"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 didn'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 didn't seem to care much about them, after all, for our prank became a household joke, and, for years, we never saw the fruit, that Nelly didn't 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
