"It is a pictur' of the ol' home," said Ezra to himself. "I am back there
in Belchertown, with the Holyoke hills up north an' the Berkshire
mountains a-loomin' up gray an' misty-like in the western horizon. Seems
as if it wuz early mornin'; everything is still, and it is so cold when we
boys crawl out o' bed that, if it wuzn't Thanksgivin' mornin', we'd crawl
back again an' wait for Mother to call us. But it _is_ Thanksgivin'
mornin', an' we're goin' skatin' down on the pond. The squealin' o' the
pigs has told us it is five o'clock, and we must hurry; we're goin' to
call by for the Dickerson boys an' Hiram Peabody, an' we've got to hyper!
Brother Amos gets on 'bout half o' my clo'es, an' I get on 'bout half o'
his, but it's all the same; they are stout, warm clo'es, and they're big
enough to fit any of us boys,--Mother looked out for that when she made
'em. When we go down-stairs we find the girls there, all bundled up nice
an' warm,--Mary an' Helen an' Cousin Irene. They're goin' with us, an' we
all start out tiptoe and quiet-like so's not to wake up the ol' folks. The
ground is frozen hard; we stub our toes on the frozen ruts in the road.
When we come to the minister's house, Laura is standin' on the front
stoop, a-waitin' for us. Laura is the minister's daughter. She's a friend
o' Sister Helen's--pretty as a dag'err'otype, an' gentle-like and tender.
Laura lets me carry her skates, an' I'm glad of it, although I have my
hands full already with the lantern, the hockies, and the rest. Hiram
Peabody keeps us waitin', for he has overslept himself, an' when he comes
trottin' out at last the girls make fun of him,--all except Sister Mary,
an' she sort o' sticks up for Hiram, an' we're all so 'cute we kind o'
calc'late we know the reason why.

"And now," said Ezra, softly, "the pictur' changes; seems as if I could
see the pond. The ice is like a black lookin'-glass, and Hiram Peabody
slips up the first thing, an' down he comes lickety-split, an' we all
laugh,--except Sister Mary, an' _she_ says it is very imp'lite to