One day as Dan and Zeb were bringing in boards to sheathe the room on the inside, they were startled to see two Indians peering out at them from the shelter of the near-by woods. Dropping the board they were carrying, they ran like deer to the house, and Dan told his father what they had seen. The Goodman looked thoughtful as he went on with his task of sheathing, and that very evening he worked late building a secret closet between the chimney and the wall. "It will be a handy place to hide thy preserves," he said to his wife, "and a refuge should the Indians decide to give us trouble." He cut a small square window high up in the outside wall and contrived a spring, hidden in the chimney, to open the door. When this spring was pressed a hole would suddenly appear in what seemed a solid wall, revealing the well-stored shelves. This closet was the Goodwife's special pride, but to Zeb it was a continuous mystery. At one moment there was the solid wall; the next, without touch of human hands, a door would fly open, giving a tantalizing glimpse of things to eat which he could never touch, for if he came near, the door would close again as mysteriously as it had opened. Dan loved to tease him with it, and Zeb, fearing magic, would take to his heels whenever this marvel occurred.

One day the Goodman said to his wife: "Thanksgiving draws near, and surely we have much cause for thankfulness this year, for the Lord hath exceedingly blessed us. There are yet some things to be done before the day comes, and I wish to meet it with my task finished. I hear there is a ship in the harbor loaded with English merchandise, and to-morrow I go to Boston, and if thou art so minded, thou canst go with me."

This put the Goodwife in quite a flutter of excitement, for she had not been away from home except to go to church for many months. She got out her best gown that very evening, to be sure it was in proper order, and while she got supper gave Nancy and Dan an endless string of directions about their tasks in her absence.

Early the next morning she mounted the pillion behind her husband, and the three children watched their departure, Dan clutching Nimrod, who was determined to go with them, and the Goodwife calling back last instructions to the little group until Penny was well on the road to Charlestown.

The house seemed strangely lonely without the mother in it, but there was no time for the children to mope, for there was all the work to do in their parents' absence. Dan took command at once. "You 'll both have to mind me now," he said to Nancy and Zeb. "I 'm the man of the house."

"If thou 'rt the man of it, I 'm the woman, and thou and Zeb will both have to do as I say," retorted Nancy, "or else mayhap I 'll get thee no dinner! Mother said I could make succotash, and thou lov'st that better than anything. Mother said above all things not to let the fire go out, for it would be hard to bring a fire-brand all the way from the village. So do thou bring in a pile of wood and set Zeb to chopping more."



Dan counted his chances. "Very well," he said at last, with condescension, "thou art a willful baggage but I 'll give thee thy way! Only make the big kettle full."

All that day Nancy bustled importantly about the house, with her sleeves rolled up and her skirts looped back under her apron in imitation of her mother. She was better than her word and made johnny-cake besides the succotash for dinner, and after they had eaten it said to Dan, "If thou wilt go out to the field and bring in a pumpkin, I 'll make thee some pies for supper."

Dan dearly loved pumpkin pie, and in his zeal to carry out the plan brought in two great yellow globes from the corn-field instead of the one Nancy had asked for. "Mercy upon us," said Nancy when he appeared, beaming, with one under each arm, "those would make pies enough for all Cambridge. Thine eyes hold more than thy stomach."

"There 's no such thing as too many pies," said Daniel stoutly, "and if there 's any pumpkin left over, I 'll feed it to the pig."

"I 'll tell thee what we will do," said Nancy. "We will make a great surprise for Mother and Father. When they come home they will be tired and hungry and ready for a grand supper. Do thou and Zeb run down to the bay and bring back a mess of clams. We 'll have the table all spread and a bright fire burning to welcome them!"

Dan agreed to this plan and went out at once to call Zeb. He found him by the straw-stack with an egg in each hand. "Take them in to Nancy," commanded Dan, pointing sternly toward the house. Zeb had meant to dispose of them otherwise, for he had a bottomless appetite for eggs, but he trotted obediently to the house at Dan's order, and then the two boys started together for the bay, with Nimrod barking joyfully and running about them in circles all the way.



The fall days were short, and it was dusk before the evening chores were done, and Dan came in to the bright kitchen with Zeb and Nimrod both at his heels, and announced that he had a hole in his stomach as big as a bushel basket. For answer Nancy pointed to four golden-brown pies cooling on a shelf, and Dan smacked his lips in anticipation. Zeb came alongside and, copying Dan, smacked his lips too.

"Go away, both of you," said Nancy. "You can only look at them now, for I have everything ready for Father and Mother, and we must n't eat until they come."

