Another wonderful thing about D. D. was her store-closet. There never was such a closet as that! It was all full of glass jars, and the jars were full of cinnamon and nutmeg and cloves and raisins, and all manner of good things. Yes, and they were not screwed down tight, as jars are likely to be nowadays; but one could take off the top, and see what was inside; and if it was cinnamon, one might take even a whole stick, and D. D. would not mind. Sometimes a friend of hers who lived at the South would send her a barrel of oranges (she called it a “bar’l of awnges,” because she was Scotch, and we thought it sounded a great deal prettier than the common way), and then we had glorious times; for D. D. thought oranges were very good for us, and we thought so too. Then she had some very delightful and interesting drawers, full of old daguerreotypes and pieces of coral, and all kinds of alicumtweezles. Have I explained before that “alicumtweezles” are nearly the same as “picknickles” and “bucknickles”? D. D.’s son was a gallant young soldier, and it was his hair that she wore in the harp-shaped brooch. Many of the daguerreotypes were of him, and he certainly was as handsome a fellow as any mother could wish a son to be. When we went to take tea with D. D., which was quite often, we always looked over her treasures, and asked the same questions over and over, the dear old lady never losing patience with us. And such jam as we had for tea! D. D.’s jams and jellies were famous, and she often made our whole provision of sweet things for the winter. Then we were sure of having the best quince marmalade and the clearest jelly; while as for the peach marmalade--no words can describe it! D. D. was a wonderful nurse; and when we were ill she often came and helped our mother in taking care of us. Then she would sing us her song,--a song that no one but D. D. and the fortunate children who had her for a friend ever heard. It is such a good song that I must write it down, being very sure that D. D. would not care. “There was an old man. and he was mad, And he ran up the steeple; He took off his great big hat. And waved it over the people.” To D. D. we owe the preservation of one of Laura’s first compositions, written when she was ten years old. She gave it to the good lady, who kept it for many years in her treasure-drawer till Laura’s own children were old enough to read it. It is a story, and is called-- LOST AND FOUND.