Grandma roused herself, and looked up to see who was coming.
"Walk in," said she; "walk in, my dear." "Yes'm, we came a-purpose to walk in," replied a cheery voice; and Prudy and Dotty danced into the room, with their arms about each other's waists.
"O, how pleasant it seems in here!" said Prudy; "when I come in I always feel just like singing." "Thee likes my clean fire," said grandma.
"But, grandma," said Dotty, "I should think you'd be lonesome 'thout anybody but _you_." "No, my dear; the room is always full." "Full, grandma ?" "Yes; full of _memories_." The children looked about; but they only two sunny windows; a table with books on it, and a pair of gold fishes; a bed with snowy coverlet and very high pillows; a green and white carpet; a mahogany bureau and washing-stand; and then the bright fireplace, with a marble mantel, and a pair of gilt bellows hanging on a brass nail.
It was a very neat and cheerful room; but they could not understand why there should be any more memories in it than there were in any other part of the house.
"We old people live very much in the past," said grandma Read.

"Prudence, if thee'll pick up this stitch for me, I will tell thee what I was thinking of when thee and Alice came in." So saying, she held out the little red mitten she was knitting, and at the same time took the spectacles off her nose and offered them to Prudy.

Prudy laughed.
"Why, grandma! my eyes are as good as can be.

I don't wear glasses." "So thee doesn't, child, surely.

I am a little absent-minded, thinking of old mother Knowles." "Grandma, please wait a minute," said Prudy, after she had picked up the stitch.