Thanksgiving Day dawned clearly and frostily upon the little village of Castleton Hollow. The stage which connected daily with the nearest railroad station (for as yet Castleton Hollow had not arrived at the dignity of one of its own) came fully freighted, both inside and out. There were children and children’s children, who, in the pursuit of fortune, had strayed away from the homes where they first saw the light; but who were now returning, to revive, around the old familiar hearth, the associations and recollections of their early days. Great were the preparations among the housewives of Castleton Hollow. That must indeed be a poor household which, on this occasion, could not boast its turkey and plum-pudding,—those well-established dishes; not to mention its long rows of pies,—apple, mince, and pumpkin,—wherewith the Thanksgiving board is wont to be garnished. But it is not of the households generally that I propose to speak. Let the reader accompany me, in imagination, to a rather prim-looking brick mansion, situated on the principal street, but at some distance back, being separated from it by a front yard. Between this yard and the fence ran a prim-looking hedge, of very formal cut, being cropped in the most careful manner, lest one twig should, by chance, have the presumption to grow higher than its kindred. It was a two-story house, containing in each story one room on either side of the front door; making, of course, four in all. If we go in, we shall find the outward primness well supported by the appearance of things within. In the front parlor—we may peep through the door, but it would be high treason, in the present moistened state of our boots, to step within its sacred precincts—there are six high-backed chairs standing in state, two at each window. One can easily see, from the general arrangement of the furniture, that from romping children, unceremonious kittens, and unhallowed intruders generally, this room is most sacredly guarded. Without speaking particularly of the other rooms,—which, though not furnished in so stately a manner, bear a family resemblance to “the best room,”—we will usher the reader into the opposite room, where he will find the owner and occupant of this prim-looking residence. Courteous reader! Miss Hetty Henderson. Miss Hetty Henderson, let me make you acquainted with this lady (or gentleman), who is desirous of knowing you better.