together. "Thank you, Marie, thank you
so much for telling us the story."

CHAPTER VII.

GRANDMOTHER'S GRANDMOTHER.

"I'll tell you a story of Jack-o-my-nory,
And now my story's begun.
I'll tell you another of Jack and his brother,
And now my story's done."

OLD NURSERY RHYME.

Marie's story was the subject of much conversation among the children.
Sylvia announced her intention of writing it down.

"She tells it so nicely," she said. "I could have written it down
beautifully while she was talking, if she would have waited."

"She would not have been able to tell it so nicely if she had known
you were waiting to write down every word as she said it," remarked
grandmother. "At least in her place I don't think _I_ could."

A shriek from Molly here startled them all, or perhaps I should say,
_would_ have done so, had they been less accustomed to her eccentric
behaviour.

"What is the matter now, my dear?" said aunty.

"Oh," said Molly, gasping with eagerness, "grandmother's saying that
_reminded_ me."

"But what about, my dear child?"

"About telling stories; don't you remember grandmother _dear_, I said you
would be _perfect_ if you would tell us stories, and you didn't say you
wouldn't."

"And what's more, grandmother promised me one," said Ralph.

"_Did_ I, my dear boy?"

"Yes, grandmother," said Ralph, looking rather abashed, "don't you
remember, grandmother--the day I called Prosper de Lastre a cad? I don't
think he's a cad now," he added in a lower voice.

"Ah yes, I remember now," said grandmother. "But do you know, my dears,
I am so sorry I cannot find your Uncle Jack's manuscript. He had written
it out so well--all I can find is the letter in which he first alluded to
the incident, very shortly. However, I remember most of it pretty
clearly. I will think it over and refresh my memory with the letter,
and some day I will tell it to you."

"Can't you tell it us to-night then, grandmother dear?" said Molly in
very doleful tones.

They were all sitting round the fire, for it was early December now, and
fires are needed then, even at Chalet! What a funny fire some of you
would think such a one, children! No grate, no fender, such as you are
accustomed to see--just two or three iron bars placed almost on the
floor, which serve to support the nice round logs of wood burning so
brightly, but alas for grandmother's purse, so swiftly away! But the
brass knobs