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With EverPierre, you're not just in the race, you're built to win it. Music Welcome to snoozecast, the podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us on snoozecast.com and follow us on Instagram at snoozecast where you'll find behind the scenes content. If you enjoy our show, please write a review on the podcast app. Also, share us with a friend. If you'd like to get an email once a week with what sleep stories are coming at with that week, along with any snoozecasts news, subscribe to the snooze letter at snoozecast.com. This episode is brought to you by our Patreon supporters and by Yarn for the Winter Snitting. Tonight, we'll read an old-fashioned Thanksgiving written by Luisa May Alcott after she wrote the little women trilogy. It's a simple story set in the early 1800s, featuring a country family in New Hampshire. It's full of idyllic and peaceful descriptions from an earlier time. Alcott was an American writer, raised in New England by her transcendentalist parents. She grew up among many of the well-known intellectuals of the day, such as Ralph, Waldo, Emerson, Nathaniel Hawthorne, Henry David Thoreau, and Henry Wadsworth Wongfellow. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes. Relax your body into the softness of your bed. Now take a few deep breaths. 60 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 farmhouse 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. Uploft from the beams, shown crook-neck squashes, juicy ham 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 saucepan 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 and slicing apples. And the tongues of tilly, pru, roxy, and roti went as fast as their hands. Farmer basset and f, the oldest boy, were choring round outside.

For Thanksgiving was at hand, and all must be in order, for that time on her day,

two and fro, from table to hearth, bustled Mrs. Bassett, flushed and flowery,

but busy and blive as the queen bee of this busy little hive should be. I do like to begin seasonable and have things to my mind. Thanksgiving dinners can't be drove, and it does take a sight of rituals to fill all these hungry stomachs. Said the good woman, as she gave a figureist stir to the great kettle of cider apple sauce, and cast a glance of house-wifely pride at the fine array of pies set forth on the buttery shelves. Only one more day, and then it'll be time to eat. I didn't take but one bowl of hasty pudding this morning, so I shall have plenty of room where the nice things come. Confided Seth to Saul, as he cracked a large hazelnut as easily as a squirrel. No need of my starvin' beforehand, I always have room enough, and I'd like to have Thanksgiving every day, answered Solomon, gloating like a young ogre, over the little pig that lay nearby, ready for roasting. 6. Sakes alive, I don't boys. It's a mercy, it don't come but once a year I should be worn to a thread paper with all this extra work, a top of my winter weave in and spin in, laughed their mother, as she plunged her plump arms into the long bread-troph and began to knead the dough as if a famine was at hand. Tillie, the oldest girl, a red-cheeked black-eyed lass of fourteen was grinding briskly at the mortar. For spices were costly and not a grain must be wasted. Proo kept time with the chopper, and the twins sliced away at the apples till their little Brown Armsed for all knew how to work and did so now with a will. I think it's real fun to have Thanksgiving at home. I'm sorry grandma is sick so we can't go there as usual but I like to mess around here. Don't you girls? Ask Tilly, pausing to take a sniff at the spicy pestle. It will be kind of lo and sum with only our own folks. I like to see all the cousins and aunts and have games and sing the twins, who were regular little rumps, and could run, swim, coast, and chowt, as well as their brothers. I don't care a might for all that. It'll be so nice to eat dinner together. Warm and comfortable at home. Said quiet prue, who loved her own cozy nooks, like a cat. Come girls, fly round and get your chores done so we can clear away for dinner as soon as I clap my bread into the oven. Called Mrs. Bassett presently, as she rounded off the last loaf of brown bread which was to feed the hungry mouths that seldom tasted any other. Here's a man coming up the hill, lively. Guess it's Gad Hopkins. Pot told him to bring a dozen oranges if they weren't too high. Shouted Saul and Seth, running to the door, while the girls smacked their lips at the thought of this rare treat and baby through his apple overboard as if getting ready for a new cargo. But all were doomed to disappointment for it was not gad with the much desired fruit. It was a stranger who threw himself off his horse and hurried up to Mr. Bassett in the yard with some brief message that made the farmer drop his And look so sober that his wife gasped at once some bad news had come and crying. Mother, I know she is, out round the good woman, forgetful of the flower on her arms and the oven waiting for its most important batch. The man said old Mr. Chadwick down to Keene, stopped him as he passed and told him to to tell Mrs. Bassett, her mother was failing fast,

