The Thanksgiving Treasure Read Online Free PDF

houses. Rather than diverting us to the sidewalk and saving the lawn, this only challenged us to newer and greater heights—literally.
    Now, instead of simply walking across the lawn, we ran and leaped across the hedge, landing with a thud on the other side. And now, instead of a mere trail across the lawn, there were great bare spots on either side of the hedge, where we took off and landed. The higher the hedge got, the harder we ran and the longer we leaped, so the lawn became more and more scarred. In the winter, we couldn’t get a very speedy takeoff in the deep snow and often brushed the top of the hedge on the way over, breaking off brittle little branches, much to the dismay of Grandma and Mrs. Carter.
    They had finally given up and left the hedge and the trail and the two bare spots, and just tried to look the other way. For that reason, I think Grandma had been almost in favor of my clothesline pulley idea, but Dad said it would make us look like a tenement in New York City, and that was the end of that. That defeat had come only a few weeks ago, but I figured he had forgotten about it by now, and I was ready to try my latest brilliant idea on him.
    After dinner, when Grandma and I had finished the dishes, I got Dad to play checkers with me. He would often play games with me, and the thing I liked best was that he never pretended to lose. I hated it when grownups would “let” you win at games, because I always wanted to try and win on my own. Once in a while I could win from Dad, but not very often.
    He sat in his big chair in the living room, and I sat on the floor, and we put the checkerboard between us on his footstool. Grandma sat in her rocker, doing some mending.
    We always gathered in the living room after dinner, and usually Dad would read his paper and sometimes turn on the radio, and Grandma and I would busy ourselves with our own projects, trying not to disturb him. The big chair was always his, and if anyone else sat in it while he was out of the room, he would glare when he returned, and that person would jump up as if Dad were Papa Bear discovering Goldilocks. Grandma liked her old rocker, and that left me the prickly horsehair sofa with the crocheted doilies. That was fine with me, since I liked to spread out at whatever I was doing. Often I would end up on the floor, using the rag rug as my base. If things got too boring, I busied myself trying to count all the different fabrics braided into the rug. I once got to seventy-eight and lost track. I don’t think I ever did finish it.
    â€œWho’s coming to our house for Thanksgiving?” I asked, as Dad studied his next move on the checkerboard.
    â€œYou know who’s coming,” Grandma said, looking at me quizzically. “Uncle Will and Aunt Nora and little Henry.”
    â€œLittle Henry!” I said, making my worst face. “Yuck!”
    â€œNow, stop that,” said Grandma. “He’s your own flesh and blood!”
    â€œCan’t we have people who aren’t related to us?” I said, trying to be casual. “Like the Pilgrims invited the Indians?”
    â€œAfraid we don’t know any Indians,” Dad said, laughing at his own awful joke.
    I gave him a disgusted look. “I mean we could invite an enemy and make him into a friend.”
    â€œWe don’t have any enemies, Addie,” said Grandma.
    â€œDad does,” I said quietly, peeking at him to see his reaction.
    â€œWho’s that?” he asked, distracted by the move I had just made.
    â€œWell,” I said, “maybe he wouldn’t be your enemy if we invited him to our Thanksgiving dinner.”
    â€œWho?” he asked again.
    â€œMr. Rehnquist.”
    He looked up, startled. “Where did you ever get a nutty idea like that? I wouldn’t let him into the yard, let alone into the house!”
    I plunged ahead with the speech I had prepared. “Miss Thompson said that Thanksgiving symbolizes