"Tell us a story, grandma."
"A story, child!" said grandma. "Why, I never made up a story in my life."
"But you can tell a true story," said Ruth, who was seated on the doorstep,—"about something that happened when you were a little girl."
While they were talking, George and Charles and Snap, the dog, had come running up to join the group. Grandma stopped in her knitting, thought a moment, and said,—
"Well, children, sit down, all of you, and I will tell you a true story."
So the children all took seats; and grandma began:—
When I was a little girl, about the age of Ruth, my father was preceptor of the Hingham Academy. You have all been in Hingham. It is only fifteen miles from Boston. We go there now, by rail or by steamboat, in less than an hour; but, in those days, we used to go by a sailing-packet; and it was sometimes a whole day's journey.
Well, in our family there was a French boy, named Bernard Trainier. His mother was not living. His father lived in Toulon, France. At that time, France, under the great Napoleon, was continually at war, and all her young men were forced into the army. I suppose it was to save Bernard from this fate, that he was sent to America. Mr. Trainier was acquainted with a French gentleman, Mr. Duprez, who then lived in Boston; and, through him, Bernard was placed in my father's care to be educated.
Well, he was a bright, pleasant boy. He soon learned to speak English; and I and my sisters and brothers became very fond of him. He would have been very happy, but for one thing. He longed to see his little brother John, whom he had parted with at Toulon.
One day, to his great delight, Bernard received a letter from his father, telling him that John was also to be sent to America, and that he would take passage from Marseilles by the first vessel bound for Boston.