Three little Trippertrots on their travels

“Where do you suppose this horse is going?” asked Mary, of her brothers, after a while.

“Home, I guess,” said Tommy.

“Do you mean to his home, or our home?” asked Johnny. “Because, if he goes to our home, it’s all right, but if the horse goes to his own home, why—why——”

“We’ll be lost again, that’s all,” said Tommy, simply.

“Oh, we’re lost now,” cried Mary, as she looked out of the front of the wagon. “We’re on a strange street, that I never saw before, and I don’t know how far from home.”

“Well, we’ll get back some time,” said Johnny, “so we don’t need to worry about it. We always do get home, somehow or other, and perhaps we’ll have another funny adventure, like being carried up into the air by the balloons.”

“Oh, I wish we would!” exclaimed Tommy. “Anyhow, I’m hungry, and if an adventure is going to happen I wish it would be one with something to eat in it.”

“What! You don’t mean to say you are hungry so soon after our big Thanksgiving-turkey-dinner, do you?” asked Mary Trippertrot.

“Yes, I—I guess I am,” said Tommy.

“And so am I!” exclaimed Johnny. “But I know where I can get something to eat.”

“Where? Oh, tell me where!” cried Tommy, eagerly.

“Right in this wagon,” said Johnny. “It’s full of groceries, and we can eat some of them. There are oranges, and I saw some nuts, and some candy, and some crackers, and cheese and—and—oh, there is plenty to eat.”

“But it isn’t ours,” objected Mary, quickly, “and we mustn’t take what isn’t ours.”

“No, that’s so,” said Johnny, sadly.

“Oh, I know how we can fix it,” spoke Tommy. “We can take what we want—not too much, of course—and we can keep account of it, and when we find the man who owns the grocery wagon we can ask papa to pay him for what we took. I’m sure he will.”

“Yes, I guess he will,” agreed Johnny.

“Besides,” added Mary, “the grocery man might give us some pennies for stopping his horse from running away, and we could pay him back with those.”

“Yes, only but we’re not stopping his horse from running away,” said Tommy, “for he is running as fast as he can.”

And the horse was, but he was on a smooth asphalt street, and the wagon went so easily that the children didn’t notice how very fast they were going.

“I wonder if he wouldn’t stop if I asked him please to?” spoke Mary, as she leaned over the seat.

“You might try,” suggested Johnny.

So Mary did.

“Oh, please, nice horsie, won’t you kindly stop running away with us?” she asked, in her gentle voice. “We don’t want to get so far away from home, and it will soon be dark. Please stop.”

But the horse only wiggled his ears backwards and forwards, switched his tail to and fro, and kept on going.

“It’s no use!” exclaimed Tommy. “He won’t stop, and I’m going to eat.”

“So am I!” added Johnny.

“Then I suppose I may as well, also,” said Mary. “But we must remember all that we take, so papa can pay the grocery man, or we can pay him, if he gives us any pennies.”

So the children each took an orange, out of a basket that had a great many in it, and they took some nuts, and a little candy, and some grapes, and then Mary opened a big package and she cried out:

“Oh, boys! Look here!”

“What is it?” asked Johnny. “Is Jiggily Jig there?”

“No, but see! It’s a fine big turkey, all ready to put in the oven,” said Mary.

“And look at the stalks of celery!” shouted Johnny, as he opened another package.

“And see the bunches of white grapes!” exclaimed Tommy.

“Boys,” said Mary, solemnly, “I see what this is.”

“What is it?” asked Johnny.

“It is Somebody’s Thanksgiving dinner,” said Mary. “That is just what it is. And, oh, I wonder whose it is? The horse is running away with us, and with the dinner, and I suppose some one is hungry for it.”

“Well, I’m not hungry—not now,” remarked Johnny, as he ate another orange.

“Nor I,” added Tommy, as he cracked some more nuts. “But I was a while ago.”

“I’m not hungry, either,” said Mary; “but, boys, I just wish we could find the family that needed this dinner.”

“Let’s look out along the street, and maybe we’ll see some one who is hungry,” suggested Tommy. So they looked out, but they didn’t see any one, not even a policeman. For it was still Thanksgiving Day, you remember, and I suppose all the people were still in their houses, perhaps sleeping after their dinners, or maybe they were at the football game, or the theatre. Anyhow, there wasn’t a soul to be seen.

“We can’t ask any one,” said Mary, with a sigh. “There’s no one to ask.”

“Well, perhaps the horse knows where the dinner belongs, and he’ll go there,” spoke Johnny. “He looked to me like a very smart horse.”

“And, maybe after he takes the dinner where it belongs, he’ll take us back home,” went on Tommy.

“Oh, that would be lovely if he would,” exclaimed Mary.

So the children sat in the back of the grocery wagon, with the boxes and baskets, and the horse kept going faster and faster on the asphalt street, and the Trippertrots didn’t know where they would get to finally, when, all at once, the horse turned off the asphalt, and began pulling the wagon over the cobblestones.

