"Yes; I liked her very well, for she carried peppermints in a black bag on her arm; but I was afraid the stories were true, and she might bewitch my mother." "Why, grandma, I shouldn't have thought that of _you_!" "I was a very small girl then, Prudence; and the children I played with belonged, for the most part, to ignorant families." "Grandma was like an apple playing with potatoes," remarked Dotty, one side to Prudy. "I used to watch Mrs. Knowles," continued Mrs. Read, "hoping to see her cry; for they said if she was really a witch, she could shed but three tears, and those out of her left eye." "Did you ever catch her crying?" "Once," replied grandma, with a smile; "and then she kept her handkerchief at her face. I was quite disappointed, for I couldn't tell which eye she cried out of." "Please tell some more," said Dotty. "They said Mrs. Knowles was often seen in a high wind riding off on a broomstick. It ought to have been a strong broomstick, for she was a very large woman." "Why, grandma," said Prudy, thrusting her hook into a stitch, "I can't help thinking what queer days you lived in! Now, when I talk to _my_ grandchildren, I shall tell them of such beautiful things; of swings and picnics, and Christmas trees." "So shall I to _my_ grandchildren," said Dotty; "but not always. I shall have to look sober sometimes, and tell 'em how I had the sore throat, and couldn't swallow anything but boiled custards and cream toast. 'For,' says I, 'children, it was _very_ different in those days.'" "Ah, well, you little folks look forward, and we old folks look backward; but it all seems like a dream, either way, to me," said grandma Read, binding off the thumb of her little red mitten--"like a dream when it is told." "Speaking of telling dreams, grandma, I had a funny one last night," said Prudy, "about a queer old gentleman. Guess who it was." "Thy grandfather, perhaps. Does thee remember, Alice, how thee used to sit on his knee and comb his hair with a toothpick?" "I don't think 'twas me," said Dotty; "for I wasn't born then." "It was I," replied Prudy. "I remember grandpa now, but I didn't use to. It wasn't grandpa I dreamed about--it was Santa Claus." Grandma smiled, and raised her spectacles to the top of her forehead. "We never talked about fairies in my day," said she. "I never heard of a Santa Claus when I was young." "Well, grandma, he came down the chimney in a coach that looked like a Quaker bonnet on wheels--but he was all a-dazzle with gold buttons; and what do you think he said?" "Something very foolish, I presume." "He said, 'Miss Prudy, I'm going to be married.' Only think! and he such a very old bachelor." "Did thee dream out the bride?" "It was Mother Goose." "Very well," said Mrs. Read, smiling. "I should think that was a very good match." "She did look so funny, grandma, with a great hump on her nose, and one on her back! Santa Claus kissed her; and what do you think she said?"