"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.'"