THE CORNER HOUSE THANKSGIVING
It was truly a Thanksgiving feast at the old Corner House that day, and
it was enjoyed to the full by all. Nor was there a table in all Milton
around which sat a more apparently incongruous company.
At first glance one might have thought that the Corner House girls had
put forth a special effort to gather together a really fantastical
company to celebrate the holiday. Uncle Rufus, at least, had never
served quite so odd an assortment of guests during all the years he had
been in Mr. Peter Stower's employ.
At one end of the table the old Scotch housekeeper presided, in a fresh
cap and apron. Her hard, rosy face looked as though it had received an
extra polishing with the huck towel on the kitchen roller.
At the far end of the long board, covered with the best old damask the
house afforded, and laid with the heavy, sterling plate that Unc' Rufus
tended so lovingly, and the cut glass of old-fashioned pattern, was
silver-haired Mr. Howbridge. He was a man very precise in his dress,
given to the niceties of the toilet in every particular. He wore
rimless glasses perched on his aristocratic beak of a nose, a well
cared-for mustache much darker than his hair, and had very piercing
eyes.
On his right was prim Aunt Sarah--Aunt Sarah, who never seemed to belong
to the family, who lived so self-centered an existence, but who was sure
to have her meddling finger in everything that went on in the old Corner
House, especially if it was desired that she should not.
Aunt Sarah glared across the table at a tall, lean, ascetic-looking man
in a rusty, old-fashioned, black, tail coat that was a world too wide
for him across the shoulders, and with his sleek, long hair parted very
carefully in the middle, and falling below the high collar of the coat.
Those who had never seen Seneca Sprague save in his flapping duster and
straw hat, would scarcely have recognized him now.
Ruth, after the fire, when the prophet had been made to understand that
all his possessions for which he really cared were saved, had induced
him to come home with them to eat the Thanksgiving feast.
"It is fitting that we should give thanks--yea, verily," agreed Seneca,
his mind rather more muddled than usual by the excitement of the fire.
"I saw the armies of Armageddon advancing with flame-tipped spears and
flights of flashing arrows. They were all--all--aimed to overwhelm me.
But their hands were stayed--they could not prevail against me. Thank
you, young man," he added, briskly, to Neale O'Neil. "You have a pretty
wit, and by it you have saved my library--my books that could not be
duplicated. I have the only Apocrypha extant with notes by the great
Swedenborg. Do you know the life of George Washington, young man?"
"Pretty well, sir, thank you," said Neale, gravely.
"It is well. Study it. That great being who sired our glorious country,
is yet to come again. And he will purge the nation with fire and cleanse
it with hyssop. Verily, it shall come to pass in that day----"
"But we mustn't keep Mrs. MacCall waiting for us, Mr. Sprague," Ruth had
interrupted him by saying. "You can tell us all about it later."
They had bundled him into a carriage near the burned dock, to hide his
torn duster and wild appearance, and had brought him to the old Corner
House--Ruth and Agnes and Neale. There he was soon quieted. Neale helped
him remove the traces of the struggle he had had with those who kept him
from going into the fire, and likewise helped him dress for dinner.
Uncle Peter Stower's ancient wardrobe furnished the most of Seneca's
holiday garb. "Mr. Stower was a meaty man," the prophet said, in some
scorn. "His girth should have been upon his conscience, for verily he
lived for the greater part of his life on the fat of the land. His
latter days were lean ones, it is true; but they could not absolve him
from his youthful gastronomic sins."
Ruth had some fear that the odd, old fellow might make trouble at the
table; but Seneca Sprague had not always lived the untamed life he now
did. He had been well brought up, and had associated with the best
families of Milton and the county in his younger days.
Mr. Howbridge was surprised to find Seneca Sprague sitting in the
ancient parlor of the old Corner House when he arrived--an unfriendly
room which was seldom opened by the girls. But the lawyer shook hands
with Seneca and told him how glad he was to hear that his library had
been saved from the fire.
"One may say by a miracle," the prophet declared solemnly. "As Elijah
was fed by the raven in the wilderness, so was my treasure cared for in
time of stress."
He talked after that quite reasonably, and when the girls in their
pretty dresses fluttered to their seats about the table, and with Neale
O'Neil filled them all, the company being complete, Ruth, looked to
Seneca to ask a blessing.
His reverent grace, spoken humbly, was most fitting. Linda opened the
door. A great breath of warm, food-laden air rushed in. Uncle Rufus
appeared, proudly bearing the great turkey, browned beautifully and
fairly bursting with tenderness and--dressing!
"Oh-ee!" whispered ecstatically, the smallest Corner House girl. "He
looks so _noble_! Do--do you s'pose, Tess, that it will _hurt_ him when
Uncle Rufus carves?"
"My goodness!" exclaimed Neale, "it will hurt us if he doesn't carve the
turk. I couldn't imagine any greater punishment than to sit here and
taste the other good things and renege on that handsome bird."
But Seneca Sprague did not hear this comment. He ate heartily of the
plentiful supply of vegetables; but he would not taste the turkey or the
suet pudding.
It was a merry feast. They sat long over it. Uncle Rufus set the great
candelabra on the table and by the wax-light they cracked nuts and drank
sweet cider, and the younger ones listened to the stories of their
elders.
Even Aunt Sarah livened up. "My soul and body!" she croaked, with rather
a sour smile, it must be confessed, "I wonder what Peter Stower would
say to see me sitting here. Humph! He couldn't keep me out of my home
forever, could he?"
But nobody made any reply to that statement.