Dan looked about the room to see what Nancy's surprise might be. It was a cheerful picture that met his eye. First of all there was Nancy herself with her neat cap and white apron, putting the finishing touches to the little feast she had prepared. She had spread the table with the best linen and decorated it with a bunch of red berries. She had even brought out the silver tankard from its hiding-place under the eaves of the loft and placed it beside her father's trencher. The clams were simmering on the fire, sending out an appetizing smell, and the brown loaf was cut. The hickory logs snapped and sputtered, and the flames danced gayly in the fireplace, setting other little flames dancing in the shining pewter dishes arranged on a dresser across the room. Nimrod was lying before the fire with his head on his paws, asleep, and Zeb, squatted down beside him, was rolling his eyes hungrily in the direction of the pies.

"I hope they 'll come soon," said Daniel, lifting the cover of the kettle and sniffing. "If they do not 't is likely they 'll find me as dead as a salt herring when they get here."

Nancy laughed and, breaking a slice of brown-bread in two, gave a piece to each boy. "Take that to stay your stomachs," she said, "and, for the rest, have patience."

For a long time they waited, and still there was no sound of hoofs upon the road. Dusk deepened into darkness, and the harvest moon came out from behind a cloud and shed a silvery light over the landscape. Nancy went to the door and gazed toward the road.

"Dost think, brother, the Indians have waylaid them?" she asked Dan at last.

"Nay," answered Dan. "They are likely delayed at the ferry. Should the ferry-man be at his supper wild horses could not drag him from it, I 'll be bound. They 'll come presently, never fear, but it will doubtless grieve them much to see me lying stiff and cold on the hearth! Nancy, thou takest a fearful chance in denying thy brother food."



But Nancy only laughed at his woebegone face. "Thou art indeed a valiant trencher-man," she said. Then, suddenly inspired, she brought him the extra pumpkin, which she had not used for the pies, set it before him upon the hearth-stone, and gave him a knife. "Carve thyself a jack-o'-lantern," she said. "'T will take up thy mind, and make thee forget thy stomach." Dan took the knife, cut a cap from the top of the pumpkin, and scooped out the seeds. Then he cut holes for the eyes and nose, and a fearful gash, bordered with pointed teeth, for the mouth, and Nancy brought him the stub of a bayberry candle to put inside. Zeb watched the process with eyes growing wider and wider as the thing became more and more like some frightful creature of his pagan imagination. They were just about to light the candle when Nimrod gave a sharp bark; there was a creaking noise outside, and Nancy, springing joyfully to her feet, shouted, "They 've come!—they 've come!" She was halfway to the door, when suddenly she stopped, stiff with fright.

There, looking in through the open shutter, was the face of an Indian! Dan and Zeb saw it at the same moment, and Nimrod, barking madly, rushed forward and leaped at the window. Giving one of his wildcat shrieks, Zeb instantly went up the ladder to the loft with the agility of a monkey. The head had bobbed out of sight so quickly that for an instant Nancy hardly believed her own eyes, but in that instant Dan had been quick to act. He pressed the catch concealed in the fireplace, and, springing to his feet, seized Nancy and dragged her back into the secret closet. They nearly fell over the pumpkin, which lay directly in their path, and it rolled before them into the closet.

Once inside, they instantly closed the door, and, with wildly beating hearts, sank down in the darkness. About a foot above the floor there was a small knot-hole in the door, which the Goodman had purposely left for a peep-hole, and to this Dan now glued his eyes. In spite of Nimrod's frantic barking the house door was quietly opened, and when the dog flew at the intruder, he was stunned by a blow from the butt end of a musket, and his senseless body sent flying out of the door by a kick from a moccasined foot.

Then two Indians crept stealthily into the room. They were surprised to find it empty. Where could the children have gone? They prowled cautiously about, looking under the table and behind everything that might afford a hiding-place, and, finding no trace of them, turned their attention in another direction. Dan was already near to bursting with rage and grief over Nimrod, and now he had the misery of seeing the larger of the two Indians take his father's musket from the deer-horn on the chimney-piece, while the other, who already had a gun, with grunts of satisfaction took the silver tankard from the table and hid it under his deer-skin jacket. At first they did not seem to notice the ladder to the loft. Soon, however, they paused beside it, and after they had exchanged a few grunts the larger Indian began to mount. It was plain they meant to make a thorough search for the children who had so miraculously disappeared.

Dan remembered what his father had said about the Pequots; Nancy, with sick fear in her heart for Zeb, was shivering in a heap on the floor, her hands over her eyes, though that was quite unnecessary, since the closet was pitch dark. Dan found her ear and whispered into it a brief report of what he had seen. They could now hear the stealthy tread of moccasined feet above them on the floor of the loft.

"While they 're upstairs," whispered Dan, "I 'm going to slip out and get Father's pistol. It 's hanging behind a string of onions, and they have n't found it."

