Dotty Dimple At Play Part 14

A smile went around the table.

"But, papa, I am, truly. What should I want _her_ for a mother for?"

"Indeed, I see no reason, my child, since you already have a pretty good mother of your own."

"Pretty good, papa!" said Dotty, in a tone of mild reproof. "Why, if she was YOUR mother, you'd think she was _very_ good."

"Granted," returned Mr. Parlin.

"I don't think you'd like it, papa, to have her scold so she shakes down cobwebs."

"Who?"

"Mrs. Rosenberg."

"Never mind, my dear; we will not discuss that woman to-day. I hope you will some time learn to p.r.o.nounce her name."

Then followed a few remarks from Mr. Parlin upon our duty to the Giver of all good things; after which he began at last to carve the turkey.

The children thought it was certainly time he did so. They were afraid their thankfulness would die out if they did not have something to eat pretty soon.

CHAPTER X.

GRANDMA'S OLD TIMES.

Grandma Read was in her own room, sitting before a bright "clean" fire.

She did not like coal; she said it made too much dust; so she always used wood. She sat with her knitting in her hands, clicking the needles merrily while she looked into the coals.

People can see a great many things in coals. Just now she saw the face of her dear husband, who had long ago been buried out of her sight. He had a broad-brimmed hat on his head, and there was a twinkle in his eye, for he had been a funny man, and very fond of a joke. Grandma smiled as if she could almost hear him tell one of his droll stories.

Presently there was a little tap at the door. Grandma roused herself, and looked up to see who was coming.

"Walk in," said she; "walk in, my dear."

"Yes'm, we came a-purpose to walk in," replied a cheery voice; and Prudy and Dotty danced into the room, with their arms about each other's waists.

"O, how pleasant it seems in here!" said Prudy; "when I come in I always feel just like singing."

"Thee likes my clean fire," said grandma.

"But, grandma," said Dotty, "I should think you'd be lonesome 'thout anybody but _you_."

"No, my dear; the room is always full."

"Full, grandma?"

"Yes; full of _memories_."

The children looked about; but they only two sunny windows; a table with books on it, and a pair of gold fishes; a bed with snowy coverlet and very high pillows; a green and white carpet; a mahogany bureau and washing-stand; and then the bright fireplace, with a marble mantel, and a pair of gilt bellows hanging on a bra.s.s nail.

It was a very neat and cheerful room; but they could not understand why there should be any more memories in it than there were in any other part of the house.

"We old people live very much in the past," said grandma Read. "Prudence, if thee'll pick up this st.i.tch for me, I will tell thee what I was thinking of when thee and Alice came in."

So saying, she held out the little red mitten she was knitting, and at the same time took the spectacles off her nose and offered them to Prudy. Prudy laughed.

"Why, grandma! my eyes are as good as can be. I don't wear gla.s.ses."

"So thee doesn't, child, surely. I am a little absent-minded, thinking of old mother Knowles."

"Grandma, please wait a minute," said Prudy, after she had picked up the st.i.tch. "If you are going to tell a story, I want to get my work and bring it in here. I'm in a hurry about that scarf for mamma."

"It is nothing very remarkable," said Mrs. Read, as the children seated themselves, one on each side of her, Prudy with her crocheting of violet and white worsted, and Dotty with nothing at all to do but play with the tongs.

"Mrs. Knowles was a very large, fleshy woman, who lived near my father's house when I was a little girl. Some people were very much afraid of her, and thought her a witch. Her sister's husband, Mr. Palmer, got very angry with her, and declared she bewitched his cattle."

"Did she, grandma?" asked Dotty.

"No, indeed, my dear; and couldn't have done it if she had tried."

"Then 'twas very _unpertinent_ for him to say so!"

"He was a lazy man, and did not take proper care of his animals.

Sometimes he came over and talked with my mother about his trials with his wicked sister-in-law. He said he often went to the barn in the morning, and found his poor cattle had walked up to the top of the scaffold; and how could they do that unless they were bewitched?"

"Did they truly do it? I know what the scaffold is; it is a high place where you look for hen's eggs."

"Yes; I believe the cows did really walk up there; but this was the way it happened, Alice: They were not properly fastened into their stalls, and being very hungry, they went into the barn for something to eat. The barn floor was covered with hay, and there was a hill of hay which led right up to the scaffold; so they could get there well enough without being bewitched."

"Did your mother--my great-grandma--believe in witches?" asked Prudy.

"What did she say to Mr. Palmer?"

"O, no! she had no faith in witches; thy great grandmother was a sensible woman." She said to him, "Friend Asa, thee'd better have some good strong bows made for thy cattle, and put on their necks; and then I think thee'll find they can't get out of their stalls. Thee says they are as lean as Pharaoh's kine, and I would advise thee to feed them better.

Cattle that are well fed and well cared for will never go bewitched."

"Did Mrs. Knowles know what people said about her?" asked Prudy.

"Yes; she heard the stories, and it made her feel very badly."

"How did she look?"

"A little like thy grandmother Parlin, if I remember, only she was much larger."

"Did she know anything?"

"O, yes; it was rather an ignorant neighborhood; but she was one of the most intelligent women in it."