Yes, round the garden, up and down the avenue, and even into the house itself the turkey followed Bessie.

Then why was she so sad?

Alas! she remembered her uncle's words when he gave her the turkey, "On Thanksgiving Day we will have him on the table."

Thanksgiving Day would be here in a week.

Now, if Bessie had been like some little girls, she would have told her trouble to her uncle. But she never mentioned it to any one, although she cried herself to sleep several nights before Thanksgiving Day.

At last the day came, and Bessie, instead of going out to the fowlyard as usual, kept in the house all the morning. She was afraid that, if she went, she would not find her beloved friend. Dinner-time came, and, with a heavy heart, she seated herself at the table. Her uncle and aunt noticed her sober face, and thought that she missed her father and mother.

"Come, come," said her uncle, "we must cheer up; no sad looks on Thanksgiving Day. Maria, BRING IN THE TURKEY."

Poor Bessie! she could not look up as the door opened, and something was brought in on a big platter. But, as the platter was placed on the table, she saw that it did indeed hold her turkey, but he was alive and well.

She looked so astonished that suddenly her uncle understood all her past troubles.

"Why, Bessie," he said, "did you think I would kill your pet? No, indeed, but I told you he should be on the table Thanksgiving Day, so here he is."

Then Bessie's uncle struck the turkey gently with his carving-knife, the way the queen strikes a man with a sword when she makes him a knight.

"Behold!" said Bessie's uncle, "I dub you 'Sir Gobble;' you shall never be killed, but die a natural death, and never be parted from Bessie."

WHAT IS IT?

What is that ugly thing I see Which follows, follows, follows me, Which ever way I turn or go?

What is that thing? I want to know.

If I but turn to left or right It does the same with all its might; It looks so ugly and so black When o'er my shoulder I look back.

Sometimes it runs ahead of me, Sometimes quite short it seems to be, And then again it's very tall; I don't know what it is at all.

I'll climb into my little bed, And on my pillow lay my bead, For when I'm there I never see That thing in front or back of me.

JOHN'S BRIGHT IDEA.

Mrs. Meredith was a most kind and thoughtful woman. She spent a great deal of time visiting the poor. One morning she told her children about a family which she had visited the day before. There was a man sick in bed, his wife who took care of him, and could not go out to work, and their little boy. The little boy--his name was Bernard--had interested her very much.

"I wish you could see him," she said to her own children, John, Harry, and Clara, "he is such a help to his mother. He wants very much to earn some money, but I don't see what he can do."

After their mother had left the room, the children sat thinking about little Bernard.

"I wish we could help him to earn money," said little Clara.

"So do I," said Harry.

For some moments John said nothing, but, suddenly, he sprang to his feet and cried:

"I have an idea!"

The other children also jumped up all attention. When John had an idea, it was sure to be a good one.

"I tell you what we can do," said John. "You know that big box of corn Uncle Sam sent us for popping? Well, we can pop it, and put it into paper bags, and Bernard can take it round to the houses and sell."

When Mrs. Meredith heard of John's idea, she, too, thought it a good one.

Very soon the children were busy popping the corn, while their mother went out to buy the paper bags. When she came back, she brought Bernard with her.

In a short time, he started out on his new business, and, much sooner than could be expected, returned with an empty basket.

Tucked into one of his mittens were ten nickels. He had never earned so much money before in his life. When he found that it was all to be his, he was so delighted he could hardly speak, but his bright smiling face spoke for him. After he had run home to take the money to his mother, John said:

"We have corn enough left to send Bernard out ever so many times. May we do it again?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Meredith, "you may send him every Sat.u.r.day morning, if you will pop the corn for him yourselves. John, will you agree to take charge of the work?"

"Indeed I will," replied John, and he kept his word. For many weeks, every Sat.u.r.day morning, no matter what plan was on foot, no matter how good the coasting or skating, he saw that the corn was all popped, the paper bags filled, and arranged in the basket when Bernard arrived.

People began to watch for the "little pop-corn boy," and every week he had at least fifty cents to take home, and often more. And all this was because of John's bright idea, and the way he carried it out.

A SAD THANKSGIVING PARTY.

Four hungry-looking animals All seated in a row; Why does not some one speak to them?

That's what I want to know.

They all of them were bidden to A fine Thanksgiving feast, And now, it seems to me, their host Might welcome them, at least.

'Twas Master Pug invited them, Why does he not appear?

'Tis plain they think his absence looks Extremely rude and queer.

Alas! poor Pug's in trouble sore, The host he cannot play; No feast for self or friends has he On this Thanksgiving Day.

He saw a turkey, large and fat, Upon the kitchen shelf.

"That's just the very thing I want,"

Said he unto himself.

He caught the turkey, but the cook Caught him with firmer grasp, And shook him till he could not bark But only choke and gasp.

Meanwhile, those hungry animals, Who'd waited there in vain, Declared they never would be guest Of Mr. Pug again.