grandmother and the Tall Clock, especially the Tall Clock. I went,
therefore, to her old house on Plover street in a calm and lovely frame
of mind and helped get my aunt ready for the ride.

'Twas a cold day though September; and after she took her seat in the
flag-chair tied into the cart, I conceived the notion to add my
grandmother's best "heppy" to the wraps which they had already put into
the calash. I always had wanted a chance at that camphor-trunk; and the
above cloak, too nice to be worn, lay in the bottom underneath a mighty
weight of neatly-folded articles of winter raiment. It came out with a
"long pull" and many a "strong pull" and I got to the door with the
head of it, while the whole length of this precious bright coating was
dragging on the floor. But the cart had started, and when my aunt looked
back, I was flourishing this "heppy" to see the wind fill it.

I returned to the room, restored the article to the chest quite snugly,
leaving one corner hanging out and that I stuffed in afterwards and
jumped upon the cover of the trunk so that it shut. Very demurely I sat
down before the open fire by my grandmother's easy chair, rocking
furiously, watching my own face in the bright andirons, whose convex
surfaces reflected first a "small Nancy" far off, then as I rocked
forward, a large and distorted figure. My rapid motions made such rapid
caricatures that I remained absorbed and attentive. My grandmother, not
seeing the cause of my content, decided (as she told my mother
afterwards), "that the child was sick, or becoming regenerated." Happy
illusion!

At last, my grandmother got to nodding and I sprang to my
long-contemplated work.