“I told him I did not know--that I only knew that part of your life had been passed in Europe. I heard him say under his breath, 'It is singular.'”
“Frank,” said Mr. Morton, after a moment's thought, “I wish to have Squire Haynes learn as little of me as possible. If, therefore, he should ask you how I am employed, you say that I have come here for the benefit of my health. This is one of my motives, though not the principal one.”
“I will remember,” said Frank. “I don't think he will say much to me, however. He has a grudge against father, and his son does not like me. I am sorry that father is compelled to have some business relations with the squire.”
“Yes, he holds a mortgage on our farm for eight hundred dollars. It was originally more, but it has been reduced to this. He will have the right to foreclose on the first of July.”
“Shall you have the money ready for him at that time?”
“No; we may have half enough, perhaps. I am sometimes troubled when I think of it. Father feels confident, however, that the squire will not be hard upon us, but will renew the mortgage.”
Henry Morton looked very thoughtful, but said nothing.
Dinner was already on the table. In the center, on a large dish, was the turkey, done to a turn. It was flanked by the chickens on a smaller dish. These were supported by various vegetables, such as the season supplied. A dish of cranberry sauce stood at one end of the table, and at the opposite end a dish of apple sauce.
“Do you think you can carve the turkey, Mr. Morton?” asked Mrs. Frost.
“I want the wish-bone, Mr. Morton,” said Maggie.
“You shall both have one,” said the mother. “Luckily each of the chickens is provided with one.”
“I know what I am going to wish,” said Charlie, nodding his head with decision.
“Well, Charlie, what is it?” asked Frank.
“I shall wish that papa may come home safe.”
“I wish he might sit down with us to-day,” said Mrs. Frost, with a little sigh. “He has never before been absent from us on Thanksgiving day.”
“Was he well when you last heard from him?”
“Yes, but hourly expecting orders to march to join the army in Maryland. I am afraid he won't get as good a Thanksgiving dinner as this.”
“Two years ago,” said Mr. Morton, “I ate my Thanksgiving dinner in Amsterdam.”