"Oh, no!" gasped Nancy. She clung to him, and in trying to get up he struck the pumpkin, which rolled away toward the outside wall of the closet. Just then there was a fearful outburst of noise overhead. There was the sound of something being dragged from under a bed across the floor, something which clawed and shrieked and fought like a wildcat. There were grunts and the thump of moccasined feet dancing about in a lively struggle.

"Now is my chance," said Dan to himself, and, opening the door cautiously, he made a dash for the pistol and snatched it from its hiding-place. As he was leaping back to the closet, he saw the bayberry candle lying on the hearth, and in that instant a wonderful idea flashed into his mind. He picked up the candle, lit it from the flames, and scurried back to his hiding-place just as the legs of an Indian appeared at the top of the ladder. He shut the door swiftly behind him, and, giving the candle to Nancy, told her to set it inside the pumpkin. Crawling to the other end of the closet, Nancy did as she was bid, while Dan, with his eye at the peep-hole, watched the two Indians drag poor Zeb between them down the ladder and out the door.

Eager to see where they went, Dan climbed up to the little window of the closet and peered out into the night. By the moonlight he could see the two men dragging Zeb in the direction of the straw-stack. They were having a hard time of it, for Zeb struggled fiercely, and they had their guns and the tankard to take care of as well, and in addition, to Dan's horror, one of them was waving a burning brand which he had snatched from the fire in passing! Dan trembled so with excitement that he nearly fell from his perch, but kept his wits about him. "Give me the pumpkin," he said to Nancy, and when she reached it up to him, he set the lurid, grinning face in the window. "Now the pistol," he said, and, sticking the muzzle through the opening beside the jack-o'-lantern, he fired it into the air.

The shot was answered by a chorus of yells from the three figures by the straw-stack. Scared out of their wits by the unexpected shot and by the frightful apparition which suddenly glared at them out of the darkness, the Indians took to their heels and ran as only Indians can run, dragging poor Zeb with them.

"They 're gone," shouted Dan, dropping to the floor, "but they 've set the straw-stack afire!"



By the dim light of the jack-o'-lantern grinning in the window, he found the catch of the door, and the two children burst out of the closet. Seizing a bucket of water which stood by the hand-basin in the corner, Dan dashed out of doors, followed by Nancy, whose fear of Indians was now overmastered by fear of fire. If their beautiful new house should be burned! She ran to the well-sweep, and while Dan worked like a demon, stamping on burning straws with his feet, and pouring water on the spreading flames, she swiftly plunged first one bucket, then another, into the well and filled Dan's pail as fast as it was emptied. In spite of these heroic efforts the fire spread. All they could do was to keep the ground wet about the stack and watch the flying sparks lest they set fire to the house. Over the lurid scene the jack-o'-lantern grinned down at them until the candle sputtered and went out.



The straw-stack was blazing fiercely, lighting the sky with a red glare, when in the distance they heard the beat of a drum. Gran'ther Wattles had seen the flames and was rousing the village. Then there were hoof-beats on the road, and into the fire-light dashed Penny with the terrified Goodman and his wife on her back. Once they knew their children were safe, they did not stop for questions, but at once set to work to help them check the fire, which was now spreading among the dry leaves. The Goodwife ran for her broom, which she dipped in water and then beat upon the little flames as they appeared here and there in the grass. The Goodman mounted to the roof at once, and, with Dan to fetch water and Nancy to bring up buckets from the well, they managed to keep it too wet for the flying sparks to set it afire. At last the neighbors, roused by Gran'ther Wattles's frantic alarm, came hurrying across the pastures; but the distance was so great that the flames had died down and the danger was nearly over before they arrived.



There was now time for explanations, and, surrounded by an eager and grim-visaged circle, Nancy and Dan told their story. "There 's a brave lad for you!" cried Stephen Day, when the tale was finished, patting Dan on the shoulder. "Aye, and a brave lass, too," added another. Their father and mother said no words of praise, but there was a glow of pride in their faces as they looked at their children and silently thanked God for their safety.

"We can do nothing to-night," said Goodman Pepperell at last, "but, neighbors, if you are with me, to-morrow we will go into the woods and see if we can find any trace of the black boy. Doubtless by stealing him and burning the house they thought to revenge themselves for the Indian whom I wounded on my way home from Plymouth. They must have been watching the house, and, seeing us depart this morning, knew well that they had naught but children to deal with."

"Aye, but such children!" said Stephen Day, who had been greatly impressed by the story of the jack-o'-lantern. "We 'll follow them, indeed, and if we find them"—his jaw shut with a snap and he said no more.



While the men laid their plans for the morrow, the children and their mother stole round to the front of the house, and Dan began a search for Nimrod. He had been neither seen nor heard since the Indian had given him that fearful blow and thrown him out. They found him lying a few feet from the house still half stunned, and Dan lifted him tenderly in his arms, brought him into the house, and laid him down before the fire, where he had slept so peacefully only one short hour before. Nimrod licked his hand, and rapped his tail feebly on the hearthstone. Nancy wept over him, while Dan bathed his wounded head, and tried to find out if any bones were broken.

