So, after a time, Lizzy slipped down to her cricket again, still leaning on the arm—­of the chair,—­and John expounded to her the excellent reason that had delayed his coming home.  He had been offered a large salary to take the head of a public school in Boston, and those two days had been devoted to arranging the affair; he had satisfied the school-committee as to his capacity, and made up his mind on several points of minor importance to them,—­but, perhaps, greater to him.  Among others, he had found a house, a tiny house, with a little yard behind, and a view of Boston Harbor from the upper windows, all at a reasonable rent, prospect thrown in; this house he had hired, and now—­he had come to Greenfield for a housekeeper.

Lizzy suddenly discovered that she was hungry, and invited John into the kitchen to get a piece of pie; but, after all, instead of eating hers while he was eating his, she went up-stairs, brushed out her hair and coiled it up with a coral-topped comb, that came to light, very strangely, just in time,—­put on her merino frock, her bracelet, and her slippers,—­rolled herself up in shawls and hoods and mittens, and was lifted into John’s buggy, to old Chloe’s great delight, who held the lamp, grinning like a lantern herself, and tucking “Mr. John’s” fox-skin round his feet, as if he had been ten years old.

So Lizzy Griswold did get to Coventry the night before Thanksgiving, after all; and when Uncle Boynton met her at the door, he called her “my dear daughter.”  Perhaps, as John had told Lizzy, on the drive over, that her father had heard all about his business and his intentions, in that letter she did not see, the young lady had decided to disinherit him, and adopt Uncle Boynton in his place; rather an unfair proceeding, it is true, since the letter was withheld by John’s special request; and, indeed, Lizzy didn’t act like a “cruel parient” to her father, when he came, after uncle, to give her a welcome.

They had a merry time at Coventry that Thanksgiving,—­even merrier than another smaller assemblage, that took place at Greenfield about Christmas, when Polly Mariner came over a week before-hand to make Sam a new suit throughout, and Lizzy looked prettier than anybody ever did before, in a fresh white dress, and a white rose, off grandmother’s tea-rose-bush, in her hair.  It is on record, that she behaved no better than she did that evening when somebody found her crying in a blue calico; for Sam was overheard to say, as Polly hustled him off to bed, that, “if ever he was married, he guessed they wouldn’t catch him makin’ a fool of himself by kissin’ a girl right before the minister!—­if he’d have been Lizzy, John Boynton’s ears would have sung for one while; but girls were fools!”

So John Boynton got a housekeeper; and Lizzy had more than one Thanksgiving-day in her life, beside the Governor’s appointments.

* * * * *

ACHMED AND HIS MARE.