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Updated: May 4, 2025
You are sure you don't feel chilly?" "No, marm. Mother, do you suppose our turkey weighs more than Submit's?" "How do you suppose I can tell? I ain't set eyes on their turkey lately. If you feel well, you'd better sit up to the table and stone that bowl of raisins. Put your dolly away, and get your apron." But Sarah stoned raisins with Thankful in her lap, hidden under her apron.
Submit finished paring the apples after her thumb was tied up, although she was rather awkward about it. Then she pounded spices in the mortar, and picked over cranberries. Her mother kept her busy every minute until dinnertime. When Submit's father and her two brothers, Thomas and Jonas, had come in, she began on the subject nearest her heart.
"I put the Revolutionary bullets in the turkey to make it weigh more than yours. Yours weighed the most. If mother thinks it's right, I'll give you the work-box." "I don't want it," sobbed Sarah. "I'm dreadful sorry you've got to stay up there, and can't have any dinner, Submit." Answering tears sprang to Submit's eyes.
She was a thin, delicate-looking little girl, her small blue-clad figure bent before the wind, but there was resolution in her high forehead and her sharp chin. Submit nodded violently. Sarah shook her head again. She hugged Thankful, and shook her head, with her eyes still staring defiantly into Submit's hood. Submit's black eyes in the depths of it were like two sparks.
Everybody has seen smiles that seemed made up, more than half, of unshed tears, and withered hopes, and disappointed dreams, etc., etc. Submit's smile wuz of that variety, one of the very curiusest of 'em, too. Wall, she gin, I guess, about two of 'em, and then she went and sot down.
"I put the Revolutionary bullets in his crop." There was silence. Submit's heart beat so hard that Thankful quivered. "Go upstairs to your chamber, Submit," said her mother, "and you need not come down to dinner. Jonas, take that doll and carry it over to the Adams' house." Submit crept miserably out of the room, and Jonas carried Thankful across the yard to Sarah.
He didn't say nothin', he acted strange. A look that had in it the crystallized love and longin' of twenty years of faithfulness and heart hunger and homesickness. It wuz a strange look. Submit's heart begun to flutter, and her face grew red and then white, and she sez in a little fine tremblin' voice, "Who be you?" And he sez, "I am Samuel Danker."
"Oh, Thomas! do you think their turkey weighs more than ours?" cried Submit. Thomas was her elder brother; he had a sober, judicial air like his father. "Their turkey weighs considerable more than ours," said he. Submit's face fell. "You are not showing a right spirit," said her mother, severely. "Why should you care if the Adams' turkey does weigh more? I am ashamed of you!" Submit said no more.
The two gambrel-roofed Thompson and Adams houses were built as close together as if the little village of Bridgewater were a city. Acres of land stretched behind them and at the other sides, but they stood close to the road, and close to each other. The narrow space between them was divided by a stone wall which was Submit's and Sarah's trysting-place.
He didn't say nothin', he acted strange. A look that had in it the crystallized love and longin' of twenty years of faithfulness and heart hunger and homesickness. It wuz a strange look. Submit's heart begun to flutter, and her face grew red and then white, and she sez in a little fine tremblin' voice, "Who be you?" And he sez, "I am Samuel Danker."
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