"Poor Nimrod," said the Goodwife, as she set a bowl of milk before the wounded dog, "thou art a brave soldier. Drink this and soon thou wilt be wagging thy tail as briskly as ever."

She stirred the fire and lit the candles, and when the Goodman came in a few moments later, the little family looked about their new home to see what damage had been done. Nancy's little feast was a sad wreck. There were the pies, to be sure, but the table-cloth was awry and the flowers were tipped over and strewn about the floor, which was covered with the tracks of muddy feet. In the scuffle with Zeb the spinning-wheel had been overturned and the settle was lying on its back on the floor. The room looked as if a hurricane had passed through it. The Goodman mourned the loss of his gun, and the Goodwife grieved for her tankard, but all smaller losses were forgotten in their distress about Zeb. Not only had he cost the Goodman a large sum of money, but in the weeks he had been with them he had found his own place in the household, where he would be sadly missed. Worst of all was their anxiety about his fate at the hands of the Indians.

"Come," said the Goodwife at last, when they had heard every event of the day twice over, "we must eat, or we shall have scant courage for the duties of the morrow. We have none of us tasted food since noon."

The clams were still simmering gently in the pot, and she gave them each a porringer of broth, which they ate sitting in a circle about the hearth-stone. Then she put the room in order, and though her heart was heavy, tried to talk of the events of their day in Boston as if nothing had happened.



"We saw Captain Sanders in town," she said to the children. "He hath brought the Lucy Ann to port with a load of cod for the market and with fish and game for Thanksgiving. I have his promise that he will dine with us if God wills. He hath not yet seen our new house. Alas! I shall have no tankard to set before him; yet, ungrateful that I am, we are still rich in blessings! 'T is well we have a day set aside to remind us of them."

It was very late when at last the excitement had died down enough to think of sleep. The Goodman went out to make sure there was no fire left lurking in the grass, and to take a look at the horse and cow. As he passed the smoking ashes of the straw-stack, his foot struck something which rang like metal, and in the moonlight something glistened in the path before him. Stooping, he felt for it, and was overjoyed to grasp the tankard, which the Indian had lost in the struggle with Zeb. He carried it in to his wife at once. She seized it with a cry of joy.

"'T is a good omen," she said. "Mayhap thou 'lt find thy musket too." Her husband shook his head gravely. "I 'll have need of one to-morrow," he said. "'T is well I still have my fowling-piece and my pistol." Then he called the family together and, kneeling beside the settle, committed them to God's keeping for the night.



VI

HARVEST HOME

Before daylight the next morning the Goodwife stood in the door of the new house and watched her husband set forth with the men of Cambridge to search the forest for Zeb, and to punish his captors if they should catch them. She had given him a good breakfast and filled his pockets with bread for the journey, and when the men came from the village, she cut Nancy's pies and gave them each a generous piece to eat before starting. There were eight men in the party, all armed. The Goodwife's lip trembled a little and then moved in prayer as she saw them disappear into the dark forest. "God grant that they may all return in safety," she murmured, and then, giving herself a little shake, she turned back into the house and resolutely set herself at the duties of the day.

Nimrod whined and tried to follow his master as the men marched away with their guns on their shoulders, but, finding himself too weak, lay down again on the hearth and went to sleep. The Goodwife cleaned the kitchen, removing the last traces of the intruders, and then began a patient march back and forth, back and forth, beside the whirling spinning-wheel. Now that the harvest was over and their food provided for the winter, her busy hands must spin the yarn and weave the cloth to keep them warm. Though she had meant to let the children sleep after the excitement of the previous day, it was still early when they were awakened by the whir of the wheel and came scuttling down from the loft as bright-eyed as if the adventures of the night before had been no more than a bad dream. They helped themselves to hasty pudding and milk and took a dishful to Nimrod, who was now awake and looking much more lively, and then their mother set them their tasks for the day.

"Nancy," said she, "I gave all thy pies to the men who have gone with father to hunt for Zeb. To-morrow will be Thanksgiving Day and we shall need more. The mince pies are already prepared and put away on the shelves, and thou canst make apple and pumpkin both to set away beside them in the secret closet."

"That makes me think," said Daniel, and, touching the secret spring, he opened the door and rescued the jack-o'-lantern from the window-sill.

It was only a wilted and blackened old pumpkin that he brought to his mother, but she smiled at it and patted the hideous head. "He hath been a good friend to us, Dan," she said, "e'en as say the Scriptures, 'God hath chosen the weak things of the earth to confound the mighty.' David went out against Goliath with a sling and a stone, and thou hast overcome savages with naught but a foolish pumpkin."



