CHAPTER XX
AT THE SUBSIDENCE OF THE WATERS

Thanksgiving day was a white day. It had rained in the night, freezing as it rained, and in the morning the sun came up glorious behind the low-lying line of the most distant mountains, turning the world of ice-incrusted boughs and fields into a prismatic land of marvelous color and brilliancy.

Long before the sun came to work the transformation of an every day land into fairyland, Happie was restlessly awake, longing for rising time. Her thoughts flew to Rosie, who had taken the tidings of the night before with such gravity that Happie suspected that the return of her employers to town meant more serious trouble to that good woman than they had dreamed—indeed they had all expected her rather to rejoice in their good fortune as she had heretofore rejoiced and sympathized with whatever happened to them.

Happie had not lain long awake before she heard Rosie moving about in the kitchen, getting ready for the inevitable cleaning without which she could not have kept a feast, and for which she was undoubtedly going to get her baking out of the way before day had fairly begun. The last stars were still visible and the world was dark, but Happie crept out from sleeping Margery's side to go down and join Rosie, with the intent to find out, if she could, why she had looked so troubled at the idea of "the Archaics" going away.

"My days, Happie, you scared me!" Rosie said, facing about with a jump as the girl came softly into the kitchen. "I sent Mahlon out to do his barn work; I thought I'd git him out from under foot, and I'd have his breakfast ready till he got through."

"How did you manage to wake up so early?" asked Happie. "I heard you down here, I believe while I was half awake and half asleep, and it's only five now."

"I've been awake since two," said Rosie. "I got to sleep, then I woke up and went to thinkin', and I hain't been able to git to sleep again."

"What is it, Rosie? You seem troubled," said Happie going close to the gaunt woman and lifting her pretty face coaxingly. "Won't you tell me—just me?"

Rosie looked at her favorite, and her hard, work-worn face softened; she was not used to wheedling, but she found it pleasant.

"My days, Happie," she said. "It's nothin' new! Only what you told me last night kinder showed it to' me over again."

"Please tell me, Rosie," coaxed Happie, catching a discouraged note in brisk Rosie's voice. She drew one arm over the bony shoulders as she spoke, and laid her blooming cheek close to Rosie's drab one. The lamplight fell on her hair, bringing out its reddish tints, and Rosie looked at her uncertainly, and then looked away. It was most unnatural for Rosie to be uncertain, and Happie drew her a little closer. "Please, Rosie!" she whispered.

"Well, you see what Mahlon is!" Rosie said violently, as if something had given way within her and she must speak. "You kin see just what he is. I hain't never had no help keepin' things together, and it has bin sleddin' uphill on bare ground—with a good load on yet!—ever since I got married—like a ninny! I had to farm, and do housework, and do everything else, inside and out, and lose my children——"

She stopped with a sob, and Happie kissed her. "Don't, Rosie!" she begged. "You must be happy on Thanksgiving Day!"

"Yes, and I have been kinder takin' heart lately, thinkin' I was gittin' on good here, makin' money easier than I had to work when I was losin' it, yet! And here the other day I had an offer fer my place, good offer too. I was ready to jump at it, but it don't do to let folks know you're willin' to sell right off when they want to buy, or they'll think there's somethin' wrong. So I told the man I'd see once and let him know after I'd thought it over a good bit. This was 'most a month since, and I was thinkin' maybe I'd tell him I'd sell—he sent over to know if I hadn't about made up my mind, and of course I knew right off I'd be lucky to git eight hundred dollars fer that there place, which was what he offered. I'd got it all planned how I'd put it out to interest somewheres and live on here with your folks, and when they got sick of keepin' Mahlon, he could go off somewheres else to work, but I'd stay with them as long's they'd have me. And I felt pretty sure that'd be quite a spell, because we git along good together. And now this has happened yet, and you're all goin' off next week!"

"I don't see why that makes you so discouraged," Happie began.

"You don't? Well, I do," said Rosie almost fiercely. "There hain't many places up here to be had to work out. I can't sell my place now; I've got to go back and work it. I hain't complainin' nor blamin' nobody; it's the same kinder luck I've had right along, and I mighter knowed it wasn't goin' to change so sudden."

Happie's face had brightened as she listened, while Rosie's had flushed and grown more cloudy. She turned away as she ceased speaking, drew the back of her hand across her eyes and said snappishly: "I can't fool away any more time, Happie. What's the use of gittin' up by dark and foolin' away the whole mornin' yet?"

Happie paid no attention to these last remarks. She got both arms around poor discouraged Rosie and held her fast, forcing her to look in her face.

