"Poor darling!" said grandpa, wiping his eyes, "you are something to
be thankful for, if the dinner isn't. But I wasn't thinking of dinner,
Mollie. I know it will be good if you get it. Grandfather was thinking
of his little boy Dick. It was on a Thanksgiving day that he went
away, seventeen years ago to-day. It makes old grandfather think of
him whenever the day comes round; though there isn't often a day that
I don't think of him, for the matter of that."