Nancy took the grinning head and set it on the chimney-piece. "Dear old Jacky," she said, "thou shalt come to our Thanksgiving feast. 'T is no more than thy due since thou hast saved us from the savages."

"Nay, daughter," said her mother. "That savoreth of idolatry. Give thy praise unto God, who useth even things which are not to bring to naught the things that are. 'T is but a pumpkin after all, and will make an excellent feast for the pig on the morrow. Daniel, go to the field and bring thy sister a fresh one for the pies and then hasten to thine own tasks. They wait for thee. While thy father is away searching for Zeb, thou must do his work as well as thine own."

"Dost think, Mother, that he will surely bring Zeb back in time for the feast?" asked Nancy anxiously.

"Let us pray, nothing doubting," answered the mother. "If it be God's will, they will return."

There was a tremor in her voice even as she spoke her brave words, for she knew well the perils of their search. All day long they worked, praying as they prepared the feast that they might share it a united family. Nancy made the pies, and Dan dressed a fowl, while their mother got ready a pot of beans, made brown-bread to bake in the oven with the pies, and steamed an Indian pudding. All day they watched the forest for sign of the returning men. All day they listened for the sound of guns, but neither sight nor sound rewarded their vigilance.



Dusk came on. The Goodwife set a candle in the window, and when her other tasks were finished, went back to her spinning. Not a moment was she idle, nor did she appear to her children to be anxious, but as she walked back and forth beside her wheel Nancy heard her murmuring, "Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling." Over and over she said it to herself, never slacking her work meanwhile.

The supper which Nancy prepared waited—one hour—two—after Dan had fed the cattle and brought in the milk, and still there was no sign of the searching party.

Suddenly Nimrod, from his place on the hearth, gave a short sharp bark, and, leaping to the window, stood with his paws on the sill, peering out into the darkness and whining. Dan was beside him in an instant. "I see them," he cried joyfully, "a whole parcel of them. They are just coming out from behind the cow-shed."

Nancy and her mother reached the window almost at the same moment, and as the shadowy figures emerged from behind the cow-shed the mother counted them breathlessly, "One—two—three—four—five—"

"There 's Father!" shrieked Nancy.

"He 's carrying something. Oh, dost think it is Zeb?"

"Six—seven—eight—nine! ten! There are ten men, when but eight set forth. Praise God, they have all come back!" cried the mother. Turning swiftly to the fireplace, she snatched from it a brand of burning pitch pine and, holding it high above her head for a beacon, ran out to meet them, with Dan, Nancy, and Nimrod all at her heels. The torch-light shone on stern and weary faces as the men drew near.

"All 's well, wife," came the voice of the Goodman.

"Hast found the lad?" she called back to him.

"Nay—not yet," he answered, "but we think we have his captors. Hold thy torch nearer and have no fear. The savages cannot hurt thee. Nancy, Daniel, have you ever seen these faces before?"

As he spoke he thrust forward two Indians with their hands securely tied behind them.

"Oh," shuddered Nancy, "I saw them at the window," and Dan added, "Aye, 't was this one that kicked Nimrod." Nimrod confirmed his statement by growling fiercely and snapping at the heels of the taller of the two Indians.

"Call off thy dog," said the Goodman sternly, and though Dan felt it would be no more than fair to allow Nimrod one good bite, considering all he had suffered, he obediently collared Nimrod and shut him inside the kitchen. The faces of the Indians were like stone masks as they stood helpless before their captors with the light of the flaming torch shining upon them.

"Go in with thy family, Neighbor Pepperell," said Stephen Day. "There are enough of us and to spare to guard the savages. Mayhap a night in the stocks will cool their hot blood and help them to remember what they have done with the slave lad. If not, the judge will mete out to them the punishment they deserve."

"Right willingly will I leave them in your hands," answered the Goodman, "for truly I am spent."

Whether the Indians understood their words, or not, they knew well the meaning of pointed guns, for they marched off toward the village without even a grunt of protest when Stephen Day gave the word of command.

The Goodman was so weary that his wife and children forbore asking questions until he was a little rested and refreshed. He sank down upon the settle with Nimrod beside him, and Dan removed his muddy boots, and brought water for him to wash in, while Nancy and her mother hastened to put the long-delayed supper on the table.

"This puts new life into me," declared the father when he had eaten a few spoonfuls of hotchpot, "and now I 'll tell somewhat of the day's work. There was no general uprising among the Indians. At least we saw no evidence of it. 'T is more likely as I feared—they are the same Indians that followed us from Plymouth, meaning to revenge themselves upon me for wounding one of them when they set upon us in the forest."

"But how is it the lad was not with them?" asked his wife.

"That is a question which as yet hath no answer," replied her husband. "It may be they have killed him and hidden the body."

