IN my humble opinion no one ever told stories to equal those of my friends. Miss Eleanor could tell the cutest little fox and pig stories, while Miss Milly excelled on cat stories.
During my sickness they entertained me finely. Miss Eleanor used to tell a story of the "Pig Family," and the boys were wild over it. No matter how many new ones were told, they never were satisfied to go to sleep without hearing the well-worn pig story.
One night when Miss Eleanor was away, Miss Milly put the children to bed, and of course told them stories. They were not satisfied without the pig story. She was in a hurry, and preferred to tell stories out of her own head, saying she did not know the Pig Family; that was Aunt Eleanor's story.
At last, as they would not go to sleep without it, she told it to them as she remembered it. When it was finished, she looked at Willie, and saw that his lip was quivering and his eyes were full of tears.
"What is the matter?" she said.
"You haven't told about the little blue pig," he sobbed.
"Oh, nonsense!" she said; "he is dead probably."
This finished him. He cried as if his heart would break. She said she never killed a pig before, and had such a hard time bringing that blue one to life, she never would kill another.
Now I am just like the children. I love to hear the same stories over and over, and feel really acquainted with the little creatures that they tell about. And I take after my mistress. I build "castles in the air," though I have heard her say she always got an axe ready to demolish them, for she knew they would have to go. I wish I did know what an axe is. I would have one too.