Jemmy's eyes sparkled at this, and he said, "So _I_ think, Gran."

Then he sat looking at the fire, and then he began to laugh in a sort of
confidence with the fire, and then he said, folding his arms across my
esteemed friend's lap, and raising his bright face to hers. "Would you
like to hear a boy's story, Gran?"

"Of all things," replied my esteemed friend.

"Would you, godfather?"

"Of all things," I too replied.

"Well, then," said Jemmy, "I'll tell you one."

Here our indisputably remarkable boy gave himself a hug, and laughed
again, musically, at the idea of his coming out in that new line. Then
he once more took the fire into the same sort of confidence as before,
and began:

"Once upon a time, When pigs drank wine, And monkeys chewed tobaccer,
'Twas neither in your time nor mine, But that's no macker--"

"Bless the child!" cried my esteemed friend, "what's amiss with his
brain?"

"It's poetry, Gran," returned Jemmy, shouting with laughter. "We always
begin stories that way at school."