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You're built to win it. Welcome to newscast, a podcast designed to help you fall asleep. Find us on Snewscast.com and follow us on Instagram at Snewscast to find behind the scenes content. If you enjoy our show, please write a review on the Apple Podcast app. In doing so, you help new listeners find us and sleep better as well. Also, we very much enjoy reading them. This episode is brought to you by our Patreon supporters and by Crisp and Sparkling Warnings. Tonight, we'll read the short story on Susanna's Thanksgiving Dinner, written by Lucy Maud Montgomery in 1907. This is a heartwarming tale from the author of Anne of Green Gables. If you enjoy this author, you can find a snooze cast excerpt from Anne that aired in April 2019 and are Emily of New Moon episode that aired this July 2021. Maud was a prolific writer with over 500 short stories and poems to her name along with some 20 novels. Let's get cozy. Close your eyes.

Relax your body into the softness of your bed.

Now, take a few deep breaths. Here's Aunt Susanna, girls, said Laura, who was sitting by the North window. Nothing but North Light does for Laura, who is the artist of our talented family. Each of us has a little pet new-fledged talent, which we are faithfully cultivating, in the hope that it will amount to something and soar highly someday. But it is difficult to cultivate four talents on our tiny income. If Laura wasn't such a good manager, we never could do it. Laura's words were a signal for Kate to hang up her violin, and for me to push my pen and portfolio out of sight. Laura had hidden her brushes and watercolors as she spoke. Only Margaret continued to bend serenely over her Latin grammar. Aunt Susanna frowns on musical and literary and artistic ambitions, but she accords a faint approval to Margaret's desire for an education. A college course with a tangible diploma at the end and a sensible pedagogic aspiration is something on Susanna can understand when she tries hard, but she cannot understand messing with paints, fiddling or scribbling, and she is only unmeasured contempt for messers, fiddlers and scribblers. Time was when we had paid no attention to Aunt Susanna's views on these points, but Ever since she had, on one in cautious day when she was in high good humor, dropped to pale, anemic little hint that she might send Margaret to college, if she were a good girl, we had been bending all our energies towards securing Aunt Susanna's approval. It was not enough that Aunt Susanna should approve of Margaret. She must approve of the whole four of us or she would not help Margaret. That is Aunt Susanna's way. Of late, we had been growing a little discouraged. Aunt Susanna had recently read a magazine article, which stated that the higher education of women was ruining our country, and that a woman with a BA couldn't, in the very nature of things, ever be a house-wifely, cookly creature. Consequently, Margaret's chances looked a little foggy, but we hadn't quite given up hope. A very little thing might sway on Susanna one way or the other, so that we walked very softly, and tried to mingle Serpent's wisdom and doves harmlessness in practical portions. When on Susanna came in, Laura was crocheting, Kate was sewing, and I was pouring over a recipe book. That was not deception at all, since we did all these things frequently. Much more frequently, in fact, than we painted or fiddled or wrote. But Aunt Susanna would never believe it. Nor did she believe it now. She threw back her lovely new seal-skin cape, looked around the sitting- and then smiled a truly on Susanne and smile. What a pity you forgot to wipe that smudge of paint off your nose Laura she said sarcastically you don't seem to get on very fast with your lace. How long is it since you began it? Over three months, isn't it? This is the third piece of the same pattern I've done in three months on Susanna. Said Laura, presently, Laura is an old duck. She never gets cross and snaps back. I do. and it's so hard not to with Aunt Susanna sometimes, but I generally manage it, for I do anything for Margaret. Laura did not tell Aunt Susanna that she sold her lace at the women's exchange in town and made enough to buy her new hats. She makes enough out of her watercolors to dress herself. Aunt Susanna took a second breath and started in again. I notice your violin hasn't quite as much dust on it as the rest of the things in this room Kate Kate. It's a pity you stopped playing just as I came in. I don't enjoy fiddling much, but I'd prefer it to seeing anyone using a needle who isn't accustomed to it. Kate is really a most dainty needle woman and does all the fine sewing in her family? She blushed and said nothing, that being the highest pitch of virtue to which Arcadia, like myself, can attain. And there's Margaret ruining her eyes over books, went on to Aunt Susanna severely. Will you kindly tell me, Margaret Thorn, what good you ever expect Latin to do you? Well, you see Aunt Susanna, said Margaret gently. Magzie and Laura are birds of a feather.

