We swallowed tea rather hastily, and danced off in high glee to my grandmother’s apartment, ready for the unfolding of unheard-of occurrences and mysteries.

CHAPTER III.

We were all happily seated around the fire; the grate was piled up high with coal, and threw a bright reflection upon the polished marble—­everything was ready to begin, when a most unfortunate question of my sister Emma’s interfered with our progress.  She had settled herself on a low stool at my grandmother’s feet, and while we all sat in silent expectation of the “once upon a time,” or “when I was young,” which is generally the prelude to similar narratives, Emma suddenly started up, and fixing an incredulous gaze upon our dignified relative, exclaimed:  “But were you ever young, grandmother?  I mean,” she continued, a little frightened at her own temerity, “were you ever as little as I am now?”

Some of us began to cough, others used their pocket-handkerchiefs, and one and all waited in some anxiety for the effect.  Emma, poor child! seemed almost ready to sink through the floor under the many astonished and reproving glances which she encountered; and my grandmother’s countenance at first betokened a gathering storm.

But in a few moments this cleared up; and ashamed of her momentary anger at this childish question, she placed her hand kindly on Emma’s head as she replied:  “Yes, Emma, quite as little as you are—­and it is of those very times that I am going to tell you.  I shall not begin at the beginning, but speak of whatever happens to enter my mind, and a complete history of my childhood will probably furnish employment for a great many evenings.  But I am very much averse to interruptions, and if you have any particular questions to ask, all inquiries must be made before I commence.”

“Were you born and did you live in America?” said I.

“Yes,” replied my grandmother, “I was born and lived in America, in the State of New York.  So much for the locality—­now, what next?”

“Did you ever see Washington?” inquired Bob, “And were you ever taken prisoner and had your house burned by the British?”

Bob was a great patriot, and on Saturdays practised shooting in the attic with a bow and arrow, to perfect himself against the time of his attaining to man’s estate, when he fully intended to collect an army and make an invasion on England.  As an earnest of his hostile intentions, he had already broken all the windows on that floor, and nearly extinguished the eye of Betty, the chambermaid.  To both of these questions my grandmother replied in the negative, for she happened to come into the world just after the Revolution; but in answer to Bob’s look of disappointment, she promised to tell him something about it in the course of her narrative.