The Weber Literary Journal A Thanksgiving Story By Helen Wilson ANY things were given up by Phoebe's parents when they left England to come to Utah. But, to them, a snug home and plenty of food and clothes compared as nothing beside their glorious religion. Even when their lot was to travel weary stretches of plains in a swaying, jolting wagon, with always the question in their minds as to where the next meal was to come from, they found satisfaction and contentment in the thoughts of their prospects when they would reach Utah. Mr. and Mrs. Steed were typical pioneers, hardy, God-fearing, and honest. Thru their strict and painstaking teachings, each of their six children, from fourteen year old Tom to five year old Phoebe, possessed a wholesome knowledge of the Gospel, and had great faith and trust in their Heavenly Father. They were a happy, bright-eyed lot of children. Not one of them found the family too large, even when they had to go on half rations during the hard work of settling. Each child had work to perform during the spring and summer after their arrival in Utah. The clearing of the land, the breaking of the soil, the planting and harvesting of the crops had all proved difficult yet engrossing tasks. But the greatest of all things, to the children, was the wonderful log house their father was building. The family had lived in the old covered wagon for months, and Mr. Steed had been working night and day to get a warm house finished before winter came. The children had watched with devouring eagerness the building of the house. Each log had been inspected for its strength and sturdiness, and every bit of material used was admired and examined by the children. To us, the building of a house is nothing so very important, but to those little English children, who had lived for so long in "the old cradle", as Tom called it, the house was like a monument to their strivings and hard work. When it was finished they could look upon them- 18 The Weber Literary Journal selves as settled in the new, wonderful Utah. So you can imagine their delight when their father informed them that he thought the house would be finished for Thanksgiving. They had barely hoped to have it by the time the heavy snows came, but by Thanksgiving! it was almost too good to be true. But there they were, however, in their snug-new home by the day before Thanksgiving! The children had entered the new home with almost a feeling of awe, but when this wore off, they had great fun in fixing up the little house with the few homely articles brought from England. When it was all finished, the parents looked about with tears of joy and happiness in their eyes, and a prayer of thankfulness in their hearts. Not so the children, however. When the few prints had been hung on the walls, the white curtains fastened in the windows, the rag rugs arranged on the floor, the poor furniture set at the desired angles, and a roaring fire made in the great stone fireplace, the children had a grand frolic. Almost forgotten games and stories were recalled and indulged in, to the great delight of everyone. Suddenly little Phoebe said, "But Mother, what are we going to have for Thanksgiving dinner?" Mrs. Steed looked away from her children's happy faces. It seemed impossible in the midst of their fun for her to tell them that there was nothing but a few vegetables for their first Thanksgiving dinner in the new home. So she took refuge in her favorite, oft-used phrase, "Oh, the Lord will provide." But if she expected respite from their questions, she was mistaken. "Yes, but what will we have?" insisted Tom. "Yes, tell us," chorused the rest of the children. So brought face to face with a direct answer, Mrs. Steed said bravely, "Children, we have nothing in the house but potatoes and carrots. We will have to have them for tomorrow, with the fresh-baked bread I made today. I'm sorry, but our house will have to be for our Thanksgiving this year." Well, picture yourself spending Thanksgiving, of all days, with a banquet of bread, potatoes and carrots as the chief meal. Then, if you can, picture your own delight at an unexpected 19