Help me think about the name of this novel.

One day it will belong to us. On that day, as long as Americans didn't jump out of the stone, they all went back to their hometown, eating soda cookies and looking at the old water pump at the door. They felt as if they were closer to the porch than before, and they couldn't help wondering. Bless that day. President Roosevelt gave it to me. We have heard some legends about the Puritans, but we can't remember what they were like. Needless to say, if they want to land again, we will definitely drag them out of Plymouth Rock? The name sounds familiar. As the Turkey Trust Company monopolized the market, many of us had to condescend to eat hens. However, someone in Washington leaked the news and informed them of the announcement of Thanksgiving in advance.

[1620, the English Puritans, who could not bear religious oppression, arrived in Plymouth, America on the first ship "may flower", with 102 immigrants from England, Scotland and Charanyi on board. In the second year after immigrants settled down, Thanksgiving Day was established to celebrate the first harvest and thank God's grace, and later became a legal holiday in the United States, which was announced by the federal president or state governors, usually on the last Thursday of 1 1 month every year. President Roosevelt here refers to theodore roosevelt (1858- 19 19), whose term of office is 190 1 year to 1909. ]

[Plymouth Rock, located in Plymouth Harbor, Massachusetts, is said to be the place where the first pilgrims landed. In fact, the landing site is Cape Cod in Provinse. ]

The big cities in the east of blueberry swamp make Thanksgiving a legal holiday. Only on the last Thursday of 1 1 every year does this big city realize the United States across the ferry. Only this day is pure America. Yes, it's a unique celebration day in America.

[Big city to the east of blueberry swamp: new york. ]

Now there is a story to prove to you: here in Leiyang, we also have some ancient traditions, and because of our hard work and enterprising spirit, these traditions are often much older than in Britain.

Stafford Pitt sits on the third bench on the right of the east entrance on the sidewalk opposite the fountain in Union Square. For nine years, every Thanksgiving, he always sat in his old place at one o'clock. Every time he sits like this, there will always be some unexpected experiences-the experience of Charles Dickens, which makes his vest swell above his heart, and so does his back.

However, it seems that Stafford Pitt stopped at the annual dating website today out of habit, not out of annual hunger. According to philanthropists, it seems that it takes so long for the poor to starve.

Of course, Pete is not hungry at all. He had just had a big meal before he came here, and now he has only the strength to breathe and move. His eyes are like two pale gooseberries, firmly embedded in a swollen, greasy and dripping putty mask. He gasped in haste; A circle of senator-like adipose tissue around his neck made his turned-up collar lose its fashionable style. A week ago, the buttons sewn on his clothes by the kind fingers of Salvation Army nuns exploded like popcorn and scattered all over the floor beside him. Although his clothes were tattered and his shirt front was wide to his chest, the November breeze with snowflakes brought him only a welcome coolness. Stafford Pitt was overwhelmed by the heat generated by that particularly rich meal. The meal started with oysters and ended with raisin pudding, including what he thought was roast turkey, boiled potatoes, chicken salad, pumpkin pie and ice cream from all over the world. So he sat with a full stomach and looked at everything around him in panic.

The meal was completely out of his expectation. He passed a red brick house near the starting point of Wuma Road, where two old ladies with ancient families and respect for tradition lived. They don't even recognize the existence of new york, thinking that Thanksgiving agents are doing it for Washington Square. One of their traditional habits is to send a servant to wait at the side door and ask him to invite the first hungry passerby in after noon so that he can eat and drink. When Stafford Pitt went to the park, he happened to pass by and was invited in by the housekeeper, fulfilling the tradition in the castle.

After staring at the front for ten minutes, Stafford Pitt felt that he wanted to change his vision. He slowly turned his head to the left with great difficulty. At this time, his eyes popped out in horror, his breathing stopped, and his short feet in worn leather shoes twisted on the gravel floor.

Because the old gentleman is crossing four blocks and coming to the bench where he is sitting.

For nine years, every Thanksgiving, this old gentleman always came here to look for Stafford Pitt sitting on a bench. The old man wants this to be a tradition. Every Thanksgiving for nine years, he always found Stafford here and always took him to the restaurant to see him have a good meal. This kind of thing is naturally done in Britain. However, the United States is a young country and nine years is not bad. That old gentleman is a loyal American patriot and considers himself one of the pioneers in establishing American tradition. In order to attract people's attention, we must stick to one thing for a long time and never relax. For example, charging workers a few cents a week for insurance, cleaning the streets, and so on

The old gentleman solemnly went straight to the system he cultivated. Yes, Stafford Pitt's annual feeling is not as national as Britain's Magna Carta or Breakfast Jam. But this is at least a step forward. Almost feudal. At least it proves that in New Zealand-hmm! It is not impossible to establish a habit in America.

The old gentleman is tall and thin, and he is over sixty years old. He is dressed in black and wears a pair of unstable glasses on his nose. His hair is a little whiter and thinner than last year, and it seems that he relies more on that thick and knotty crank crutch than last year.

When his old benefactor approached, Stafford Pitt couldn't help breathing and trembling, just like a lady's overweight poodle saw a wild dog grin at him. He wanted to jump up and run away, but even if Santos Dumont tried his best, he couldn't leave the bench. Those two old ladies' loyal servants can really get things done.

