“The afternoon before, the teacher would read to us a certain article, generally a description of something; a great meeting, maybe, or a fire, or a storm; we were to take what notes we pleased, while the reading was going on. Then the next day we were to bring in our written account of that same thing; using as few words, and as short ones, as we could, to get in all the facts; and the scholar who brought in the best paper, with the fewest mistakes in spelling, and punctuation, wore home the medal for composition. Now I had a good memory, and it seemed to come natural to me to write out things; so I liked this exercise. But poor Priscilla hated it; she could not remember half a dozen things in the article; and couldn’t express them. Tuesday evening grandfather let me sit in his study while I wrote out my exercise. The story was a very nice one, and I felt sure of getting the medal. “The next morning, when I went to get ready for school, my exercise was nowhere to be found; I made a great noise about it, and every one in the house helped me look; but the exercise was gone. I tried to get time to write another, but I couldn’t, and I missed the medal of course; and cried bitterly. The next day I found the exercise; where, do you think?” “Where?” asked all the Burtons at once, in tones of eager interest and sympathy. “Down in the bottom of Priscilla’s mending basket, all torn into little tiny bits, less than half an inch square!” You should have heard the murmur of indignation which ran through the audience then! “I can’t tell you how I felt,” said Grandma. “I went down to the sitting-room where the family were gathered, but I was too angry to trust my voice to tell the story. They were all busy, and I crept into a corner with my dark little face, and kept still. My cousin Mercy was at the piano. I ought to tell you about that piano, children,” said Grandma, breaking from her story. “It was the only one in that part of the world; pianos were scarcer in those days than they are now; and Mercy’s was a great curiosity; it had been sent to her by a rich uncle, who went away off to foreign parts and made a fortune. “It would look very queer and old-fashioned to you, but it was a great wonder and delight to me. [Illustration: MERCY AT THE PIANO.] “Mercy called me to come and sing a hymn, but dear me! I couldn’t have sung if they had promised me a piano of my own for doing it. Just then, my aunt Martha, who was grandfather’s housekeeper, said, as she looked from the window, ‘There comes Priscilla with three lighted candles in her hands; how often I have told that child not to carry three candles at once! Run, Ruthie dear, and open the door for her; she will burn herself, or set the house on fire.’