisp and
sparkling. There had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard
and the white birch wood behind it looked like fairyland. We were all
up early. None of us had slept well, and both Kate and I had had the
most fearful dreams of spoiling Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving dinner.
"Never mind, dreams always go by contraries, you know," said Laura
cheerfully. "You'd better go up to the Pinery early and get the fires
on, for the house will be cold. Remember the McGinnises and the dog.
Weigh the turkey so that you'll know exactly how long to cook it. Put
the pies in the oven in time to get piping hot--lukewarm mince pies
are an abomination. Be sure--"
"Laura, don't confuse us with any more cautions," I groaned, "or we
shall get hopelessly fuddled. Come on, Kate, before she has time to."
[Illustration]
It wasn't very far up to the Pinery--just ten minutes' walk, and such
a delightful walk on that delightful morning. We went through the
orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of
the frosted boughs awed us. Beyond that there was a lane between ranks
of young, balsamy, white-misted firs and then an open pasture field,
sere and crispy. Just across it was the Pinery, a lovely old house
with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark
and glorious against the silvery morning sky.
The McGinnis dog was sitting on the back-door steps when we arrived.
He wagged his tail ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off,
went in and shut the door in his face. All the little McGinnises were
sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively. The
McGinnis manners are not those which appertain to the caste of Vere de
Vere; but we rather like the urchins--there are eight of them--and we
would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the
fear of Aunt Susanna before our eyes.
We kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven and
prepared the vegetables. Then we set the dining-room table and
decorated it with Aunt Susanna's potted ferns and dishes of lovely red
apples. Everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous.
When the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the
range to keep warm and put the mince pies in. The potatoes, cabbage
and turnips were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as
merrily as a marriage bell. Then, all at once, things happened.
In an evil hour we went to the yard window and looked out. We saw a
quiet scene. The McGinnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the
steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning. Down in the
McGinnis yard everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect. Only one
McGinnis was in sight--Tony, aged eight, who was perched up on the
edge of the well box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his
melodious Irish voice. All at once, just as we were looking at him,
Tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his
father's well.
Kate and I screamed simultaneously. We tore across the kitchen, flung
open the door, plunged down over Aunt Susanna's yard, scrambled over
the fence and flew to the well. Just as we reached it, Tony's red head
appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box. I don't know whether
I felt more relieved or furious. He had merely fallen on the blank
guard inside the box: and there are times when I am tempted to think
he fell on purpose because he saw Kate and me looking out at the
window. At least he didn't seem at all frightened, and grinned most
impishly at us.
Kate and I turned on our heels and marched back in as dignified a
manner as was possible under the circumstances. Half way up Aunt
Susanna's yard we forgot dignity and broke into a run. We had left the
door open and the McGinnis dog had disappeared.
Never shall I forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we
burst into that kitchen. There on the floor was the McGinnis dog and
what was left of Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving turkey. As for the smell,
imagine a commingled odor of scorching turnips and burning mince pies,
and you have it.
The dog fled out with a guilty yelp. I groaned and snatched the
turnips off. Kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies.
Pies and turnips were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey.
"Oh, what shall we do?" I cried miserably. I knew Margaret's chance of
college was gone forever.
"Do!" Kate was superb. She didn't lose her wits for a second. "We'll
go home and borrow the girls' dinner. Quick--there's just ten minutes
before train time. Throw those pies and turnips into this basket--the
turkey too--we'll carry them with us to hide them."
I might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the
moment, but I can at least act up to it when it is presented. Without
a moment's delay we shut the door and ran. As we went I saw the
McGinnis dog licking his chops over in their yard. I have been ashamed
ever since of my feelings toward that dog. They were murderous.
Fortunately I had no time to indulge them.
It is ten minutes walk from the Pinery to our house, but you can run
it in five. Kate and I burst into the kitchen just as Laura and
Margaret were sitting down to dinner. We had neither time nor breath
for explanations. Without a word I grasped the turkey platter and the
turnip tureen. Kate caught one hot mince pie from the oven and whisked
a cold one out of the pantry.
"We've--got--to have--them," was all she said.
I've always said that Laura and Magsie would rise to any occasion.
They saw us carry their Thanksgiving dinner off under their very eyes
and they never interfered by word or motion. They didn't even worry us
with questions. They realized that something desperate had happened
and that the emergency called for deed not words.
"Aggie," gasped Kate behind me as we tore through the birch wood, "the
border--of these pies--is crimped--differently--from Aunt Susanna's."
"She--won't know--the difference," I panted. "Miranda--Mary--crimps
them."
We got back to the Pinery just as the train whistle blew. We had ten
minutes to transfer turkey and turnips to Aunt Susanna's dishes, hide
our own, air the kitchen, and get back our breath. We accomplished it.
When Aunt Susanna and her guests came we were prepared for them: we
were calm--outwardly--and the second mince pie was getting hot in the
oven. It was ready by the time it was needed. Fortunately our turkey
was the same size as Aunt Susanna's, and Laura had cooked a double
supply of turnips, intending to warm them up the next day. Still, all
things considered, Kate and I didn't enjoy that dinner much. We kept
thinking of poor Laura and Magsie at home, dining off potatoes on
Thanksgiving!
But at least Aunt Susanna was satisfied. When Kate and I were washing
the dishes she came out quite beamingly.
"Well, my dears, I must admit that you made a very good job of the
dinner, indeed. The turkey was done to perfection. As for the mince
pies--well, of course Miranda Mary made them, but she must have had
extra good luck with them, for they were excellent and heated to just
the right degree. You didn't give anything to the McGinnis dog, I
hope?"
"No, we didn't give him anything," said Kate.
Aunt Susanna did not notice the emphasis.
When we had finished the dishes we smuggled our platter and tureen out
of the house and went home. Laura and Margaret were busy painting and
studying and were just as sweet-tempered as if we hadn't robbed them
of their dinner. But we had to tell them the whole story before we
even took off our hats.
"There is a special Providence for children and idiots," said Laura
gently. We didn't ask her whether she meant us or Tony McGinnis or
both. There are some things better left in obscurity. I'd have
probably said something much sharper than that if anybody had made off
with my Thanksgiving turkey so unceremoniously.
Aunt Susanna came down the next day and told Margaret that she would
send her to college. Also she commissioned Laura to paint her a
water-color for her dining-room and said she'd pay her five dollars
for it.
Kate and I were rather left out in the cold in this distribution of
favors, but when you come to reflect that Laura and Magsie had really
cooked that dinner, it was only just.
Anyway, Aunt Susanna has never since insinuated that we can't cook,
and that is as much as we deserve.