Dr. Steele rose, and escorted Susan and Letty across the room. He sat down between them, and, though he was able to eat only one plate of ice-cream while they easily devoured two apiece, he seemed to enjoy the treat quite as well as they.

When they had finished, there stood Annie in the doorway, waiting to take them home. Mrs. Spargo would stay until the Fair closed, and that would be too late for the little girls to be out of bed.

"Good-night," said Dr. Steele, shaking hands. "And remember what I told you. That you are excellent shoppers, and that you have good value for your money, very good value, indeed."

CHAPTER XII-THANKSGIVING IN FEATHERBED LANE

It was the morning of Thanksgiving Day, and Susan woke, sat up in bed, and looked about her. Beside her, on the quilt, lay the black-and-white shawl dolly, and, if you remember that she came out to play only when Susan was ailing, then you will know, without being told, that Susan had been ill.

Yes, for three whole days Susan had been in bed. But to-day she meant not only to be up and dressed, but to go downstairs as well, for to-day was Thanksgiving Day, and to stay in bed on such an occasion was something Susan didn't intend to do.

Four days ago Susan and Grandfather had come home from Banbury. They had arrived late in the evening, and Susan, tired out, had fallen asleep in her chair at the dinner-table, and had been carried up to bed without telling Grandmother a single word about her visit or even presenting her with the stocking-darner which she had carried in her hand all the way home from Letty's house.

Of the next two days all Susan could remember was a sharp pain and a big black bottle of medicine, with occasional glimpses of Grandmother and Grandfather tiptoeing about the darkened room.

But yesterday Susan had felt more like herself. She had enjoyed cuddling the shawl baby, she had eaten a plate of milk toast for her dinner, and she had given Grandmother a complete history of her visit from the moment she left Featherbed Lane until her return.

She had asked to see Flip, but Grandmother had said mysteriously that Flip, in her turn, had gone visiting, and that she wouldn't be back until dinner-time Thanksgiving Day.

"When is Thanksgiving Day?" Susan had asked.

"To-morrow," Grandmother had answered, and Susan had sprung up in bed with a cry.

"Won't I be well to-morrow?" she asked imploringly. "Won't I be well for Thanksgiving Day?"

Grandmother at this moment was shaking the big black medicine bottle. It did seem to Susan that it was always medicine time, though Grandmother said it was marked on the bottle "To be taken every two hours."

Mrs. Whiting smiled at her tone of despair.

"I think so," said she encouragingly. "That is, if you take your medicine nicely," she added, approaching the bed with a large spoon in one hand and the bottle in the other.

Susan shut her eyes and opened her mouth. Down went the medicine, and, without a whimper and with only a wry face to tell how she really felt, Susan smiled bravely up at Grandmother.

"A good child," said Grandmother approvingly. "I'm sure you will be downstairs to-morrow."

Now to-morrow had come, and Susan, slipping out of bed and into her warm rosy wrapper and slippers, trotted downstairs in search of some one.

She found Grandmother quite alone, save for a delicious smell in the air of roasting turkey. Grandmother was busy baking, but she stopped long enough to help Susan dress and to answer a few of the questions that tumbled pell-mell from Susan's lips.

"Where is Grandfather? Gone to Thanksgiving service at church. You slept late this morning, Susan. When will Phil be home? Not for two weeks.

They have all gone to his grandfather's for Thanksgiving, and they mean to visit his Great-Uncle Fred, who gave him his electric train, on their way back."

"Is any one coming here for Thanksgiving, Grandmother?" asked Susan, delicately eating a bowl of bread and milk for breakfast from one end of the table on which Mrs. Whiting was stirring up a cake.

"Miss Liza is coming," answered Mrs. Whiting, stopping her work and putting down her spoon. "I may as well tell you now, Susan, I suppose.

Miss Lunette is married."

Susan looked at Grandmother for a moment without speaking. How unkind of Miss Lunette to have a wedding while she was away!

