"Is that all?" said Ralph, as I paused a moment to secure a dropped stitch in the red stocking.
"Oh, no indeed!" I say as I go on,—
"By and by my grandmother's family were all scattered. My grandfather died, and left her sad and lonely; but she still lived in the old homestead.
"I can see her room now. There were four windows in it,—two looking east, towards Mounts Tom and Holyoke, and two south, over a lovely old-fashioned garden filled with tulips, hollyhocks, southernwood, thyme, cinnamon-roses, spice-pinks, lavender, white-lilies, and violets.
"There was an open Franklin stove in the room; and a little, chubby black teapot always stood on its top. One sunny south window was filled with flowers. Grandmother always carried a bunch of flowers to church with her, and she had a black velvet bag, in which she carried sugar-plums, to give to us drowsy children on Sunday afternoon, when the minister preached one of his long sermons."
"Just one story more," said Ralph, as I again paused to observe what progress I was making in my knitting.
"Will you promise not to ask for another one to-night?"
"We promise certain sure," said Fred. "Only tell a long one for the last."
"Very well," said I.