“Oh don’t, don’t!  Run Thanny and shut the door, while I hold her, and Nelly unties her bonnet.  I don’t care if she does scold.”

“Go away! you wild birds.  Haven’t you been taught any better manners than this?  Strange your mother will let you act so! but there she sits, sewing away as busily as ever, only looking up now and then, to smile, as if she didn’t care at all.  Fie! for shame!  There goes my bonnet and shawl.  Now Nelly, if you hide them, I’ll never go over the hills with you again.  I have a great mind not to speak a word to one of you.”

“Oh don’t stop talking, for we want you to tell us a story.”  “A story! why dear children, I can’t begin with the first thought of a story to-night; I feel so stupid and dull that it will be quite as much as I can do to keep myself awake.”

“Oh well, then we will have a dance, and that will wake you up.  Here!  Away we go!”

“Stop! stop you merry elves!  Oh my foot!  Oh my hand!  I would rather tell you all the stories in the Arabian Nights, than go through one such dance as this.  Sit down now and be quiet, for if I have really got it to do, I want to begin as soon as possible.  Well, what shall I tell you about, Janie?”

“Oh, anything you please.”

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“There, now, that isn’t any sort of an answer at all.  What shall I tell you about, Thanny?”

“Oh, tell us about a sailor boy, who wore a tarpaulin hat and a blue jacket with a collar to it—­and how he went to sea, and got shipwrecked on an uninhabited, desert island, and almost got drowned, but didn’t quite—­and then, after a great many years, he came home one snow-stormy night, and knocked at the door, with a bag full of dollars and a bunch of cocoa nuts, and his old father and mother almost died of joy to see him.”

“Well done!  But now that you know the whole of the story, it wont be of any use for me to tell it over again.  What shall I tell you about, Nelly?”

“Tell us about something you used to do when you was a little girl.”

“When I was a little girl?  Ah yes:  do you know that I used to be a wild and careless creature, and did many things which I am sorry for now?  I would often act upon the impulse of the moment, therefore I said many vain and foolish words, and though I did not intend evil, yet I often committed thoughtless acts, which were, in themselves, very wrong.  I did not restrain that spirit as I ought to, so it grew upon me, until it almost became a part of my nature, and now that I have grown up to be a woman, and people expect better things of me—­a word, a thought, or look will call forth those feelings once more, even at times of the most serious reflection; and then many call me light-minded and trifling.  I do not blame them, but in my heart I do not feel so.  Take care of yourselves in time, that you may not have these sorrowful fruits to repent of.  But I do not mean to preach you a sermon, instead of telling a story.  And now that you have reminded me of my earlier days, I will tell you about a place called Acorn Hollow, for of all the spots that I love to remember, this is one of the dearest to me.”