"Didn't she save me any cake?" she asked at length. "Did Phil go to the wedding?"

"There wasn't any wedding, Susan, or any cake," answered Mrs. Whiting.

"No one was invited but Miss Liza. They stood up in the parlor and Mr.

Drew married them. Then they went off to Green Valley, where her husband lives."

"Maybe she will ask me to come to see her there," said Susan hopefully.

"Perhaps she will," said Grandmother. "It may be the making of her, Susan," she went on, half to herself. "She certainly was full of whims and crotchets, and would try the patience of any one but a saint like Miss Liza. Your Grandfather always said that all she needed was hard work, and I think she will have it now, for her husband was a widower with three children and an old mother, too. It may make a woman of her.

I hope so, I'm sure. I know things won't be so hard for Miss Liza, and I'm glad of that."

And Grandmother beat her batter with such determination that her cheeks grew pink and her little white curls bobbed up and down in time with the beating.

"Is Flip coming with Miss Liza?" asked Susan.

"Um-um," was all Grandmother answered.

So Susan put away her little bowl and went into the front hall to call upon her friend the newel post.

"You ought to be dressed up for Thanksgiving," decided Susan, stroking her friend's bulky form. "Which do you like best, pink or blue? Pink, did you say? Then s...o...b..ll shall wear a blue ribbon and you shall have a pink one on your neck to celebrate the day."

Susan spent some time selecting and arranging the ribbons to suit the taste of all concerned. She then found the table set for Thanksgiving dinner, so she posted herself in the front window where she could look all the way down the lane to the gate and report to Grandmother the moment old Nero's Roman nose was visible.

She watched and watched, and at last they came jogging along, Miss Liza well wrapped up against the cold November air that had a "feel" of snow in it, and Grandfather wearing his fur-lined gloves for the first time this season, Susan observed.

In came Miss Liza, while Grandfather drove on to the barn, and to Susan's delight Miss Liza carried a big bundle which she placed in the little girl's outstretched arms.

"It's Flip," Susan repeated joyfully. "I know it's Flip. It's my Flip."

Yes, it was Flip, but a Flip so changed, so beautified, so transformed that only the members of her own family would have known her.

In the first place, her face and hands, which had grown a dingy brown, had become several shades lighter, producing a fresh, youthful appearance heretofore sorely lacking. Her bald head had blossomed out in a beautiful crop of worsted hair, in color a rich garnet-brown.

"Miss Lunette always used that color for her worsted hens," Miss Liza explained, "and I thought it would make real pretty-looking hair for Flip."

Susan was delighted with the effect. She smiled radiantly at Miss Liza.

But when she examined her child's complete new wardrobe, she put Flippy down on the couch, and flung her arms first around Miss Liza and then about Grandmother's neck.

For Flippy wore a new set of underwear, even to a red flannel petticoat trimmed with red crocheted lace. She wore a brown cloth dress, elaborately decorated with yellow feather-st.i.tching. But, most beautiful of all, about her sloping shoulders was a dark-blue cape, lined with scarlet satin and edged with narrow black fur; upon her head was tied a dark-blue fur-trimmed cap to match, from under which her garnet worsted hair peeped coyly; and, oh, crowning touch! about her neck upon a ribbon hung a black fur m.u.f.f.

Susan's excitement and delight were such that even Thanksgiving dinner seemed of little importance compared with this unexpected trousseau of Flippy Whiting. Susan did manage to sit still in her chair at the table, but she turned every moment or two to smile happily upon Flip, who returned her glances with proud and conscious looks.

"One square inch of turkey for Miss Susan Whiting," announced Grandfather, when at last her turn came to be served, "and a thimbleful of mashed potato, one crumb of bread, and an acorn cup of milk. And that is all the dinner you get, if I have anything to say about it."

And Grandfather brandished the carving knife and looked so severe that Susan went off into a fit of laughter in which every one joined.