strange to
his eyes, and yet he knew them. There was a haircloth sofa and three
chairs, and on the walls, in place of his fine prints, was a picture of
Elder Weight's father, and a couple of mourning pictures,
weeping-willows and urns and the like, and Abraham and Isaac done in
worsted-work, that he'd seen all his days in the parsonage parlor. Very
likely they are there still."

"Yes," said Tommy, "I see 'em in his settin'-room."

"_Saw_, not _see_!" said Mrs. Tree. "Your grandfather spoke better
English than you do, Tommy Candy. Learn grammar while you are young, or
you'll never learn it. Well, sir, the next I know is, I was sitting in
my high chair at supper with father and mother, when the door opens and
in walks the old squire. His eyes were staring wild, and his wig cocked
over on one ear--he was a sight to behold! He stood in the door, and
cried out in a loud voice, 'Thomas Darracott, who am I?'

"My father was a quiet man, and slow to speak, and his first thought was
that the squire had lost his wits.

"'Who are you, neighbor?' he says. 'Come in; come in, and we'll see.'

"The squire rapped with his stick on the floor. 'Who am I?' he shouted
out. 'Am I Jonathan Tree, or am I that thundering, blundering
gogglepate, Ebenezer Weight?'

"Well, well! the words were hardly out of his mouth when there was a
great noise outside, and in comes Elder Weight with his wife after him,
and he in a complete caniption, screeching that he was possessed of a
devil, and desired the prayers of the congregation. (My father was
senior deacon at that time.)

"'I have broken the tenth commandment!' he cried. 'I have coveted Squire
Tree's desk and furniture, and now I see the appearance of them in mine
own room, and I know that Satan has me fast in his grip.'

"Ah, well! It's not good for you to hear these things, Tommy Candy.
Solomon was a naughty boy, and Tom Darracott was another, and they well
deserved the week of bread and water they got. I expect you make a
third, if all was told. They grew up good men, though, and mind you do
the same. Have you eaten all the almonds?"

"'Most all!" said Tommy, modestly.

"Put the rest in your pocket, then, and run along and ask Direxia to
give you a spice-cake. Leave the fig-paste. The bird likes a bit with
his supper. What are you thinking of, Tommy Candy?"

Tommy rumpled his spiky hair, and gave her an elfish glance. "Candys
don't seem to like Weightses," he said. "Grampy didn't, nor