[Santos-Dumont (1873- 1932): Brazilian balloonist,190/kloc-0 made a round-trip flight from St. Croix, France to the Eiffel Tower,1996 and1996. ]

"Hello." The old man said, "I'm glad to see that another year's change has no effect on you. You are still healthy and happy in this wonderful world." Just for this happiness, today's Thanksgiving Day means a lot to both of us. If you are willing to come with me, my friend, I will invite you to dinner so that your body and mind can be coordinated. "

The old man always says the same pride. Every Thanksgiving for nine years has been like this. These words themselves have almost become a system. Nothing can compare with it except the Declaration of Independence. In Stafford, they used to sound as beautiful as music. Now he is very sad. He looks up at the old man's face with tears in his eyes. Thin snowflakes fell on Stafford's sweaty forehead and almost hissed. But the old man is struggling slightly. He turned with his back to the wind.

Stafford always wondered why the old man looked so sad when he said this. He didn't understand, because the old man always wanted a son to inherit his career. He hopes that after his death, a son will come to this place-a strong and proud son who will stand in front of people like Stafford and say, "In memory of my father." Then it will become a system.

However, the old man has no relatives. He rented several rooms in a shabby brown house on a remote street in the east of the park. In winter, he planted some inverted admirals in a greenhouse not much bigger than his suitcase. In spring, he attended Easter. In summer, he stayed in a farmhouse in the mountains of New Jersey and sat in a wicker armchair, talking about a flapping butterfly he hoped to find one day. In autumn, he invited Stafford to dinner. That's what old people do.

Stafford looked up at him for a moment, feeling sorry for himself. He's upset if there's nothing he can do. The old man's eyes sparkled with kindness and joy. The wrinkles on his face deepen year by year, but his little black bow tie is still very proud. His shirt is white and beautiful, and his gray moustache is gracefully tilted. Stafford made a sound like boiling peas in a pot. What he wants to say; The old man had heard the voice nine times, and he took it for granted that it was a cliche accepted by Stafford.

"Thank you, Sir. Thank you very much. I'll go with you. I'm starving, sir. "

The groggy feeling of fullness did not shake Stafford's belief that he was the cornerstone of a system. His appetite for Thanksgiving does not belong to himself, but to this kind old gentleman with priority; Because even if it is not based on the actual prosecution period, the sacred rights of all established customs must be taken into account. Yes, America is a free country. If we want to establish a tradition, someone must act as a circular decimal. Heroes don't have to use steel and gold. Look, there is a hero here, playing with silver-plated iron and tin.

[Law on the limitation of prosecution: Anglo-American law stipulates that the limitation of prosecution for infringement of real estate is 20 years, for infringement of movable property is 6 years, and for infringement of illegal acts is 2 years; After the above time limit, the plaintiff may not bring a lawsuit. ]

[Silver-plated iron and tin ware: refers to knives, forks, plates and saucers for eating. ]

The old man went south with the beneficiaries every year and came to the restaurant and table where the feast was held every year. They recognized it.

"Here comes the old man," said a waiter. "Every Thanksgiving, he treats the poor man to a meal."

The old man sat across the table, facing what would be the cornerstone of his ancient tradition, and his face shone like blackened beads. The waiter filled the table with holiday food-Stafford sighed (others thought it was a sign of hunger), raised his knife and fork and carved an immortal crown for himself.

No hero who fought his way out in the enemy is so brave. Turkey, steak, soup, vegetables and pies disappeared before him. When he stepped into the restaurant, his stomach was full, and the smell of food almost made him lose the honor of a gentleman, but he pulled himself together like a real knight and persisted. He saw the happiness of doing good in the old man's face-the happiness brought by hanging the golden bell upside down and flapping the butterfly can't be compared with this-he really couldn't bear to spoil the old man's fun.

An hour later, Stafford leaned back and the battle was won.

"Thank you, sir," he panted, like a leaking steam pipe. "Thank you for a wonderful lunch."

Then, with his eyes straight, he stood up with difficulty and walked to the kitchen. A waiter turned him over like a top and pushed him to the door. The old man carefully counted out a small silver coin of 30 cents and gave the waiter three nickels as a small account.

As usual, they parted at the door, the old man went south and Stafford went north.

At the first corner, Stafford turned and stood for a moment. Then, his shabby clothes bulged like owl feathers, and he himself fell on the sidewalk like a horse suffering from heatstroke.

When the ambulance arrived, the young doctor and driver cursed his bloated in a low voice. Because there was no smell of whisky, there was no reason to hand him over to the police patrol car, so Stafford and his double meal were taken to the hospital. They carried him to the hospital bed and began to check whether he had any strange diseases, hoping to find some problems through autopsy.

Look! An hour later, another ambulance brought the old man. They put him in another bed and talked about appendicitis, because from the appearance, he could afford it.

But not long after, a young doctor met a young nurse with fond eyes and stopped to chat with her about the patient.

"That decent old gentleman," he said, "you'll never guess. He's starving. This used to be a noble family, but now it is down and out. He told me that he had not eaten for three days. "