"I must own I set most by good candle light," said Mrs. Martin. "'T is
no expense to speak of where you raise the taller, and it's cheerful
and bright in winter time. In old times when the houses were draftier
they was troublesome about flickering, candles was; but land! think
how comfortable we live now to what we used to! Stoves is such a
convenience; the fire's so much handier. Housekeepin' don't begin to
be the trial it was once."
"I must say I like old-fashioned cookin' better than oven cookin',"
observed Mrs. Jake. "Seems to me's if the taste of things was all
drawed up chimbly. Be you going to do much for Thanksgivin', Mis'
Thacher? I 'spose not;" and moved by a sudden kind impulse, she added,
"Why can't you and John jine with our folks? 't wouldn't put us out,
and 'twill be lonesome for ye."
"'T won't be no lonesomer than last year was, nor the year before,"
and Mrs. Thacher's face quivered a little as she rose and took one of
the candles, and opened the trap door that covered the cellar stairs.
"Now don't ye go to makin' yourself work," cried the guests. "No,
don't! we ain't needin' nothin'; we was late about supper." But their
hostess stepped carefully down and disappeared for a few minutes,
while the cat hovered anxiously at the edge of the black pit.
"I forgot to ask ye if ye'd have some cider?" a sepulchral voice asked
presently; "but I don't know now's I can get at it. I told John I
shouldn't want any whilst he was away, and so he ain't got the spiggit
in yet," to which Mrs.
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