big rocking-chair, and Bob and Eleanor on their favorite cushions at
her feet. The little folks had been begging for their usual treat, for
grandma's stories were delightful, and her fund of knowledge (to the
children), quite limitless.

"I'm getting too old for fairy stories," said Eleanor, who was eleven
and had advanced ideas. "Only real _little_ children believe in
goblins and giants, and I'm in the third reader now."

"I like 'em," said dreamy, nine-year old Bob, "fairies and giants can
always do things that just ordinary people can't. Please do tell us
some fairy stories, grandma."

"No, true stories," insisted Eleanor.

"How would it do to make a compromise?" suggested grandma. "You were
asking me some questions yesterday about the shells, seaweed and all
the fascinating things found on the shore. Suppose I tell you a story
about all the wonderful creatures that live in the ocean? The part of
it that tells how they live and grow, and get their food will be all
true, and I think Eleanor will find it more marvelous than the
make-believe part, which will tell about the adventures, and the
conversations that our hero had with the strange creatures that he met
with in his wanderings."

This proposition was agreeable; the children settled themselves
comfortably to listen, and grandma, with her eyes on a passing sail,
began--