and she'd better come today. He knew no more and, having delivered his errand, he rode away, saying it looked like snow and he must be jogging or he wouldn't get home till night. We must go right off, L. Dad. Hitch up and I'll be ready in less than no time." said Mrs. Bassett, wasting not a minute in tears and and limitations, but pulling off her apron as she went in, with her mind in a sad jumble of bread, anxiety, turkey, sorrow, haste, and cider apple sauce. A few words told the story, and the children left their work to help her get ready, mingling their grief for grandma with regrets for the lost dinner. I'm dreadful sorry, dear, but it can't be helped. I couldn't cook nor eat no way right now. If that blessed woman gets better sudden, as she has before, will have caused for thanks given, and I'll give you a dinner you won't forget in a hurry," said Mrs. Bassett. as she tied on her brown silk pumpkin hood with a sob for the good old mother who had made it for her. Not a child complained after that, but ran about, helpfully, bringing moccasins, heating the stone, and getting ready for a long drive, because grandma lived 20 miles away. And there were no railroads in those parts to whisk people to and fro like magic. By the time the old yellow sway was at the door the bread was in the oven and Mrs. Bassett was waiting with her camel at cloak on and the baby done up like a small bale of blankets.

Now, if you must look after the cattle like a man, keep up the fires, for there's a storm brewing, neither the children nor dumb critters must suffer," said Mr. Bassett, as he turned up the collar of his rough coat and put on his blue mittens, while the old mare shook her bells as if she preferred a trip to keen to hauling wood all day. Tilly, put extra comfortable on the bed tonight, wind is so searching up my chamber. Have the baked beans and engine put in for dinner. Whatever you do, don't let the boys get at the mince pies. You'll have them down sick. I shall come back the minute I can leave mother. Paul come tomorrow anyway, so keep snugoggin' be good. I depend on you, my daughter. Use your judgment. Don't let nothing happen while mother's away. Yesum, yesum. Goodbye, goodbye. Called the children, as Mrs. Bassett was packed into the sleigh and driven away, leaving a stream of directions behind her. F, the 16-year-old boy immediately put on his biggest boots, assumed a sober, responsible manner and surveyed his little responsibilities with a paternal heir like his father's. Tilly tied on her mother's bunch of keys, rolled up the sleeves of her home spun gown, and began to order about the younger girls. They soon forgot poor granny and found it great fun to keep house all alone. For mother seldom left home but ruled her family in the good old fashioned way. There were no servants for the little daughters where Mrs. Bassett's only mates and the stout boys helped their father. All working happily together with no wages but love. in the best manner, the use of the heads and hands, with which they were to make their own way in the world. The few flakes that caused the farmer to predict bad weather, soon increased to a regular snowstorm with gusts of wind. For up among the hills winter came early and lingered long. But the children were busy, gay and warm indoors and never minded the rising gale nor the whirling white storm outside. Tillie got them a good dinner, and when it was over the two elder girls went to their spinning. For in the kitchen stood the big and little whales and baskets of wool rolls ready to be twisted into yarn for the winter's knitting. And each day brought its stint of work to the daughters who hoped to be as thrifty as their mother. kept. capped up a glorious fire, and super-intended the small boys who popped corn and whittled boats on the hearth. While Roxy and Rody dressed corn-copt dolls in the settle corner, and bows the brindled mastiff lay on the braided mat, luxuriously warming his old legs. Thus employed, they made a pretty picture, these rosy boys and girls in their home spun suits with the rustic toys or tasks which most children nowadays would find very poor or tiresome. Tilly and Prussang as they step too and fro, drawing out the smoothly twisted threads to the musical hum of the great spinning wheels. The little girls chattered like magpies over their dolls and the new bedspread they were planning to make. All white dimmity stars on a blue calico ground as a Christmas present to

ma. The boys roared at F jokes and had rough and tumble games over bows. Who didn't mind them in the least. And so the afternoon wore pleasantly away. At sunset, the boys went out to feed the cattle, bring in heaps of wood, and lock up for the night, as the lonely farmhouse seldom had visitors after dark, the girls got the simple supper of brown bread and milk, baked apples, and a donut all round as a treat. Then they sat before the fire. The sisters knitting. The brothers with books or games. For F loved reading. And Saul and Seth never failed to play a few games of Morris with barley corns. the little board they had made themselves at one corner of the dresser. Read out a piece, said Tilly, from Mother's Chair, where she sat in state, finishing off the six Wollen Sock had knit that month. It's the old history book, but here's a bit you may like since it's about our folks. Answered F, turning the yellow page to look at a picture of two quaintly dressed children in some ancient castle. Yes, read that. I always like to hear about the lady Matilde, I was named for, and Lord Bassett, Paul is great, great, great, great grandpa. He's only a farmer now, but it's nice to know that we were somebody two or three hundred years ago," said Tilly, bridesling and tossing her curly head as she fancied the lady Matilda might have done. Don't read the strange words because we don't understand them.. Tell it. Commanded Roxy from the cradle, where she was drowsily cuddled with Rody. Well, long time ago, when Charles I was in prison, Lord Bassett was a true friend to him. He began to have plunging into his story without delay. The Lord had some papers that would have hung a lot of people if the king's enemy had got hold of them. So when he heard one day, all of a sudden, the soldiers were at the castle gate to carry him off. He had just time to call his girl to him and say, I may be going to my death, but I won't betray my master. There's no time to burn the papers, and I cannot take them with me. They are hidden in the old leather and chair where I sit. No one knows this, but you, and you must guard them till I come or send you a safe messenger to take them away. Promise me to be brave and silent, and I can go without fear. You see, it wasn't afraid to die, but he was to see a traitor.

