“The doctor felt sort o' streaked at fust when they told the story on him; he didn't jest like it: but he got used to it, and finally, when he was twitted on't, he'd sort o' smile, and say, 'Anyway, Tam beat 'em: that's one comfort.'” OLDTOWN FIRESIDE TALKS OF THE REVOLUTION. [Illustration: 9284] HE sacred work of preparation for Thanksgiving was at hand. Our kitchen was fragrant with the smell of cinnamon, cloves, and allspice which we boys were daily set to pound in the great lignum-vitae mortar. Daily the great oven flamed without cessation; and the splitting of oven-wood kept us youngsters so busy, that we scarce had a moment to play: yet we did it with a cheerful mind, inspired by the general aroma of coming festivity abroad in the house. Behold us this evening around the kitchen-fire, which crackled and roared up the wide chimney, brightening with its fluttering radiance the farthest corner of the ample room. A tub of rosy-cheeked apples, another of golden quinces, and a bushel-basket filled with ruby cranberries, stood in the midst of the circle. All hands were busy. Grandmother in one corner was superintending us boys as we peeled and quartered the fruit,--an operation in which grandfather took a helping hand; Aunt Lois was busily looking over and sorting cranberries, when a knock at the door announced a visitor. “Well, now, I s'pose that's Sam Lawson, of course,” snapped Aunt Lois. Aunt Lois generally spoke with a snap; but about Thanksgiving time it had a cheery ring, like the snapping of our brisk kitchen-fire. “Good-evenin', Miss Badger and Miss Lois,” said Sam. “I see yer winders so bright, I couldn't help wantin' to come in and help ye pare apples, or suthin'.” We boys made haste to give Sam the warmest welcome, and warmest place in the chimney-corner, and to accommodate him with a tin pan full of quinces, and a knife, when he was soon settled among us. “Wal, this 'ere does look cheerful,--looks like Thanksgiving,” he began. “Wal, Lordy massy! we've got a great deal to be thankful for in this 'ere land o' privileges; hain't we, deacon? I was a-comin' 'round by Mis' Lothrop's to-day; and her Dinah, she told me the Doctor was gettin' a great sermon out on the hundred and twenty-fourth Psalm: 'If it had not been the Lord who was on our side when men rose up against us, then they had swallowed us up.' He's a-goin' to show all our deliverances in the war. I expect it 'll be a whale of a sermon, 'cause, when our minister sets out to do a thing, he mos' generally does it up to the handle. Tell ye what, boys, you must listen with all your ears: you 'll never know what times them was if you don't--you don't know what liberty cost us all. There's your gran'ther, now, he could tell ye: he 'members when he went off to Lexington with his gun on his shoulders.” “Why, grandfather! did _you_ go?” we both exclaimed with wide eyes.