At this fearful thought Nancy shuddered and covered her face with her hands.

"It may be," went on the Goodman, "that they passed him on to some one else to avoid suspicion. At any rate he was not with them, and we could find no trace. Though the savages undoubtedly know some English, they refuse to say a word, and so his fate remains a mystery."

"What further shall you do to find him?" asked the Goodwife.

"See if we cannot force the Indians to confess, for the first thing," answered her husband.

His wife sighed. "I fear no hope lieth in that direction," she said. "Their faces were like the granite of the hills."

"What of the gun, Father?" asked Daniel. "Didst thou find it?"

"Nay," answered his father. "They had it not, and that causes me to think they have passed it as well as the boy on to others of their tribe. There is naught to be done now but wait until after Thanksgiving Day."

"'T will be but a sad holiday," said the Goodwife. "Though he is but a blackamoor, the lad hath found a place in my heart, and I grieve that evil hath befallen him."

"When I saw thee come out from behind the cow-shed I thought thou hadst a burden," said Daniel. "I thought it was Zeb—wounded, or mayhap dead."

"Aye," answered the Goodman. "I did carry a burden and had like to forgot it. I dropped it by the door of the cow-shed. Go thou and bring it in."

Dan ran out at once and returned a moment later carrying a huge wild turkey by the legs. His mother rose and felt its breastbone with her fingers.

"'T is fine and fat, and young withal," she answered. "'T will make a brave addition to our feast on the morrow, for, truth to tell, our preparations have been but half-hearted thus far. Our minds were taken up with thy danger and fear for the lad."

"Dwell rather on our deliverance," said her husband. "The Lord hath not brought us into this wilderness to perish. Let us not murmur, as did the Children of Israel. The Lord still guides us."

"Aye, and by a pillar of fire, too," said Nancy, remembering the straw-stack.

"And instead of manna he hath sent this turkey," added Dan.

Supper was now over, and after it was cleared away, and they had had prayers, the mother sent the rest of the family to bed, while she busied herself with final preparations for the next day. She plucked and stuffed the great turkey, first cutting off the long wing-feathers for hearth-brooms, and set it away on the shelf in the secret closet along with Nancy's array of pies. It was late when at last she lit her candle, covered the ashes, and climbed wearily to bed.

The wind changed in the night and when they looked out next morning the air was full of great white snow-flakes, and the blackened ruins of the straw-stack were neatly covered with a mantle of white.

The family was up betimes, and as they ate their good breakfast of sausages, johnny-cake, and maple syrup, they sent many a thought toward poor Zeb, wandering in the forest or perhaps lying dead in its depths.

It was a solemn little party that later left the cabin in the care of Nimrod and started across the glistening fields to attend the Thanksgiving service in the meeting-house. They were made more solemn still by the sight of the two Indians sitting with hands and feet firmly fixed in the stocks, apparently as indifferent to the falling snow as though they were images of stone. The first snowfall, usually such a joy to Nancy and Daniel, now only seemed to make them more miserable, and they were glad to see the sun when they came out of the meeting-house after the sermon and turned their steps toward home. At least Zeb would not perish of cold if it continued to shine. They were just beginning to climb the home hill, when they were surprised to see Nimrod come bounding to meet them, barking a welcome.

"How in the world did that dog get out?" said the Goodwife wonderingly. "I shut him in the kitchen the last thing before we left the house."

Leaving their father and mother to follow at a slower pace, Nancy and Dan tore up the hill and threw open the kitchen door. There, comfortably dozing on the settle by the fire, sat the Captain! At his feet lay Zeb—also sound asleep with the wreckage of several blackened eggs strewn round him on the hearth-stone! The Captain woke with a start as the children burst into the room and for an instant stood staring in amazement and delight at the scene before them. Zeb, utterly worn out, slept on, and the Captain, as usual, was the first to find his tongue.

"Well, well," he shouted, rubbing his nose to a bright red to wake himself up, "here ye be! And mighty lucky, too, for I 'm hungry enough to eat a bear alive. If I could have found out where ye hide your supplies, I might have busted 'em open to save myself and this poor lad from starvation. He appeared nigh as hungry as I be, but he knew better how to help himself. He found these eggs cooked out there in the ashes of the straw-stack, and all but et 'em shells and all. Never even offered me a bite! Don't ye ever feed him?"

Before the children could get in a word edgewise their father and mother, followed by Nimrod, came in, and, what with the dog barking, the children screaming explanations to the Captain, and their own astonished exclamations, there was such a babel of noise that at last Zeb woke up, too, and stared about him like one dazed. Nimrod jumped on him and licked his face, and Zeb put his arms around the dog as if glad to find so cordial a welcome. The Captain stared from one face to another, quite unable to make head or tail of the situation.



