To say the truth, our friend Charley was very much out of humor with the storm, because it had kept him all day within doors, and hindered him from making trial of a splendid sled, which Grandfather had given him for a New Year’s gift.  As all sleds, now-a-days, must have a name, the one in question had been honored with the title of Grandfather’s Chair, which was painted in golden letters, on each of the sides.  Charley greatly admired the construction of the new vehicle, and felt certain that it would outstrip any other sled that ever dashed adown the long slopes of the Common.

As for Laurence, he happened to be thinking, just at this moment, about the history of the chair.  Kind old Grandfather had made him a present of a volume of engraved portraits, representing the features of eminent and famous people of all countries.  Among them Laurence found several who had formerly occupied our chair, or been connected with its adventures.  While Grandfather walked to and fro across the room, the imaginative boy was gazing at the historic chair.  He endeavored to summon up the portraits which he had seen in his volume, and to place them, like living figures, in the empty seat.

“The old chair has begun another year of its existence, to-day,” said Laurence.  “We must make haste, or it will have a new history to be told before we finish the old one.”

“Yes, my children,” replied Grandfather, with a smile and a sigh, “another year has been added to those of the two centuries, and upward, which have passed since the Lady Arbella brought this chair over from England.  It is three times as old as your Grandfather; but a year makes no impression on its oaken frame, while it bends the old man nearer and nearer to the earth; so let me go on with my stories while I may.”

Accordingly, Grandfather came to the fireside, and seated himself in the venerable chair.  The lion’s head looked down with a grimly good-natured aspect, as the children clustered around the old gentleman’s knees.  It almost seemed as if a real lion were peeping over the back of the chair, and smiling at the group of auditors, with a sort of lion-like complaisance.  Little Alice, whose fancy often inspired her with singular ideas, exclaimed that the lion’s head was nodding at her, and that it looked as if it were going to open its wide jaws and tell a story.

But, as the lion’s head appeared to be in no haste to speak, and as there was no record or tradition of its having spoken, during the whole existence of the chair, Grandfather did not consider it worth while to wait.

Chapter II

“Charley, my boy,” said Grandfather, “do you remember who was the last occupant of the chair?”

“It was Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson,” answered Charley.  “Sir Francis Bernard, the new governor, had given him the chair, instead of putting it away in the garret of the Province House.  And when we took leave of Hutchinson, he was sitting by his fireside, and thinking of the past adventures of the chair, and of what was to come.”