nny in her arms and fairly ran down-stairs with her.

"You're the littlest mite of a thing! Why, you're never nine years old!
You're just like a doll!"

"Oh, please let me walk," entreated Hanny.

Their mother stood in the lower hall.

"You boys go down-stairs or in the parlor. So many children confuse
grandpa. Lu, you look too utterly harum-scarum. Do go and brush your
hair."

Between the parlor and the back room was a space made into a library on
one side and some closets on the other. Sliding doors shut this from the
back room. This was large, with a splendid, high-post bedstead that had
yellow silk curtains around it, a velvet sofa, and over by the window
some arm-chairs and a table. And out of one chair rose a curious little
old man, who seemed somehow to have shrunken up, and yet he was a
gentleman from head to foot. His hair was long and curled at the ends,
but it looked like floss silk. His eyes were dark and bright, his face
was wrinkled, and his beard thin. Hanny thought of the old man at the
Bowling Green who had been in the Bastille. His velvet coat, very much
cut away, was faced with plum-colored satin, his long waistcoat was of
flowered damask, his knee-breeches were fastened with silver buckles,
and his slippers had much larger ones. There really were some diamonds
in them. His shirt frill was crimped in the most beautiful manner, and
the diamond pin sparkled with every turn.

"This is grandpa," said Mrs. French. "We are all very proud of him that
he has kept his faculties, and we want him to live an even hundred
years."

The old man smiled and shook his head slowly. He took Hanny's hand, and
his was as soft as a baby's. He said he was very glad to see them both;
he and their father had been talking over old times and relationships.

His voice had a pretty foreign sound. It was a soft, trained voice, but
the accent was discernible.

"And you were here through the War of the Revolution," said Ben, who
had been counting back.

"Yes. My father had just died and left nine children. I was the oldest,
and there were two girls. So I couldn't be spared to go. The British so
soon took possession of New York. But in 1812 I was free to fight for
liberty and the country of my adoption. We were never molested nor badly
treated, but of course we could give no aid to our countrymen. It was a
long, weary struggle. No one supposed at first the rebels could conquer.
And all that is seventy years ago, seventy ye