"Well, by jolly!" he shouted at last, "what ails ye all? Ye act like a parcel of lunatics!"

The Goodman commanded silence, and briefly told the whole story to the Captain.

"Where did you find the lad?" he asked, when he had finished.

"He was here when I came," said the Captain. "Settin' on the hearth-stone eatin' them eggs as if he had n't seen food fer a se'nnight and never expected to see any again. The dog busted out of the house when I came in, and as I could n't get any word out of the lad, I just set down by the fire and took forty winks. It was too late for meeting, and besides I reckoned I could sleep better here." He finished with his jolly laugh.

Zeb, meanwhile, sat hugging the dog and rolling his eyes from one face to another as if in utter bewilderment. Perhaps he wondered if the Captain meant to capture him, too, for life must have seemed to the poor black boy just a series of efforts to escape being carried off to some place where he did not wish to go, by people whom he had never seen before. The Goodman at last sat down before Zeb on the settle and tried to get from him some account of what had happened in the forest. But Zeb was totally unable to tell his story. His few words of English were inadequate to the recital of the terrors of the past twenty-four hours.

"Let the lad be," said the Goodwife at last. "He 's safe, praise God, and we shall just have to wait to find out how he managed to escape from the savages and make his way back here." She went to the secret closet and brought out a huge piece of pumpkin pie. Zeb's eyes gleamed as he seized it. "He must n't eat too much at once," said she. "As nearly as I can make out by the shells, he 's had six eggs already. That will do for a time. Dan, build a fire in the fireplace in the old kitchen. There 's warm water in the kettle, and do thou see that Zeb takes a bath. He is crusted with mud. He must have wallowed in it. Nancy and I will get dinner the while."

Dan beckoned to Zeb, and the two boys disappeared. Zeb had never bathed before except in the ocean, and the new process did not please him. "I believe he wished he 'd stayed with the Indians," said Dan when he appeared an hour later followed by a well-polished but somewhat embittered Zeb. "I 've just about taken his skin off and I 'm all worn out. Oh, Mother, is n't dinner almost ready?"

"Almost," said his mother, as she opened the oven door to take a peep at the turkey, which had been cooking since early morning. "It only needs browning before the fire while I make the gravy."

The table was already spread, and Nancy was at that very moment giving an extra polish to the tankard before placing it beside the Captain's trencher. The spiced drink to fill it was already mulling beside the fire with a huge kettle of vegetables steaming beside it. The closet door was open, giving a tantalizing glimpse of glories to come.

"So there 's where ye keep 'em," observed the Captain, regarding the pies with open admiration. "'T is a sight to make a man thankful for the room in his hold. By jolly, it 'll take careful loading to stow this dinner away proper!"

He called Nancy to his side and opened the bulging leather pocket which hung from his belt. "Feel in there," he said. "I brought along something to fill in the chinks."

Nancy thrust in her hand, and brought it out filled with raisins. "I got 'em off a ship just in from the Indies," explained the Captain. Raisins were a great luxury in the wilderness, and the delighted Nancy hastened to find a dish and to place them beside the pies.

"All ready," said the mother at last. "Come to dinner."

There was no need of a second invitation, and the response to the summons looked like a stampede. The Goodman and his wife took their places at the head of the table with the Captain on one side and the children on the other, and because it was Thanksgiving, and because he had had such a hard day and night, and most of all because he was so clean, Zeb was allowed a place at the foot of the board.

The Goodman asked a blessing and then heaped the trenchers high with what he called the bounty of the Lord. There was only one cloud on Dan's sunshine during the meal. On account of Zeb, who when in doubt still faithfully imitated him, he was obliged to be an example all through the dinner. Even with such a model to copy, Zeb had great trouble with his spoon and showed a regrettable tendency to feed himself with both hands at once.

The turkey was a wonder of tenderness, the vegetables done to a turn, the Indian pudding much better than its name, and as for the pies, the Captain declared they were "fit to be et by the angels and most too good for a sinner like him."

Beside each plate the Goodwife had placed a few kernels of corn, and at the end of the feast, when the Goodman rose to return thanks, he took them in his hand.

"In the midst of plenty," he said to his children, "let us not forget the struggles of the past and what we owe to the pioneers who first adventured into this wilderness and made a path for those of us who have followed them. Though they nearly perished of hunger and cold in the beginning, they failed not in faith. When they had but a few kernels of corn to eat, they still gave thanks, choosing like Daniel to live on pulse with a good conscience rather than to eat from a king's table. As the Lord prospered Daniel, so hath he prospered us."

Then they all stood with folded hands and bent heads, while he gave thanks for the abundant harvest and prayed that they might be guided to use every blessing to the honor and glory of God. And the Captain said, "Amen."



