It ought to have been a strong broomstick, for she was a very large woman." "Why, grandma," said Prudy, thrusting her hook into a stitch, "I can't help thinking what queer days you lived in! Now, when I talk to _my_ grandchildren, I shall tell them of such beautiful things; of swings and picnics, and Christmas trees." "So shall I to _my_ grandchildren," said Dotty; "but not always.

I shall have to look sober sometimes, and tell 'em how I had the sore throat, and couldn't swallow anything but boiled custards and cream toast.

'For,' says I, 'children, it was _very_ different in those days.'" "Ah, well, you little folks look forward, and we old folks look backward; but it all seems like a dream, either way, to me," said grandma Read, binding off the thumb of her little red mitten--"like a dream when it is told." "Speaking of telling dreams, grandma, I had a funny one last night," said Prudy, "about a queer old gentleman.

Guess who it was." "Thy grandfather, perhaps.

Does thee remember, Alice, how thee used to sit on his knee and comb his hair with a toothpick ?" "I don't think 'twas me," said Dotty; "for I wasn't born then." "It was I," replied Prudy.