I want to be a teacher if I can manage to get through and I shall need Latin for that. All the girls except me had now got their accustomed wrap, but I knew better than to hope I should escape. So you're reading a recipe book, Agnes?

Well, that's better than to hope I should escape. So you're reading a recipe book, Agnes? Well, that's better than pouring over a novel. I'm afraid you haven't been at it very long, though. People generally don't read recipes upside down. And besides, you didn't quite cover up your portfolio. I see a corner of it sticking out. Was genius burning before I came in? It's too bad if I quenched the flame. A cookery book isn't such a novelty to me as you seem to think on Susanna. I said, as meekly as it was possible for me. Why, I'm a really good cook if I do say so. I am too. Well, I'm glad to hear it," said Aunt Susanna, skeptically, because that has to do with my errand here today. I'm in a pack of troubles. Firstly, Miranda Mary's mother has had to go and get sick, and Miranda Mary must go home to wait on her. Secondly, I've just had a telegram from my sister-in-law who has been ordered west for her health, and I'll have to leave on tonight's train to see her before she goes. I can't get back until the noon train thursday, and that is Thanksgiving, and I've invited Mr and Mrs Gilbert to dinner that day. They'll come on the same train. I'm dreadfully worried. There doesn't seem to be anything I can do, except get on one of you girls to go up to the pineery Thursday morning and cook the dinner for us. Do you think you can manage it? We all felt rather dismayed and nobody volunteered with a rush. But as I had just boasted that I could cook,

it was plainly my duty to step into the breach, and I did it with fear and trembling. I'll go on Susanna, I said.

I don't help you, said Kate.

Well, I suppose I'll have to try you," said Aunt Susanna, with the air of a woman determined to make the best of a bad business. Here's the key of the kitchen door. You'll find everything in the pantry, turkey and all. The mince pies are already made, so you only have to warm them up. I want dinner sharp at 12 for the train is due at 11.50. Mr and Mrs. Gilbert are very particular, and I do hope you will have things right. Oh, if I could only be home myself, why will people get sick at such inconvenient times? Don't worry on Susanna, I said, comfortingly. Kid and I will have your Thanksgiving dinner ready for you in tip top style. Well, I'm sure I hope so. Don't get to moaning over a story, Agnes. I'll lock the library up, and fortunately, there are no fiddles at the pinery. Above all, don't let any of the McGinnis is in. They'll be sure to be prowling around when I'm not home. Don't give that dog of theirs any scraps, either. That's Miranda Mary's one fault. She'll feed that dog in spite of all I can do, and I can't walk out of my own back door without falling over him. We promised to watch out for the mechinesis and all their works, including the dog. And when Aunt Susanna had gone, we looked at each other with mingled hope and fear. Girls, this is the chance of your lives," said Laurel. If you can only please Aunt Susanna with this dinner, it will convince her that you are good cooks in spite of your nefarious bent for music and literature. I consider the illness of Miranda Mary's mother a providential interposition that is if she isn't too sick. It's all very well for you to be pleased, Lola. I sad, doffly.

But I don't feel jubilant over the prospect at all.

