THE WAY THE LITTLE FOLKS KEEP THANKSGIVING.

ELSIE'S THANKSGIVING.

BY MRS. MARGARET E. SANGSTER.

Dolly, it's almost Thanksgiving. Do you know what I mean, my dear?
No? Well, I couldn't expect it: you haven't been with us a year.
And you came with my auntie from Paris, far over the wide blue sea,
And you'll keep your first Thanksgiving, my beautiful Dolly, with me.

I'll tell you about it, my darling, for grandma's explained it all,
So that I understand why Thanksgiving always comes late in the fall,
When the nuts and the apples are gathered, and the work in the fields is done,
And the fields, all reaped and silent, are asleep in the autumn sun.

It is then that we praise our Father, who sends the rain and the dew,
Whose wonderful loving-kindness is every morning new;
Unless we'd be heathen, Dolly, or worse, we must sing and pray,
And think about good things, Dolly, when we keep Thanksgiving-day.

But I like it very much better when from church we all go home,
And the married brothers and sisters, and the troops of cousins come,
And we're ever so long at the table, and dance and shout and play,
In the merry evening, Dolly, that ends Thanksgiving-day.

Now let me whisper a secret: I've had a trouble to bear;
It has made me feel quite old, dear, and perfectly crushed with care;
'Twas about my prettiest kitten, the white one with spots of black—
I loved her devotedly, Dolly: I've been awfully angry with Jack;

So mad that I couldn't forgive him; and I wouldn't kiss him good-night,
For he lost my Kitty on purpose, shut up in a bag so tight;
He carried her miles and miles, dear, and dropped her down in the dark;
I would not wonder a bit, dear, if he took her to Central Park.

And then he came home to supper, as proud as a boy could be.
I wonder, Dolly, this minute how he dared to be looking at me,
When I called my Kitty and called her, and of course she didn't come,
And Jack pored over his Latin as if he were deaf and dumb.

When I found out what he had done, dear, it was just like lead in my heart,
Though mamma is as kind as an angel, I knew she would take his part.
Suppose Kitty did chase the chickens?—they might have kept out of her way.
I've been so sorrowful, Dolly, I've dreaded Thanksgiving-day.

For I'll never pretend to be good, dear, when I feel all wrong in my mind;
And as for giving up Kitty, I'm not in the least resigned.
And I've known with deep grief, Dolly—known it a long time back—
That I couldn't keep Thanksgiving while I hated my brother Jack.

For you can not love God and praise Him when you're cherishing anger this way.
I've tried hard to conquer it, Dolly—I gave Jack two pears to-day;
I've mended his mittens for him.—Why, who is this creeping in?
Why, it's surely my own white kitten, so tired and grimed and thin!

And now we will keep Thanksgiving, Dolly and Kitty and I;
I'll go to church in the morning. I'm so glad, I'm afraid I'll cry.
Oh, Kitty!