kitchen with a great bump on my forehead, a big spoon in my hand, and a pair
of bright purple feet. The plums were lying all over the hearth, the saucepan in the middle of the room, the basin was broken,
and the sugar swimming about as if the bowl had turned itself over trying to sweeten our mess for us.
“Debby was very good to me, for she never stopped to scold, but laid me down on the old sofa, and bound up my poor little
feet with oil and cotton wool. Nelly, seeing me lie white and weak, thought I was dying, and went over to the neighbor’s for
Aunt Betsey, and burst in upon the old ladies sitting primly at their tea, crying, distractedly,
“‘Oh, Aunt Betsey, come quick! For the saucepan fell off the shed, and Fan’s feet are all boiled purple!’
“Nobody laughed at this funny message, and Aunt Betsey ran all the way home with a muffin in her hand and her ball in her
pocket, though the knitting was left behind.
“I suffered a great deal, but I wasn’t sorry afterward, for I learned to love Aunt Betsey, who nursed me tenderly, and seemed
to forget her strict ways in her anxiety for me.
“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, 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 notepaper 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 haven’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.
“As you may imagine, ten young girls, full of spirits and fun, found these rules hard to keep, and made up for good behavior
in public by all sorts of frolics in private.
“Miss Cotton and her brother sat in the back parlor after school was over, and the young ladies were
of bright purple feet. The plums were lying all over the hearth, the saucepan in the middle of the room, the basin was broken,
and the sugar swimming about as if the bowl had turned itself over trying to sweeten our mess for us.
“Debby was very good to me, for she never stopped to scold, but laid me down on the old sofa, and bound up my poor little
feet with oil and cotton wool. Nelly, seeing me lie white and weak, thought I was dying, and went over to the neighbor’s for
Aunt Betsey, and burst in upon the old ladies sitting primly at their tea, crying, distractedly,
“‘Oh, Aunt Betsey, come quick! For the saucepan fell off the shed, and Fan’s feet are all boiled purple!’
“Nobody laughed at this funny message, and Aunt Betsey ran all the way home with a muffin in her hand and her ball in her
pocket, though the knitting was left behind.
“I suffered a great deal, but I wasn’t sorry afterward, for I learned to love Aunt Betsey, who nursed me tenderly, and seemed
to forget her strict ways in her anxiety for me.
“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, 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 notepaper 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 haven’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.
“As you may imagine, ten young girls, full of spirits and fun, found these rules hard to keep, and made up for good behavior
in public by all sorts of frolics in private.
“Miss Cotton and her brother sat in the back parlor after school was over, and the young ladies were
Similar Books