Lady Matilde promised solemnly,

and the word to her hardly out of her mouth when the men came in.

Her father was carried away, a prisoner sent off to the tower,

but she didn't cry. She just called her brother.

Sat down in that chair with her head leaning back on those papers, like a queen, waited while the soldiers hunted the house over for him. Wasn't that a smart girl? Crytilly, beaming with pride, for she was named for this ancestors, knew the story by heart. I reckon she was scared, though, when the men came swearing in and asked her if she knew anything about it. The boy did his part, then, for he didn't know. Fired up and stood before his sister, and he says, says he, as bold as a lion. If my Lord had told us where the papers be, Who would die before we betray him, Where the children know nothing. And it's cowardly of you to try and frighten us With oaths and drawn sorts. As F quoted from the book, Seth planted himself before Tilly with the long poker in his hand, saying, as he flourished it valiantly. Why didn't the boy take his father's sword and lay about him?

I would, if anyone was hashed to Tilly. You bant him, he was only a bit of a boy, couldn't do anything. Sit down and hear the rest of it. it tilly with a pat on the yellow head, and a private resolve that Seth should have the largest piece of pie at dinner next day, as reward for his chivalry. Well, the men went off after turning the castle out of window, but they said they should come again. So faithful Matilde was full of trouble, hardly dared to leave the room where the chair stood. All day she sat there, and at night her sleep was so full of fear about it. She often got up, went to see that all was safe. The servants thought the fright had hurt her wits, and let her be. But Rupert the boy stood by her, never was afraid of her strange ways.

She was a pious maid, the book said, and often spent the long evenings reading the Bible, with her brother by her, all alone in the great room, with no one to help her bear her secret, Okay, no good news of her father.

I last, word came that the king was dead and his friends banished out of England. Then the poor children were in a sad plight, for they had no mother and the servants all ran away, leaving only one faithful old man to help them. But the father did come. Cryed Roxy, eagerly, you'll see. Continued F. Half-telling, half-reading. Matilda was sure he would, so she sat on the big chair guarding the papers and no one

could get her away.

Till one day a man came with her father's ring, told her to give up the secret. She knew the ring but would not tell until she had asked many questions, so as to be very sure. And while the man answered all about her father and the king, she looked at him sharply. Then she stood up and said, in a trumble, for there was something strange about the man. Sir, I doubt you in spite of the ring, and I will not answer till you pull off the false beard you wear, that I may see your face and know if you are my father's friend or foe. Off came the disguise, and Matilda found out it was my Lord Himself, come to take them with Him out of England. He was very proud of that faithful girl, I guess, for the old chair still stands in the castle. And the name keeps in the family, Paws says, even over here, where some of the baskets came along with the pilgrims. Artilly would have been as brave I know, and she looks like the old picture down to grandma's, don't she, F? Cryed Prue. Who admired her bold, bright sister very much? Well, I think you'd do the set in part best, Prue. You're so patient. Till would fight like a wildcat. She can't hold her tongue worth a cent Answered F We're at Tillie pulled his hair and the story ended with a general frolic When the moon faced clock behind the door struck nine Tillie tucked up the children under the extra comfortable and, having kissed them all around, as mother did, crept into her own nest, never minding the little drifts of snow that sifted in upon her coverlet between the shingles of the roof nor the storm that raged without. As if he felt the need of unusual vigilance, old bows lay down on the mat before the door, and the cat had the warm hearth all to herself. If any late wanderer had looked in at midnight, he would have seen the fire blazing up again and in the cheerful glow, the old cat blinking her yellow eyes as she sat bolt upright beside the spinning wheel like some sort of household goblin guarding the children while they slept. When they woke, like early birds, it still snowed, but up the little bassets jumped, broke the ice in their pictures, and went down with cheeks glowing like winter apples after a brisk scrub and scramble into their clothes. F was off to the barn until he soon had a great kettle of mushred which, with warm milk from the cows, made a wholesome breakfast for the seven hearty children. Now, about dinner, said the young housekeeper, as the pewter spoons stopped clattering, and the earthen bowls stood empty. Ma said, have what we liked, but she didn't expect us to have a real Thanksgiving dinner because she wouldn't be here to cook it, and we don't know how. Begin, prove. Doubtfully.

I can roast a turkey, make a pudding as well as anybody, I guess.

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