"Try it again," urged impatient Allee, and again the broom struck the panels with thunderous force, once, twice-- The door burst open with sudden fury, and an angry-faced man in a long bathrobe confronted the paralyzed children with the fierce demand, "What in creation do you want?" "It--it's time to get up," stammered Peace. "I mean, it--it snowed last night. I mean, we've swep' your walks off. We s'posed you'd be glad to pay us for our trouble." "Well!" ejaculated the man, too much surprised for further speech. "We've swep' real clean--better than Hector ever does." "Well!" repeated the Judge, an amused gleam in his eyes chasing away the angry frown. "How much do I owe you, Peace? You are Peace Greenfield, are you not?" "Yes, sir. A quarter will do, I think. The snow was very light, but you've got lots of porch and walk." "That's a fact, we have. Here is a quarter for you, and many thanks for your good work." "You are much obliged," she answered gravely, mixing her pronouns in her haste to slip the coin inside her damp mitten. "I wish you a merry Thanksgiving." With a whoop of delight she bounded down the steps, snatched Allee's hand, and rushed away up the street to the butcher shop for their chicken, never pausing for breath until she had dropped the money onto the counter before the astonished proprietor, who was making ready to close his shop for the day. "A quarter's worth of chicken, Mr. Jones," she panted. "I was afraid you would be gone before we could collect from the Judge." "Sorry, Peace," answered the astonished man, "but I haven't any chickens as small as that." "Haven't you a cheap old hen?" she faltered, almost too disappointed to speak. "No, I am afraid not." "And you can't sell me a _piece_ of chicken?" "No, we never do that, either." "Oh, dear," sighed Allee. "We swep' that walk all for nothing!" But Peace's bright eyes had caught sight of a tall, wooden bucket on the counter, and now she demanded, "Is that oysters?" "Yes, jimdandies." "That's next best to chicken. I'll take a quarter's worth of them. We will have a Thanksgiving after all, Allee." Bearing the precious burden carefully in her arms, Peace was hurrying down the street toward home, followed by the happy Allee trailing the two old brooms, when they were halted by an excited, boyish voice, screaming lustily, "Peace, oh Peace! Wait a minute! I've got something for you." She stopped short in the snow and waited impatiently for the boy to overtake her, more interested in her bucket of oysters than in the prospect of a gift from him; but as he drew near, she saw he carried two white, furry bundles, and her eyes grew bright with anticipation. "Surely not your bunnies, Bryan?" she gasped. "Yep! We are going to move back to the city on Monday, and papa said I must leave these here. They will starve with no one to take care of them, and you always thought they were so pretty, I decided to give them to you--that is, if you want them."