Thanksgiving was _the_ great feast day of the whole year. Then, the children to the third and fourth generation came trooping back, filling the low-ceiled rooms under the old rooftree; and for them high festival was held. For days before, great preparations were made. The “buttery” was full of good things. On the shelves were rows of mince, pumpkin and tart pies, the last named made from cider apple sauce,--a lost art,--and pans of doughnuts and crullers, flanked by the sage cheese, ready to be cut. Baking in the brick oven was an immense chicken pie, made with cream crust,--another lost art,--and an Indian pudding rich with suet--still another lost art. The turkey, the choicest young gobbler of the flock, stuffed with savory dressing, also a pig with an ear of corn in its mouth, were roasting in a Dutch oven on the hearth, all these together filling the house with an odor of good cheer. Oscar, of the Waldorf-Astoria, can do mighty deeds in his line, but, with all his skill, cannot equal one of those real old-fashioned Thanksgiving dinners. After all the kin had come and gone, there was abundant “skippin” for the worthy poor; yes, and for the unworthy, who might come to partake of the free bounty of the ever charitable. The winters were long, shutting families indoors by themselves. Books and papers were few, but these early settlers kept abreast of the events of the day, and they had clear-cut, strong opinions, which they expressed with no uncertain sound. In the long evenings they gathered around the great fireplace, listening with never-failing interest to the oft-told tales of Indians, of Tory raids, and of hardships and suffering in camp and field. “Shut in from all the world without, They sat, the clean-winged hearth about, Content to let the north wind roar In baffled rage at pane and door; * * * * * And for the winter fireside meet, Between the andirons’ straddling feet, The mug of cider simmered slow, The apples sputtered in a row, And, close at hand, the basket stood With nuts from brown October’s wood.” If neighbors joined the circle, promptly as the tall clock in the corner struck nine they donned surtouts, mufflers and striped knit mittens, lighted the candle in the pierced tin lantern, and trudged away over the hills to their distant homes.