Rattlety-bang! Rattlety-bang! it went, and the children were all shaken up, and then, all at once, the horse stopped.

“Well, we’re somewhere!” exclaimed Mary. “I’m glad of it.”

“Yes, but I wonder where we are?” spoke Tommy.

“Can it be our house?” asked Johnny.

“No, there are no cobblestones in front of our house,” replied Mary, quickly.

Johnny looked out of the front of the wagon. He saw a little house, not very nice looking, for it was rather ragged, as if it needed a new suit of clothes, and the chimney was almost falling off the roof, and the fence in front was full of holes, and, altogether, it was a very pretty sort of a house indeed.

“What is there?” asked Mary, of her brother.

“This is the place where the Thanksgiving dinner belongs, I guess,” said Johnny. “The horse stopped here of his own accord, so it must be the place.”

“Then, as long as the grocery boy isn’t here, we had better carry the things in,” suggested Tommy. “We can make-believe we are the grocery boys.”

“I can’t be a boy,” said Mary.

“No, you’ll have to be a grocery girl,” spoke Tommy. “But that will be all right. I’ll take the turkey, ’cause I’m the strongest.”

“I wish Jiggily Jig, or Simple Simon, or the nice newsboy was here to help us,” spoke Johnny.

“Oh, we can do it all right,” said his brother. And then, while the kind horse stood very still, the three Trippertrots took the Thanksgiving things out of the wagon, and marched up to the shabby-looking house with them. Tommy put the big turkey down on the step, and knocked at the door.

A poor-looking woman opened it, and behind her the Trippertrots could see a whole lot of hungry-looking children. Oh! how very hungry they were!

“Well, what is it, please?” asked the woman, as she looked at Tommy and Johnny and Mary Trippertrot.

“If—if you please,” spoke Tommy, as he lifted up the big turkey to her, “here is your Thanksgiving dinner.”

“My Thanksgiving dinner!” exclaimed the woman, and a few teardrops came into her eyes, while Mary could hear the hungry children, who were standing behind her, sort of gasping, and making their tongues go around inside their mouths. “My Thanksgiving dinner!” said the woman again. “Bless your dear little heart, I’m not going to have any Thanksgiving dinner. We—we’re too poor!” she said. “There must be some mistake. You are at the wrong house. Thanksgiving dinner! Why—why, I haven’t had a real Thanksgiving dinner since I was a little girl,” and she turned around to look at her poor little children standing behind her.

“Well, you’re going to have one now,” said Mary Trippertrot. “This is yours.”

“No, no!” exclaimed the woman. “You are at the wrong house.”

“It can’t be the wrong house!” cried Johnny. “The grocery horse stopped here himself, and I guess he knows where the dinner belongs. Let’s take it in, Tommy and Mary.”

So into the house went the Trippertrots, carrying the Thanksgiving dinner. Oh, what a dinner it was! There were oranges, and apples, and nuts, and candy, and white grapes, and bread, and butter, and potatoes, and the big turkey, of course; and celery, and cranberries, and some cookies and cakes, and, oh! I couldn’t tell you what else there was! The table was piled quite full.

“Are you sure it’s for us?” asked the poor woman. “I don’t think we ought to keep it.”

“Oh—oh, mamma!” cried one of the poor little girls—and there were about four boys and seven girls in that poor family—“oh, mamma—don’t—don’t—please don’t send it away. We are so hungry.”

“Humph!” exclaimed Johnny, as he looked out of the window, “you can’t send it away if you wanted to—not now.”

“Why not?” asked the woman.

“Because the grocery horse has run away again,” answered Johnny. “I guess he knew what he was doing when he left the dinner here, and now he’s gone back home. So you can’t send the dinner away. You’ve got to keep it.”

“Oh, bless your dear hearts, we will,” said the woman, and, oh! how happy those children were—the poor ones I mean. But, of course, the Trippertrots were happy, too, because they had done a kindness.

Then the poor woman began to cook the Thanksgiving dinner, and she put the turkey in the oven to roast nice and brown, and the Trippertrots were helping her when, all of a sudden, there came a loud knock on the door of the house where the poor family lived.

“Ha! I wonder who that can be?” asked the poor woman.

“I guess it’s our papa come for us,” said Johnny.

“Who are you, and where do you live?” asked the poor woman.

“We are the Trippertrots, but we don’t know where we live, if you please,” said Mary.

“Because we are lost—we are always getting lost,” added Tommy. “But perhaps some one has come for us.”

So the poor woman went to the door, and there stood a boy with a white apron on.

“Ah, I’ve found you at last!” he said, when he saw the Trippertrots. “I’m the grocery boy and I’ve been looking all over for you and the wagon.”

“We’re here, but the horse and wagon are gone,” replied Mary.

“Well, never mind,” said the grocery boy, as he waved his white apron. “Come with me, if you please.”