The Giving THanks of Cyrus and Huldah

A New England Idol

The stories in this volume are here reprinted by the courteous permission of the publishers of the periodicals in which they first appeared,--The Ladies’ Home Journal, Ainslee’s Magazine, The Scrap Book, The New England Magazine, The Pictorial Review, The Housewife, The Pacific Monthly, The Arena, Lippincott’s Magazine, Harper’s Bazaar, The Century Magazine, Woman, Holland’s Magazine, The Designer.

When Father and Mother Rebelled

“’Tain’t more ’n a month ter Christmas, Lyddy Ann; did ye know it?” said the old man, settling back in his chair with a curiously resigned sigh.

“Yes, I know, Samuel,” returned his wife, sending a swift glance over the top of her glasses.

If Samuel Bertram noticed the glance he made no sign. “Hm!” he murmured. “I’ve got ten neckerchiefs now. How many crocheted bed-slippers you got?--eh?”

“Oh, Samuel!” remonstrated Lydia Ann feebly.

“I don’t care,” asserted Samuel with sudden vehemence, sitting erect in his chair. “Seems as if we might get somethin’ for Christmas ’sides slippers an’ neckerchiefs. Jest ’cause we ain’t so young as we once was ain’t no sign that we’ve lost all our faculty for enj’yment!”

“But, Samuel, they’re good an’ kind, an’ want ter give us somethin’,” faltered Lydia Ann; “and--”

“Yes, I know they’re good an’ kind,” cut in Samuel wrathfully. “We’ve got three children, an’ each one brings us a Christmas present ev’ry year. They’ve got so they do it reg’lar now, jest the same as they--they go ter bed ev’ry night,” he finished, groping a little for his simile. “An’ they put jest about as much thought into it, too,” he added grimly.

“My grief an’ conscience, Samuel,--how can you talk so!” gasped the little woman opposite.

“Well, they do,” persisted Samuel. “They buy a pair o’ slippers an’ a neckerchief, an’ tuck ’em into their bag for us--an’ that’s done; an’ next year they do the same--an’ it’s done again. Oh, I know I’m ongrateful, an’ all that,” acknowledged Samuel testily, “but I can’t help it. I’ve been jest ready to bile over ever since last Christmas, an’ now I have biled over. Look a-here, Lyddy Ann, we ain’t so awful old. You’re seventy-three an’ I’m seventy-six, an’ we’re pert as 

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