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SUGGESTIONS TO TEACHERS

THE PURITAN TWINS will admirably supplement the study of American history and geography in grades 6 and 7. The nation-wide revival of interest in all that concerns the Pilgrim Fathers, begun at the time of the Tercentenary in 1920, will continue for many years.

Whether children are able to trace their ancestry back to the little band that crossed the Atlantic in the Mayflower, or whether they trace it to voyagers of a less remote period—and the other volumes in the Twins Series are closely linked with many of these later ones—their interest in the days of the forefathers of our country should be the same; for these early settlers gave to America the spirit of liberty, a respect for law and organized government, and a standard of clean living and right thinking which it is our duty to preserve and to pass on to coming generations.

The best suggestions to teachers consist of brief and helpful references to authoritative books that will give an accurate picture of the early days of our country in the making and of the Pilgrim country as it is to-day. Properly presented to pupils, the material gleaned from these books will help them to form a more definite idea of what every American should do to preserve intact the national peace and prosperity which is their heritage.

In the following list, titles marked with an asterisk contain material which can be understandingly read by the pupils themselves. It will be better to have the teacher read to the class from the others.

READINGS IN AMERICAN HISTORY AND GOVERNMENT

*Tappan's Elementary History of Our Country, Chapters 4 to 9 inclusive. These deal with the whole period of colonization.

Thwaites and Kendall's History of the United States for Schools. Chapters 3 to 9 inclusive. This is a more advanced book which amplifies the story. There are valuable suggestions for reading in standard literature.

Guitteau's Preparing for Citizenship. Chapter 19 is of great inspirational value.

*Webster's Americanization and Citizenship. The following paragraphs set forth American ideals in their origin and development: 44, 52, 53, 54, 55, 63, 73, 117-121.

*Tappan's Our European Ancestors. Chapters 16-20 inclusive. These describe the European rivalries which influenced the colonization of America.

*Tappan's Little Book of Our Flag. Particularly chapters 1 and 2 respectively, "The Flags that Brought the Colonists," and "The Pine Tree Flag and Others."

Griffis's Young People's History of the Pilgrims. The conditions which led to the sailing of the Pilgrims are clearly sketched and emphasis is laid on the viewpoint of the Pilgrim boys and girls.

*Griffis's The Pilgrims in Their Three Homes: England, Holland, and America. The life of the Pilgrims in church and school, at work and play, including their flight and refuge, is fully described.

*Tappan's American Hero Stories. Five stories center around the colonists, of whom, of course, Miles Standish is one.

*Tappan's Letters from Colonial Children. These letters give an idea of life in representative American colonies seen through a child's eyes. They present a vivid and historically accurate picture of the times.

*Hawthorne's Grandfather's Chair. These stories have never grown old or tiresome to children—and probably never will. No stories ever gave a better introduction to our history from the settlement of New England to the War for Independence.

*Deming and Bemis's Stories of Patriotism. A series of stirring tales of patriotic deeds by Americans from the time of the Colonists to the present.

*Bemis's The Patriotic Reader. The selections cover the history of our country from the discovery of America to our entrance into the Great War. They give one a familiarity with literature—new and old—that presents the highest ideals of freedom and justice.

*Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. A well annotated edition is published in the Riverside Literature Series.

Jane G. Austin's The Old Colony Stories. These novels, dealing with the early settlers of Plymouth, have taken their place among the American classics, and their combination of romantic interest, real literary quality, and historical accuracy has won for them wide popularity. The titles alone bring before the mind a vision of the most famous colonists: Betty Alden, A Nameless Nobleman, Standish of Standish, Dr. LeBaron and his Daughters, David Alden's Daughter and Other Stories.

Fiske's The Beginnings of New England. This is one of the most readable of the authoritative histories.

READINGS IN GEOGRAPHY

Edwards's The Old Coast Road. The South Shore road from Boston to Plymouth is one of the most historic roads in the country. Starting from Boston, Miss Edwards guides her readers through Dorchester Heights, Milton and the Blue Hills, Quincy with its Shipbuilding, Weymouth, Hingham, Cohasset, the Scituate Shore, Marshfield, the Home of Daniel Webster, Duxbury and Kingston. She concludes with an informing chapter on Plymouth.

Edwards's Cape Cod, New and Old. Delightful essays on the Cape—brief, entertaining, and containing precisely those facts which every reader wants to know.

DRAMATIZATIONS

*Longfellow's Courtship of Miles Standish. Dramatized. This is equipped with suggestions for stage settings, properties and costumes.

*Austin's Standish of Standish. Dramatized. Historically true portrayals of character and atmosphere. There are suggestions for costumes and other details of acting.

Baker's The Pilgrim Spirit. This book contains the words spoken by the characters in the various episodes comprising the Pageant presented at Plymouth, Massachusetts, during the summer of 1921. It re-creates in masterly fashion the atmosphere of old colony times.

THE END