“With sudden energy the old lady plucked off the cover, and there lay Sally with her hair dressed à la Topsy, her absurd breast-pin and her dusty boots, among papers of candy, bits of pie and cake, oranges and apples, and a candle upside down burning a hole in the sheet.
“At the sound of Miss Cotton’s horrified exclamation Sally woke up, and began laughing so merrily that none of us could resist following her example, and the rooms rang with merriment for many minutes. I really don’t know when we should have stopped if Sally had not got choked with the nut she had in her mouth, and so frightened us nearly out of our wits.”
“What became of the things, and how were you punished?” asked Fan, in the middle of her laughter.
“The remains of the feast went to the pig, and we were kept on bread and water for three days.”
“Did that cure you?”
“Oh dear, no! we had half a dozen other frolics that very summer; and although I cannot help laughing at the remembrance of this, you must not think, child, that I approve of such conduct, or excuse it. No, no, my dear, far from it.”
“I call that a tip-top story! Drive on, grandma, and tell one about boys,” broke in a new voice, and there was Tom astride a chair, listening and laughing with all his might, for his book had come to an end, and he had joined the party unobserved.
“Wait for your turn, Tommy. Now Polly, dear, what will you have?” said grandma, looking so lively and happy, that it was very evident “reminiscing” did her good.
“Let mine come last, and tell one for Tom next,” said Polly, looking round, and beckoning him nearer.
He came and sat himself, cross-legged, on the floor before the lower drawer of the cabinet, which grandma opened for him, saying, with a benign stroke of the curly head,—“There, dear, that’s where I keep the little memorials of my brother Jack. Poor lad, he was lost at sea, you know. Well, choose anything you like, and I’ll try to remember a story about it.”
Tom made a rapid rummage, and fished up a little broken pistol.
“There, that’s the chap for me! Wish it wasn’t spoilt, then we’d have fun popping away at the cats in the yard. Now, then, grandma.”
“I remember one of Jack’s pranks, when that was used with great effect,” said grandma, after a thoughtful pause, during which Tom teased the girls by snapping the lock of the pistol in their faces.
“Once upon a time,” continued Madam, much flattered by the row of interested faces before her, “my father went away on business, leaving mother, aunt, and us girls to Jack’s care. Very proud he was, to be sure, of the responsibility, and the first thing he did was to load that pistol and keep it by his bed, to our great worriment, for we feared he’d kill himself with it. For a week all went well; then we were startled by the news that robbers were about. All sorts of stories flew through the town (we were living in the country then); some said that certain houses were marked with a black cross, and those were always robbed; others, that there was a boy in the gang, for windows, so small that they were considered safe, were entered by some little rogue. At one place, the thieves had a supper, and left ham and cake in the front yard. Mrs. Jones found
Mrs. Smith’s shawl in her orchard, with a hammer and an unknown teapot near it. One man reported that someone tapped at his window, in the night, saying, softly, ‘Is any one here?’ and when he looked out, two men were seen to run down the road.