It is hardly worth calling a story, but I will tell it to you if you like, children." "Oh, _please_ do," they exclaimed, and Molly's eyes grew round with satisfaction at having after all inveigled grandmother into story telling.
"I told you," grandmother began, "that my grandmother lived in a queer, very old-fashioned house in the little town near which was our home.

It was such a queer house, I wish you could have seen it, but long ago it was pulled down, and the ground where it stood used for shops or warehouses.

When you entered it, you saw no stair at all--then, on opening a door, you found yourself at the foot of a very high spiral staircase that went round and round like a corkscrew up to the very top of the house.

By the by that reminds me of an adventure of my grandmother's which you might like to hear.

It happened long before I was born, but she has often told it me.