The next time they tried the door it yielded, Mrs. McGuire having made a second barefoot journey.

When they came up from the little kitchen, the light ineffable was shining in their faces, but Mrs. McGuire called them back to earth by remarking dryly: 

“It’s just as well I wasn’t parchin’ for that drink.”

CHAPTER XXVI THE THANKSGIVING

The prairie lay sere and brown like a piece of faded tapestry beneath the November sun that, peering through the dust-laden air, seemed old and worn with his efforts to warm the poor old faded earth.

The grain had all been cut and gathered into stacks that had dotted the fields, two by two, like comfortable married couples, and these in turn had changed into billowy piles of yellow straw, through which herds of cattle foraged, giving a touch of life and colour to the unending colourless landscape.  The trees stood naked and bare.  The gardens where once the corn waved and the hollyhocks flaunted their brazen beauty, now lay a tangled litter of stalks, waiting the thrifty farmer’s torch to clear them away before the snow came.  The earth had yielded of her fruits and now rested from her labour, worn and spent, taking no thought of comeliness, but waiting in decrepit indifference for her friend, the North Wind, to bring down the swirling snow to hide her scars and heal her unloveliness with its kindly white mantle.

But although the earth lay sere and brown and dust-laden, the granaries and elevators were bursting with a rich abundance.  Innumerable freight-trains loaded with wheat wound heavily up the long grade, carrying off all too slowly the produce of the plain, and still the loads of grain came pouring in from the farms.  The cellars were full of the abundance of the gardens—­golden turnips, rosy potatoes and rows of pale green cabbages hanging by their roots to the beams gave an air of security against the long, cold, hungry winter.

Inside of John Watson’s home, in spite of November’s dullness, joy and gladness reigned, for was not Pearl coming home?  Pearl, her mother’s helper and adviser; Pearl, her silent father’s wonder and delight, the second mother of all the little Watsons!  Pearl was coming home.

Events in the Watson family were reckoned from the time of Pearl’s departure or the time of her expected home-coming.  “Pa got raised from one dollar and a quarter to one dollar and a half just six weeks from the day Pearl left, lackin’ two days,” and Mrs. Evans gave Mary a new “stuff” dress, “on the Frida’ as Pearl left or the Thursda’ three weeks before,” and, moreover, the latest McSorley baby was born “on the Wednesda’ as Pearl was comin’ home on the Saturda’ four weeks after.”

Domestic affairs were influenced to some degree by Pearl’s expected arrival.  “Don’t be wearin’ yer sweater now, Tommy man, I’m feart the red strip’ll run in it when its washed; save it clean till Pearlie comes, there’s a man.”