Huldah read the letters eagerly, but at their close she frowned and looked anxious. In a moment she had passed them to Cyrus with a toss of her head. Five minutes later Cyrus had flung them back with these words trailing across one of the envelopes: Write um. Tell um we are sick--dead--gone away--anything! Only don't let um come. A if _we_ wanted to Thanksgive! Huldah answered the letters that night. She, too, wrote kindly and lovingly; but at the end she said that much as she and father would like to see them, it did not seem wise to undertake to entertain such a family gathering just now. It would be better to postpone it. Both Huldah and Cyrus hoped that this would end the subject of Thanksgiving; but it did not. The very next day Cyrus encountered neighbor Wiley in the village store. Wiley's round red face shone like the full moon. "Well, well, Cy, what ye doin' down your way Thanksgivin'--eh?" he queried. Cyrus stiffened; but before he could answer he discovered that Wiley had asked the question, not for information, but as a mere introduction to a recital of his own plans. "We're doin' great things," announced the man. "Sam an' Jennie an' the hull kit on 'em's comin' home an' bring all the chicks. Tell ye what, Cy, we _be_ a-Thanksgivin' this year! Ain't nothin' like a good old fam'ly reunion, when ye come right down to it." "Yes, I know," said Cyrus gloomily. "But we--we ain't doin' much this year." A day later came Huldah's turn. She had taken some calf's-foot jelly to Mrs. Taylor in the little house at the foot of the hill. The Widow Taylor was crying. "You see, it's Thanksgiving!" she sobbed, in answer to Huldah's dismayed questions. "Thanksgiving!" "Yes. And last year I had--_him_!" Huldah sighed, and murmured something comforting, appropriate; but almost at once she stopped, for the woman had turned searching eyes upon her. "Huldah Gregg, do you appreciate Cyrus?" Huldah bridled angrily, but there was no time for a reply, for the woman answered her own question, and hurried on wildly. "No. Did I appreciate my husband? No. Does Sally Clark appreciate her husband? No. And there don't none of us do it till he's gone--gone--gone!" As soon as possible Huldah went home. She was not a little disconcerted. The "gone--gone--gone" rang unpleasantly in her ears, and before her eyes rose a hateful vision of unappetizing fried eggs and boiled potatoes. As to her not appreciating Cyrus--that was all nonsense; she had always appreciated him, and that, too, far beyond his just deserts, she told herself angrily. There was no escaping Thanksgiving after that for either Huldah or Cyrus. It looked from every eager eye, and dropped from every joyous lip, until, of all the world Huldah and Cyrus came to regard themselves as the most forlorn, and the most abused.