"Rosie, listen!" she cried. "After we left you last night, and Polly and Penny were asleep, all we old folks sat around the fire rather late talking over our plans. Ralph and Snigs say that their mother would be glad to let us take back our apartment, if we would, for she doesn't need it any more, and Aunt Keren has found our room for the great experiment. So on the first of the month—no, that's Saturday,—but next week, the first week in December, we are all going back, we Scollards, to our Patty-Pans, and Aunt Keren to her house. It is really wonderful, when you think of it, that Gretta owns this farm, that we found the will, for though of course our plans would include her in any case, still having this she is able to do something in return for Aunt Keren—and through her for us—and that makes her a lot happier, and everything better all 'round. We all agreed last night that we had grown tremendously fond of the Ark, and that we should feel dreadfully not to come back to it. We've got to go back to New York, because, you see, we have to earn our living just as much as you have, but we are coming up here every summer, Aunt Keren and all of us—we Scollards. Aunt Keren says wild horses shouldn't drag her back to her hotel life summers since she has tasted the independence and privacy of her—or what was her—old farm. Of course we may not be able to come too, but that's the plan. We're going to open a tea-room—but you know all about that! We may not be able to leave town, but I guess we shall—in instalments, anyhow. Now don't you see, you dear, worrying Rosie you, that there will have to be some one here to take care of the Ark, 'put out the garden,' as you say up here, and farm the place, not to mention having the house open and the dear Ark dry and sweet and clean when we all come home in the summer? Aunt Keren—and Gretta, because it is her house and she had to consent—that's a joke, Rosie, because Gretta's half crazy with joy over the whole thing!" Happie interrupted herself to say hastily, lest Rosie be hurt—"Aunt Keren is going to ask you if you would be willing to stay on here at the same pay as now, taking care of the place summers and winters, with and without us; you and Mahlon too, of course. Then, if you really can sell your place, why I know Aunt Keren will get her business man to invest your money for you at the best interest, and you'll be better off than if we had not gone away—though I really don't see what you'll do with no children to bother you, for you won't have any excuse for so much cleaning! I suppose I ought to have left this for Aunt Keren to tell you, but I couldn't let you fret one moment longer, when a word would stop it—though I have said more than one word, now haven't I? Kiss me, Rosie, and tell me that you think you have good reason to keep Thanksgiving Day in its full meaning after all!" Happie ended her long, breathless speech with a gay little laugh into Rosie's face, as she thrust her own forward insinuatingly.

"I guess!" said Rosie, and she kissed Happie with a warmth that nothing had called forth in the lonely woman since the last little grave had been made in the Methodist churchyard. Then she turned away, unaccustomed to betrayal of feeling, and embarrassed by it.

"My days, Happie! look how light it's gittin'!" she said. "I don't hardly need that lamp. And if there don't come Mahlon back already! I told him I'd have his breakfast ready till he got through, and I hain't hardly started it. Why, you're all shiverin' cold, child! This kitchen hain't been as cold a mornin' this season as 'tis this one. You hain't used to bein' up so early. You go back to bed and take a nap; it wants two good hours till breakfast. Or would you rather go into the room and lie down? I'll make a fire there if you want me to."

"I couldn't go back to bed; I couldn't sleep much last night myself, but not because I was worrying like you; because I was so excited and happy," said Happie. "You needn't stop to make a fire for me; I'm so warm inside I don't feel the cold, even if I do shiver. So are you all warm and happy inside, aren't you, Rosie?" she added wishing to be fully assured of Rosie's holiday state of mind.

"I guess!" Rosie said again, but with a smile so cheerful that Happie was satisfied. "As to the fire," continued philosophic Rosie, "it's got to be made, so you might as well have the good of it as to wait around shiverin' for a particular time to be comfortable."

Right after breakfast the Scollards bore off Ralph and Snigs to the small skating pond which had been made by damming the brook. Gretta, who could skate far better than the Scollard girls, begged to be allowed to stay at home to help with the preparation of dinner. "If it's my house, and the boys are my first guests I think I belong here," she argued. And nobody could gainsay her argument.

The skaters came home cold and glowing and ravenously hungry from their sport, and from a walk over roughened fields and roads, in which alternate thawing and freezing had made ruts that lifted one foot up on a ridge while its mate came down emphatically in a hole that gave its owner a jarring surprise. But the air was so bright, the long vistas of country revealed by the bare trees so splendid that it was well worth while "tramping on the bias," as Ralph said.

How pretty the low-ceiled library looked as the party came into it! The fire crackled on the hearth, warming one through the sense of sight almost as much as through the sense of feeling. Pictures, pretty casts, books—which seemed to follow the inmates of the Ark into every room, like faithful favorites, not relegated to one special place—all contributed to make this a totally different room from the dreary, musty one into which Bob and Happie had despondently peered on that night of their arrival, half a year ago.

