" Tes, my dear, probably two hundred years
ago." "H'm!" said Mrs. Sparrowgrass. "She
was a model wife, my dear," said I. "Who?
Mrs. Fuller!" "JSTo, Monica." Then I read the
beautiful story from the book, and afterwards took
down old, gilt Boccaccio, and repeated the still
more beautiful story of Griselda — the pearl of the
Decameron. This latter story pleased Mrs. Spar-
rowgrass very much ; so it grew to be exceedingly
pleasant in-dooi-s, what with the wood fire and the
candles ; while the cold, the white snow, and the
moonshiny river, made it harmonious out of the
window ; and I was just about saying, I meant to
read all Dickens' Christmas Stories over, and
Thackeray's Rose and the King, and Bracebridge
Hall, and the Sketch Book, before the holidays ;
when we heard something like wheels cheeping
through the snow outside, and a muffled crumping,
and then a knock at the front-door.
Upon opening the door, whom should we see



Old Dookweed Again. 199

but old Dockweed, in a very short OTercoat, with
duck-legs, attached to a Bhadow of supernatural
proportions, that folded over the side steps of the
porch, and ran out to, and up the trunk of a tree,
with wonderful sharpness of outline. And there
was his swart wagon, with ebony spokes, and a
very spectre of a horse : and high up in the wagon,
a ghastly barrel, with icy hoops, and chime of
silver, and all under the moon — oh! Then we
knew the cider had come from Bingham ton !

It is a good thing to have a friend in Broome
County.
