Ep. 955 - A Turkey for the Stuffing - An American Folktale

It always made Ben feel solemn to watch the river in a storm. To-day it was grey, and rough and noisy, and the few boats, which went down toward Lake Huron, pitched about so that their decks slanted first one way, then another, and their sides were coated with ice.

“Gran’ma, what day’s to-day?” he asked at last, turning from the stormy river to glance about their warm, comfortable little room.

“Wednesday, Benny,” answered the small old woman who crouched over the stove.

“Then to-morrow will be Thanksgiving day, and the Rosses are going to have a turkey,” said Ben, excitedly. “What are we going to have, Gran’ma?”

Mrs. Moxon looked over her glasses at her grandson’s small, thin figure in its patched and faded clothes, and at his bright, eager face.

“Sonny, dear, what do you think Gran’ma has for Thanksgiving?” she asked gently.

The expectant look faded from Ben’s face, and he winked hard to keep the tears from running over. He did not need to be told how bare of dainties their cupboard was, for everything there he had brought with his own hands. Bacon and smoked fish enough for all winter were stored away; flour, potatoes, and a few other vegetables were there.

“Tell me about a real Thanksgiving dinner,” the small boy begged after the first disappointment had been bravely put away. Mrs. Moxon took off her spectacles, and leaned back cautiously in her broken-rockered chair.