Anon.
The end of the visit had come at last. Tom and Katey were at Woodside spending the last day with their cousins. It was evening: the long shadows were falling over the lawn, and the summer air was still.
Grandmamma was sitting under a tree on the lawn knitting, when the children clustered around with the old request, "Please, grandmamma, tell us a story."
Grandmamma looked a little gravely upon the dear, eager faces, and began:—
"A little boy found himself one day, he could not tell how, in a cell, or rather a small room, which was very comfortable. He could not remember anything that had happened before he came there, nor did he feel frightened although he was quite alone.
"For some time he was content to pass the time without taking any particular notice of anything. At last he saw that there were several doors—five—in the walls of his room. He noticed that two were high and wide, the rest seemed smaller; and he thought, 'I will open one of these first. Doors must be meant to lead somewhere, and I am rather tired of this little room, although it is comfortable.'
"He opened the door very easily, and he found himself in a large room. In the middle of it was a table covered with things that seemed good to eat.
"He did not see any one, but he heard a voice say, 'Come in and taste.'
"So he took up one nice thing after another, according to his will; and after awhile he heard the voice say, 'This is enough for once; you may come again.'
"He turned to go back to his room, but the door was gone. The way to his cell was open, and this beautiful room was added to his smaller one.