Something will probably go wrong. And then there's our own nice little Thanksgiving celebration we've

planned, and pinched and economized for weeks to provide. That's half-spoiled now. Oh, what is that compared to Margaret's chance of going to college? Exclaimed Kate. Cheer up, Aggie. You know we can cook. I feel that it's now or never with Aunt Susanna. I cheered up accordingly. We're not given to pessimism, which is fortunate. Ever since Father died four years ago, we've struggled on here. Content to give up a good deal. Just to keep our home and be together. This little grey house. Oh, how we do love it and its apple trees is ours, and we have, as a foreset, a tiny income, and our ambitions. Not very big ambitions, but big enough to give zest to our lives and hope to the future. We've been very happy as a rule. Aunt Susanna has a big house and lots of money, but she isn't as happy as we are. She nags us a good deal, just as she used to nag father. But we don't mind it very much after all. Indeed, I sometimes suspect that we really like Aunt Susanna tremendously if she'd only leave us alone long enough to find it out. Thursday morning was an ideal Thanksgiving morning. Bright, crisp, and sparkling. There had been a white frost in the night, and the orchard and the white birch wood behind it looked like a fairyland. We were all up early. None of us had slept well, and both Kate and I had had the most fearful dreams of spoiling Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving dinner. Never mind, dreams always go by contrary as you know. Said Laura, cheerfully, you'd better go up to the Pineyory early and get the fires on, where the house will be cold. Remember the McKinnis says and the dog. Way the turkey so that you'll know exactly how long to cook it. Put the pies in the oven and time to get piping hot. Lukewarm minced pies are an abomination. Be sure, Laura. Don't confuse us with any more cautions, I groaned, or we shall get hopelessly fuddled. Come on, Kate, before she has time to. It wasn't very far up to the pinery, just ten minutes walk, and such a delightful walk on that delightful morning. We went through the orchard and then through the white birch wood where the loveliness of the frosted boughs awed us. Beyond that there was a lane between ranks of young, balsamy, white misted furs, and then an open pasture field, sear and crispy. Just across it was a pinery, a lovely old house with dormer windows in the roof, surrounded by pines that were dark and glorious against the silvery morning sky. The McGinnis dog was starting to sit on the back door steps when we arrived. He wagged his tail, ingratiatingly, but we ruthlessly pushed him off, went in, and shut the door in his face. All the little Macinnes' were sitting in a row on their fence, and they whooped derisively. The Macinnes' manners are not those which appertain to the higher cast of life, but we We rather like urchins, there are eight of them, and we would probably have gone over to talk to them if we had not had the fear of Aunt Susanna before our eyes. We kindled the fires, weighed the turkey, put it in the oven, and prepared the vegetables. Then, we set the dining room table and decorated it with aunt Susanna's potted ferns and dishes of lovely red apples. Everything went so smoothly that we soon forgot to be nervous. When the turkey was done, we took it out, set it on the back of the range to keep warm and put the mince pies in. The potatoes, cabbage and turnops were bubbling away cheerfully, and everything was going as merely as a marriage bell. Then, all at once things happened. In an evil hour, we went to the yard window and looked out. We saw a quiet scene. The McGinnis dog was still sitting on his haunches by the steps, just as he had been sitting all the morning. Down in the McGinnis yard, everything wore an unusually peaceful aspect. Only one McGinnis was in sight. Tony, aged 8, who was perched up on the edge of the well-box, swinging his legs and singing at the top of his melodious Irish voice. All at once, just as we were looking at him, Tony went over backward and apparently tumbled head foremost down his father's well. Kate and I screamed simultaneously. We tore across the kitchen, flung open the door, plunged down over Aunt Susanna's yard, scrambled over the fence, and flew to the well. Just as we reached it, Tony's red head appeared as he climbed serenely out over the box. I don't know whether I felt more relieved or furious. He had merely fallen on the blank guard inside the box. And there are times when I am tempted to think he fell on purpose because he saw Kate and me looking out at the window. At least he didn't seem at all frightened and grinned most embezzling at us. Kate and I turned on her heels and marched back in a dignified manner as was possible under the circumstances. Half way up on Susanna's yard, we forgot dignity and broke into a run. We had left the door open and the McGinnis dog had disappeared. Never shall I forget the sight we saw or the smell we smelled when we burst into that kitchen? There on the floor was the McGinnis dog and what was left of Aunt Susanna's Thanksgiving Turkey. As for the smell, imagine a co-mingled odor of scorching turnups and burning mince pies, and there you have it. The dog fled out with a guilty help. I groaned and snatched the turnups off. Kate threw open the oven door and dragged out the pies. Pies and turnups were ruined as irretrievably as the turkey. What shall we do, I cried miserably? I knew Margaret's chance of college was gone forever. Do, Kate was superb. She didn't lose her wits for a second. We'll go home and borrow the girls' dinner. Quick, there's just ten minutes before train time. Throw those pies and turnups into this basket. The turkey too will carry them with us to hide them. I might not be able to evolve an idea like that on the spur of the moment, but I can at least act up to it when it is presented. Without a moment's delay, we shut the door and ran. As we went, I saw the McGinnis dog licking his chops over in their yard. I've been ashamed ever since of my feelings towards that dog. They were murderous. Fortunately, I had no time to indulge him. It is ten minutes walk from the pinary to our house, but you can run it in five. Kate and I burst into the kitchen just as Laura and Margaret were sitting down to dinner. We had neither time nor breath for explanations. Without a word, I grasped the turkey platter and the turnip terrain. Kate caught one hot mince pie from the oven and whisked a cold one out of the pantry. We've got to have them, was all she said. I've always said that Laura and Magsy would rise to any occasion. They saw as Carrie there Thanksgiving dinner off under their very eyes and they never interfered by word or motion. They didn't even worry us with questions. They realized that something desperate had happened and that the emergency called for deed, not words. Aggy, gasped Kate behind me as we tore through the birch wood. The border of these pies is crimped differently from Aunt Susanna's.

