Johnnie stuffed in the buns and potatoes, and pronounced them good; but poor Grandmother Blakslee only swallowed a few mouthfuls of tea which almost choked her. Life was very hard. She was soon ready; it would not do to keep Mr. Patterson’s team waiting. But she stared at it when she came out. It was not the market wagon; instead it was a handsome two-horse sleigh, with gay robes’ on the seats, and gay bells on the handsome horses. “You needn’t be at all afraid, ma’am,” said the strange man, “these horses is gentle as kittens, if they do love to go,” and he lifted her in as though she had been a kitten, tucked Johnnie under the robes beside her, and before she could get her breath to speak they were off. Just a gay dash around the corner, down one familiar street, up another, and they halted before a tiny white house set back among tall trees which staid green even in winter. “There is some mistake,” faltered Grandma Blakslee, more breathless than ever. “I wasn’t to be brought here; I was to go to the asylum out on the Corning Road, near two miles; I don’t know the folks that live here; I didn’t know it was rented.” The strange man chuckled. “I guess there’s no mistake,” he said, “and you’ll like to make their acquaintance; anyhow, I must do my duty and leave you here; I’m under orders.” Trembling and bewildered, poor Grandma, because she did not know what else to do, let herself be set down in front of the door, which the man opened hospitably, saying as he did so, “Step right in; the folks that live here will be glad to see you.” Then he shut the door and went away. They were left, Grandmother and Johnnie, in a little hall opening into a pretty room at the right. The door was wide open, and a bright fire burned in a shining stove. There was a bright carpet on the floor; there was a rose in blossom in one window, and some geraniums in the other. There was a large easy chair in front of the stove, with a table beside it on which was set out a lovely breakfast for two. On the stove the tea-kettle sang, and some genuine tea in a little brown teapot on the right-hand corner back, sent out its delicious aroma. In an alcove, behind some pretty curtains which were partly drawn, waited a plump white bed; and Grandma Blakslee stood in the midst of all this luxury and stared. “Grandma,” said Johnnie, “have we got there? Is this the big house? Where are all the folks? Where is this, and whose breakfast is that? Are we to eat it, Grandma? It is nicer than ours. Why don’t you sit down in that pretty chair? Here is a little one for me, with wed cushions. Can’t we stay here every day, Grandma?” Grandma, feeling unable to stand another minute, tottered forward and dropped into the softness of the easy chair, and spied, tucked under the edge of a plate, a sheet of folded paper. Then she fumbled for what Johnnie called the “speticles that could wead,” and read: Welcome home, dear Grandma Blakslee. Merry Christmas to you and Johnnie.