He helped make the dining-table larger. Mother put on the best table-cloth. The pattern woven into it was bunches of drooping lilacs and Lucy and Dora thought it very pretty. Mother smoothed out every wrinkle and then the children set the table. In the centre they put a vase of dark red chrysanthemums, cold and fragrant from the garden. Dora loved their spicy smell. They were only about as big as buttons, but something in their odor made her think of ferns and brooks and pleasant things which would come with spring. Never was table set more carefully. Each knife and fork was laid as though the proper spot were located with a foot-rule. Dora felt that Lucy was too particular. Lucy moved almost everything Dora put in place. When Lucy’s back was turned, Dora quietly put things as they were before. And the distance either moved them was so slight that when Lucy looked back she did not notice what Dora had done. There was to be apple-sauce, as is the custom with roast pork, but Mother had also made cranberry sauce because Father and Uncle Dan were fond of it. Everybody would want apple-sauce, so Lucy took a spoon and filled seven glass dishes. She placed one at each plate. The cranberry sauce was in a large dish. It was to go in front of Olive, with a spoon and more glass saucers. Dora brought the dish from the pantry, holding it carefully in both hands. What possessed Timothy just then? He liked to weave himself in and about people’s feet when he was hungry, but Timmy had eaten his dinner. If he had not been fed, there would be no peace for anybody in the Merrill kitchen. Timothy was not hungry and he should have been washing his face before the parlor fire, not walking in front of Dora. Dora tripped over him. She held on to the dish, but spilled the cranberry on the table, all over Mother’s clean Thanksgiving cloth! “Now, see what you’ve done!” cried Lucy, perfectly horrified. Poor Dora picked herself up. What cranberry wasn’t on the table-cloth was on her pretty white dress. What a dreadful thing to happen! But the worst was that Lucy spoke as though she thought Dora _meant_ to do it. Would Mother think the same? Mrs. Merrill came out of the pantry and for a moment she looked as though she didn’t know what to do any more than the children. Dora stood with her lip quivering and her eyes full of tears. “Well, that _is_ too bad,” said Mrs. Merrill. “Stop crying, Dora; it doesn’t mend matters. Of course you didn’t mean to do it.” [Illustration: WHAT POSSESSED TIMOTHY JUST THEN?—_Page 199._] Mrs. Merrill looked at the table-cloth. Then she looked at Dora and looked at the clock. She unbuttoned Dora’s dress. “Take this into the shed, Lucy,” she said, “and put it in one of the tubs. Go and put on your blue gingham, Dora. Hurry, both of you, for we must take off the dishes and put on another cloth.” Trying not to cry, Dora went up-stairs.