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  Hyphenation and spelling standardized. Otherwise, archaic and
    variable spelling was preserved.

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AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG

Is now full, and contains

    =I. MY BOYS=, and other stories.
   =II. SHAWL-STRAPS=. Sketches of a European Trip.
  =III. CUPID AND CHOW-CHOW=, and other stories.
   =IV. MY GIRLS=, and other stories.
    =V. JIMMY'S CRUISE IN THE PINAFORE=, and other stories.
   =VI. AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING=, and other stories.

_Six volumes neatly bound in cloth. Price, $6.00._

ROBERTS BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS, BOSTON.

[Illustration: AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING.

"Suddenly Tilly threw down the axe, flung open the door, and ran
straight into the arms of the bear."--PAGE 29.]

[Illustration: HOW IT ALL HAPPENED.

Dolly opened the door, and started back with a cry of astonishment at
the lovely spectacle before her.--PAGE 47.]

       *       *       *       *       *




AUNT JO'S SCRAP-BAG.

AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING,
  Etc.

[Illustration: SCRAP-BAG, VOL. VI.]

BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT,

AUTHOR OF "LITTLE WOMEN," "AN OLD-FASHIONED GIRL," "LITTLE MEN,"
"HOSPITAL SKETCHES."

  BOSTON:
  ROBERTS BROTHERS.
  1882.

  _Copyright, 1882,_
  BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

  UNIVERSITY PRESS:
  JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE.




CONTENTS.

                                                               PAGE.
     I. AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING                              7
    II. HOW IT ALL HAPPENED                                       37
   III. THE DOLLS' JOURNEY FROM MINNESOTA TO MAINE                53
    IV. MORNING-GLORIES                                           78
     V. SHADOW-CHILDREN                                          104
    VI. POPPY'S PRANKS                                           124
   VII. WHAT THE SWALLOWS DID                                    147
  VIII. LITTLE GULLIVER                                          163
    IX. THE WHALE'S STORY                                        178
     X. A STRANGE ISLAND                                         192
    XI. FANCY'S FRIEND                                           208

       *       *       *       *       *




I.

AN OLD-FASHIONED THANKSGIVING.


Sixty years ago, up among the New Hampshire hills, lived Farmer Bassett,
with a house full of sturdy sons and daughters growing up about him.
They were poor in money, but rich in land and love, for the wide acres
of wood, corn, and pasture land fed, warmed, and clothed the flock,
while mutual patience, affection, and courage made the old farm-house a
very happy home.

November had come; the crops were in, and barn, buttery, and bin were
overflowing with the harvest that rewarded the summer's hard work. The
big kitchen was a jolly place just now, for in the great fireplace
roared a cheerful fire; on the walls hung garlands of dried apples,
onions, and corn; up aloft from the beams shone crook-necked squashes,
juicy hams, and dried venison--for in those days deer still haunted the
deep forests, and hunters flourished. Savory smells were in the air; on
the crane hung steaming kettles, and down among the red embers copper
sauce-pans simmered, all suggestive of some approaching feast.

A white-headed baby lay in the old blue cradle that had rocked seven
other babies, now and then lifting his head to look out, like a round,
full moon, then subsided to kick and crow contentedly, and suck the rosy
apple he had no teeth to bite. Two small boys sat on the wooden settle
shelling corn for popping, and picking out the biggest nuts from the
goodly store their own hands had gathered in October. Four young girls
stood at the long dresser, busily chopping meat, pounding spice, and
slicing apples; and the tongues of Tilly, Prue, Roxy, and Rhody went as
fast as their hands. Farmer Bassett, and Eph, the oldest boy, were
"chorin' 'round" outside, for Thanksgiving was at hand, and all must be
in order for that time-honored day.

To and fro, from table to hearth, bustled buxom Mrs. Bassett, flushed
and floury, but busy and blithe as the queen bee of this busy little
hive should be.

"I do like to begin seasonable and have things to my mind. Thanksgivin'
dinners can't be drove, and it does take a sight of victuals to fill all
these hungry stomicks," said the good woman, as she gave a vigorous stir
to the great kettle of cider apple-sauce, and cast a glance of
housewifely pride at the fine array of pies set forth on the buttery
shelves.

"Only one more day and then it will be time to eat. I didn't take but
one bowl of hasty pudding