And there by that cheery hearth sat Mrs. Scollard, safe and well! Polly and Penny beside her, plump as pigeons and hardily browned. And Dundee in holiday array of a big blue bow, and Jeunesse Dorée, by this time thoroughly reconciled to the collie, quite as magnificent in a grass green ribbon, setting off his yellow fur.

"My, but it's nice here; better even than in summer!" cried Ralph, dropping down in the chair opposite Mrs. Scollard and stretching out his long legs in just the same sort of appreciation of the heat that the dog and the cat showed. "I don't believe I care about going back to town next week, and I don't see how you can look the Patty-Pan prospect calmly in the face. I believe I'll get Gretta to sell me her farm and turn gentleman farmer after I finish college—if ever I do!"

"More than doubtful," agreed Bob. "See here, Ralph, you can't bask! We've been informed on the reliable authority of our hostess that turkey's almost ready for the table, and our dressing isn't anything like done, though his is. You straighten up those long legs of yours and stand up on them, and steer them straight up-stairs to wash up!"

"I wonder," began Polly thoughtfully, as Ralph obeyed the first two of these four orders with a groan, "I wonder if your mother goes away to-day, and you boys are here, if Whoop-la will have any Thanksgiving."

"Were you going down on the afternoon train to feed him, little Lady Bountiful?" asked Ralph. Polly was his especial favorite of the lesser Scollards. "Be at rest; mother was not going until noon, and Whoop-la is provided for, amply. I think mother would not have any Thanksgiving herself, rather than neglect her cat."

"I always liked your mother," said Polly seriously.

"You can bank on mother's taking care of the weak," assented Ralph, as he joined Snigs and Bob in the hall.

"Boys, boys!" called Gretta ten minutes later, making herself heard with difficulty above the shouts of laughter from Bob's room. "Boys!"

"M'am!" responded Bob leaning over the balustrade, his face scarlet from the sharp winds of the morning, supplemented by a brisk rubbing.

"They told me to call you; dinner's ready," said Gretta.

"Told you! Who told you? What makes you take orders; aren't you the Head of the House? We'll be down with the speed of three, Gretta," said Bob disappearing.

"Mr. Gordon," said Happie, "you will please take in Miss Bradbury. Mr. Charles Gordon will take in Mrs. Scollard. Mr. Scollard will be so good as to offer his arm to the Head of the House. Miss Scollard escorts Miss Penelope, Miss Laura Scollard takes in Miss Mary, while Miss Keren-happuch Scollard finds her way in as well as she can alone, following the trail. Mr. Gordon, Miss Bradbury, will please proceed."

"Doesn't the Honorable Keren-happuch mean precede?" suggested Ralph blandly.

"She means both; they will proceed to precede," said Happie. Which they did at once.

Jake Shale's turkey, which nearly collided with the procession, borne aloft by Rosie, was a credit to the Keystone State. Its browned breast-bone arose from the snowy platter like a Pennsylvanian mountain ridge from the snow. Miss Keren spanned it with the tines of her carving fork, and laid off breast and side bone slices with a speed and skill that struck even the uncritical younger portion of her family as little less than marvellous.

"Gracious, Aunt Keren, how nice you can cut it up!" exclaimed Penny, in hungry appreciation.

"We call it carving, my dear," smiled Miss Keren. "My father had no sons, and he insisted that each of his daughters should learn to carve without a mistake. He taught us to carve the entire bird without once removing our fork, and when we were done there must not be any ragged places, nor torn joints. He considered carving, good whist playing, and a few other like accomplishments, part of the education of a gentlewoman."

"Then I can never be a gentlewoman," said Polly, sadly. "My arms wouldn't let me carve so well, and I'd be too fat to keep my fork in and reach all around it without moving it lots of times."

The others laughed. "Never mind, Polly; maybe you can feed the turkeys, while somebody else carves them," suggested Happie consolingly.

"I'd much rather," said Polly with her unfailing seriousness.

Such a turkey as it proved to be, so succulent, so toothsome, with such a flavor! Then Rosie's vegetables were so very good, and so intemperately abundant! Mrs. Scollard had made the mince pies after a recipe which had come down to her from a long line of colonial dames, her ancestors, and their crusts flaked and flew in a way that spoke volumes for the amount of butter the farm cows allowed her to use. The nuts were hickory and chestnuts, grown and gathered on the farm—how could the best intentioned help overeating? And that sort of indulgence is more than excusable on the Day of Gratitude.

