“This bag was made for my special comfort, and hung on the sofa where I lay all those weary days. Aunt kept it full of pretty patchwork or, what I liked better, ginger-nuts, and peppermint drops, to amuse me, though she did n't approve of cosseting children up, any more than I do now.”
“I like that vewy well, and I wish I could have been there,” was Maud's condescending remark, as she put back the little bag, after a careful peep inside, as if she hoped to find an ancient ginger-nut, or a well-preserved peppermint drop still lingering in some corner.
“We had plums enough that autumn, but did n't seem to care much about them, after all, for our prank became a household joke, and, for years, we never saw the fruit, but Nelly would look at me with a funny face, and whisper, 'Purple stockings, Fan!'”
“Thank you, ma'am,” said Polly. “Now, Fan, your turn next.”
“Well, I've a bundle of old letters, and I'd like to know if there is any story about them,” answered Fanny, hoping some romance might be forthcoming.
Grandma turned over the little packet tied up with a faded pink ribbon; a dozen yellow notes written on rough, thick paper, with red wafers still adhering to the folds, showing plainly that they were written before the day of initial note-paper and self-sealing envelopes.
“They are not love-letters, deary, but notes from my mates after I left Miss Cotton's boarding-school. I don't think there is any story about them,” and grandma turned them over with spectacles before the dim eyes, so young and bright when they first read the very same notes.
Fanny was about to say, “I'll choose again,” when grandma began to laugh so heartily that the girls felt sure she had caught some merry old memory which would amuse them.
“Bless my heart, I have n't thought of that frolic this forty years. Poor, dear, giddy Sally Pomroy, and she's a great-grandmother now!” cried the old lady, after reading one of the notes, and clearing the mist off her glasses.
“Now, please tell about her; I know it's something funny to make you laugh so,” said Polly and Fan together.
“Well, it was droll, and I'm glad I remembered it for it's just the story to tell you young things.
“It was years ago,” began grandma, briskly, “and teachers were very much stricter than they are now. The girls at Miss Cotton's were not allowed lights in their rooms after nine o'clock, never went out alone, and were expected to behave like models of propriety from morning till night.