I panted back, she won't know the difference. Miranda, Mary, crimps them. We got back to the Pineray, just as the train whistled blue. We had 10 minutes to transfer turkey and turnups to Aunt Susanna's dishes. Hide our own, air the kitchen, and get back our breath. We accomplished it. When And on Susanna and her gas came, we were prepared for them. We were calm, outwardly, and the second mince pie was getting hot in the oven. It was ready by the time it was needed. Fortunately, our turkey was the same size as on Susanna's, and Laura had cooked a double supply of turn-ups, intending to warm them up the next day. Still, all things considered, Kate and I didn't enjoy that dinner much. We kept thinking of Porlora and Magzi at home, dining off potatoes on Thanksgiving. But at least on Susanna was satisfied. When Kate and I were washing the dishes, she came out quite beamingly. Well, my dears, I must admit that you made a very good job of the dinner indeed. The turkey was done to perfection. As for the mince pies, well, of course Miranda Mary made them, but she must have had extra good luck with them, for they were excellent and heated to just the right degree.

You didn't give anything to the McGinnis dog, I hope. No, we didn't give him anything," said Kate. On Susanna did not notice the emphasis. And we had finished the dishes.

We smuggled our platter and terrain out of the house and went home. Laura and Margaret were busy painting and studying, and were just as sweet tempered as if we hadn't robbed them of their dinner. But we had to tell them the whole story before we even took off our hats. There is a special providence for children and idiots, said Laura gently. We didn't ask her whether she meant us or Tony McGinnis or both. There are some things better left in obscurity. I'd have probably said something much sharper than that if anybody had made off with my Thanksgiving dinner so unceremoniously. Susanna came down the next day and told Margaret that she would send her to college. Also, she commissioned Laura to paint her a watercolor for her dining room and said she'd pay her $5 for it. Kate and I were rather left out in the cold in this distribution of favors, but when you come to reflect that Laura and Magsy had really cooked that dinner, it was only just. Anyway, on Susanna has never since insinuated that we can't cook,

and that is as much as we deserve.