“’Cause we’re buying it for mamma,” said Kate eagerly. “She can’t get one at all, because papa’s gone away, and he _may_ not come back, and we got the money out of our banks, and we’ve only one dollar and fifteen cents, and we can’t have the biggest, you see.” “Hello!” said the marketman, “here’s a talker for a little one! Haven’t I seen you before?” “Yes, sir,” Kate answered. “I’m Katie Baxter, and I used to come with papa.” “You Jack Baxter’s girl?” asked the marketman, stooping down and picking the child up. “Yes, sir,” said Kate, “but please put me down.” But instead the man called to a marketman in the next stall, “See here O’Neil, this is the Baxter girl. She’s come with another little kid to buy the littlest turkey for her mother. They’ve got the money out of their banks, and it’s a dollar fifteen. Can’t we fill the order?” “Well, I guess we _can_,” said the other marketman heartily. “We’ll send them a bird—with the stuffing, too!” “It’ll be all right,” said the first marketman, putting little Kate on her feet again. “Give me the number, and we’ll send the bird around to-morrow.” Paul gave the number, untied the money from his handkerchief, and away they went through the noisy street home. Paul and Kate had hard work to keep the secret of their marketing, but they did, all that day, and the next. About four o’clock there was a knock at the door, and when the door was opened, there was nobody there. But there was something. A big, big market-basket, and in it was the giant turkey, and on the turkey’s breast a piece of paper, saying: “From the friends of John Baxter to Mrs. Baxter and the little Baxters, hoping they’ll enjoy their Thanksgiving.” And that wasn’t all, for the turkey, when Mrs. Baxter came to prepare it, was stuffed with silver dollars. Then Mrs. Baxter cried; and Paul and Kate were puzzled by that. But she was thankful, for she told them so. When the great bird was properly browned and smoking, Paul took his place ready to carve. He had just raised the knife and fork when the door opened and a big, hearty sailor came in, saying: “Here, here, young man, this won’t do! That is _my_ place!” And, of course, it was John Baxter; and the turkey was not nearly so hot by the time he had been hugged and kissed (meaning John Baxter, of course), and had told how his boat had been sunk, but he and his mates picked up by a steamer. That _was_ a Thanksgiving dinner. Next day John Baxter took his boy and girl down to the market, and they made another giving of thanks to the marketmen, and that is a good ending to the story, isn’t it? There is one more thing. The marketmen would not take back their silver, and so it went into the bank—a real bank this time—for Paul and Kate. A STORY OF DECORATION DAY FOR THE LITTLE CHILDREN OF TO-DAY By Elisabeth Harrison