So they came into the room together, and clustered round Grandfather's great chair.

Little Alice, who was hardly five years old, took the privilege of the youngest, and climbed his knee.

It was a pleasant thing to behold that fair and golden-haired child in the lap of the old man, and to think that, different as they were, the hearts of both could be gladdened with the same joys.
"Grandfather," said little Alice, laying her head back upon his arm, "I am very tired now.

You must tell me a story to make me go to sleep." "That is not what story-tellers like," answered Grandfather, smiling.
"They are better satisfied when they can keep their auditors awake." "But here are Laurence, and Charley, and I," cried cousin Clara, who was twice as old as little Alice.

"We will all three keep wide awake.
And pray, Grandfather, tell us a story about this strange-looking old chair." Now, the chair in which Grandfather sat was made of oak, which had grown dark with age, but had been rubbed and polished till it shone as bright as mahogany.