“The sun began to get low, we were afraid Debby would come down, and still those dreadful plums wouldn’t look like sauce. At last they began to burst, the water got a lovely purple, we put lots of sugar in, and kept tasting till our aprons and faces were red, and our lips burnt with the hot spoons.

‘“There’s too much juice,’ said Nelly, shaking her head wisely. ‘It ought to be thick and nice like mamma’s.’

‘“I’ll pour off some of the juice, and we can drink it,’ said I, feeling that I’d made a mistake in my cooking.

“So Nelly got a bowl, and I got a towel and lifted the big saucepan carefully off. It was heavy and hot, and I was a little afraid of it, but didn’t like to say so. Just as I began to pour, Debby suddenly called from the top of the stairs, ‘Children, what under the sun are you doing?’

“It startled us both. Nelly dropped the bowl and ran. I dropped the saucepan and didn’t run, for a part of the hot juice splashed upon my bare feet and ankles, and made me scream with dreadful pain.

“Down rushed Debby to find me dancing about the kitchen with a great bump on my forehead, a big spoon in my hand, and a pair of bright purple feet. The plums were lying all over the hearth, the saucepan in the middle of the room, the basin was broken, and the sugar swimming about as if the bowl had turned itself over trying to sweeten our mess for us.

“Debby was very good to me, for she never stopped to scold, but laid me down on the old sofa, and bound up my poor little feet with oil and cotton wool. Nelly, seeing me lie white and weak, thought I was dying, and went over to the neighbour’s for Aunt Betsey, and burst in upon the ladies sitting primly at their tea, crying, distractedly,

‘“Oh, Aunt Betsey, come quick! for the saucepan fell off the shed, and Fan’s feet are all boiled purple!”’

“Nobody laughed at this funny message, and Aunt Betsey ran all the way home with a muffin in her hand and her ball in her pocket, though the knitting was left behind.

“I suffered a great deal, but I wasn’t sorry afterward, for I learned to love Aunt Betsey, who nursed me tenderly, and seemed to forget her strict ways in her anxiety for me.

“This bag was made for my special comfort, and hung on the sofa where I lay all those weary days. Aunt kept it full of pretty patchwork, or, what I liked better, gingernuts and peppermint drops, to amuse me, though she didn’t approve of cosseting children up, any more than I do now.”

“I like that vewy well, and I wish I could have been there,” was Maud’s condescending remark, as she put back the little bag, after a careful peep inside, as if she hoped to find an ancient ginger-nut, or a well-preserved peppermint drop still lingering in some corner.

“We had plums enough that autumn, but didn’t seem to care much about them, after all, for our prank became a household joke, and, for years, we never saw the fruit, that Nelly didn’t look at me with a funny face, and whisper, ‘Purple stockings, Fan!”’

“Thank you, ma’am,” said Polly. “Now, Fan, your turn next.”

“Well, I’ve a bundle of old letters, and I’d like to know if there is any story about them,” answered Fanny, hoping some romance might be forthcoming.

Grandma turned over the little packet tied up with a faded pink ribbon; a dozen yellow notes written on rough, thick paper, with red wafers still adhering to the folds, showing plainly that they were written before the day of initial notepaper and self-sealing envelopes.