"My dear! don't lean so; you'll tipple me over!" she shrieked.

"I beg your pardon, Grandmother. Will _that_ do?"

"It's that much too long."

"Tear that bit off. Now it's all right."

"But, my dear, that wastes it. Now that bit is of no use. There goes my
knitting, you awkward lad!"

"Johnnie, pick it up!--Oh! Grandmother, I _am_ so hungry." The boy's
eyes filled with tears, and the old lady was melted in an
instant.

"What can I do for you, my poor bairns?" said she. "There, never mind
the scraps, Tommy."

"Tell us a tale, Granny. If you told us a new one, I shouldn't keep
thinking of that bread in the cupboard.--Come, Johnnie, and sit against
me. Now then!"

"I doubt if there's one of my old-world cracks I haven't told you,"
said the old lady, "unless it's a queer ghost story was told me years
ago of that house in the hollow with the blocked-up windows."

"Oh! not ghosts!" Tommy broke in; "we've had so many. I know it was a
rattling, or a scratching, or a knocking, or a figure in white; and if
it turns out a tombstone or a white petticoat, I hate it."