"I guess we're done for for the rest of the afternoon," observed Snigs at the end of the feast as he dropped his last nut shell, denuded of meat, on his plate. "I've got my watch out of my vest pocket—wanted to see how long we'd been here—and now I can't get it back again."

Bob and Ralph shouted, but Snigs had not meant to be funny, merely to state a fact proving how fully he had done his duty by the institutions of his country—turkey and Thanksgiving Day.

Happie's lips were moving rapidly, and her face, already flushed, grew very red.

"Hapsie's in the throes," announced Bob. "Let's have it, Hap! She always looks like that when the Muse has grappled with her."

"Wait a minute! No, I didn't mean that! I wasn't going to repeat anything; I was only——"

"Improvising! We know, and you don't mind us, Happie," said Ralph. "Domesticated minor poets often put others in a less minor key—not that we are not reasonably cheerful! Let her go, Happie!"

Thus elegantly encouraged, and at an imploring touch on her foot from Gretta, who dearly loved to display Happie's talents, Happie favored the company with the following effusion:

There was general applause for this humble poem, which Snigs feelingly and briefly endorsed by the words: "Same here!"

"That's rather an ungrateful ode for Thanksgiving Day, Happie," said Margery. "You ought to be thankful for all that you've received, and not openly announce your preference for Barmecide feasts."

"I am thankful for all that I have received, but not for all that I have taken, Peggy," said Happie quickly, with her mischievous flash of her eye.

"There certainly is a difference in that distinction," said Miss Keren, smiling affectionately at her namesake.

Dundee thrust his nose into Bob's hand, hitching up closer to the boy's side without rising, thumping the floor all the while with his beautiful tail.

"Dundee says he is ready to risk over-eating, just in honor of the day and custom," said Bob. "Old beauty! He'll miss us."

"Only to be the more glad to see us when we come back," said Miss Keren. "He and Don Dolor will be comfortable in Rosie's hands."

"But I'm glad we can take Jeunesse Dorée back with us," said Polly, giving the golden cat an especially tender bit of turkey breast in response to his dainty paw-pat on her arm.

"Well regulated families don't feed their animals at table, so my mother's aunt always says when we feed Whoop-la. I've always been glad I wasn't a well regulated family," said Ralph. "Here, Penny; I saved this piece for Dorée." He offered Penny a bit of meat, seeing her crestfallen expression that she had not saved anything for the kitten, as Polly had done.

"Ralph, you are a truly nice boy!" exclaimed Happie approvingly. Ralph had grown tall and manly during these six months; the responsibility of making his way through college, the plans for the future with which his mind was filled, were adding gravity and maturity to his manner, but he never forgot, nor failed to understand the feelings of the little children.

"A week from to-day we shall all be back in New York, each in our own Patty-Pan," said Ralph, acknowledging Happie's remark with a low bow, its mock deference not concealing the pleasure he felt.

"Not all of us," said Miss Keren, looking up at Rosie with a smile that conveyed her sense of that good woman's claim on remembrance.

Rosie swooped down on six plates which she gathered into a pile with an emphasis that meant emotion, but not disrespect.

"My days, it hain't worth talkin' about; you'll be back here in no time," she said. "Just see how quick the summer's went!"

With that she whisked herself out of the room; in reality the coming six months appeared tedious to Rosie. She thrust her head into the room again, through a very small opening of the door. "You needn't think I hain't goin' to miss you," she added. "But I guess I've got about the most to be thankful fer of any of you. Miss Bradbury, the coffee's almost all; I've only got enough fer breakfast, so don't you fergit it to-morrow mornin', if I do." With which Rosie again disappeared.

"We have enough to be thankful for, all of us," said Mrs. Scollard, looking lovingly at Miss Bradbury.

"Indeed we have!" said Margery softly, with that new expression on her face, as if she had a secret too sweet to share.

"Motherums' health would be enough, if there were nothing else," said Happie.

"But I have most of all!" said Gretta unexpectedly. "I have a home, and—best of all—I have Happie!"

"We all reckon her among our chief assets, Gretta," said Bob. "It will be a jolly crowd that goes back to old Gotham next week. Only think what a difference from the way we came here!"

"Well, Bob," said Miss Keren, "I don't think any one has done more than you have towards the success of our experiment, and I'm thoroughly appreciative of the fact."

"Patty-Pans and green fields!" cried Happie. "Take them alternately every six months; health, happiness and wisdom guaranteed."

"Right you are, Hapsie!" cried Bob, flushed by Miss Bradbury's praise.

Penny leaned over the table, resting her elbows on it unblushingly, and propping up her little brown dimpled face in her hands.

"I'm very, very glad," she said.

"What about, Pfennig?" asked Ralph, wondering.

"Everyfing," said Penny, in a true Thanksgiving spirit.