ache and Aunt Hetty's "misery in her bones" should both come at
once.

Tap, tap, tap on the floor above my head in the early dawn came
grandmamma's ebony stick.

Veva Fay and Marjorie Downing were both spending the night with me. Veva
had slept on the wide, old-fashioned lounge in the corner, and Marjorie
in the broad couch with me, and we had all talked till it was very late,
as girls always do when they sleep in one room, unless, of course, they
are sisters, or at school, and used to it.

I had a beautiful room. It ran half across the front of the house, and
had four great windows, a big fire-place, filled in summer with branches
of cedar, or bunches of ferns, growing in a low box, and filling the
great space with cool green shade, and in winter the delight of the
girls, because of the famous hickory fires which blazed there, always
ready to light at a touch.

In one corner stood my mahogany desk, above it a lovely picture of the
Madonna and Child. Easy-chairs were standing around, and there were
hassocks and ottomans in corners and beside the windows. My favorite
engraving--a picture representing two children straying near a
precipice, fearing no danger, and just ready to fall, when behind them,
sweeping softly down, comes their guardian angel--hung over the mantel.

How much pleasure I took in that room, in the book shelves always full,
in the pretty rugs and the cool matting and the dainty drapery, all
girls can imagine. It was my own Snuggery, and I kept it in the
loveliest good order, as mother liked me to.

Tap, tap, tap.

"Goodness!" cried Veva, only half awake.

"What is that? Mice?" said Marjorie, timidly.

"Burglars!" exclaimed Veva.

"Hush, girls!" I said, shaking off my drowsiness. "It's poor grandmamma,
and she has one of her fearfulest headaches. It's two weeks since she
had the last, so one may be expected about now. The tap means, 'Come to
me, quickly.'"

I ran to the door, and said, "Coming, grandmamma!" slipped my feet into
my soft knitted shoes, and hurried my gray flannel wrapper on, then
hastened to her bedside. I found that grandmamma was not so very ill,
only felt unable to get up to breakfast with us, and wanted some gruel
made as soon as possible.

"I've been waiting to hear some stir in the house," she said, "but
nobody seemed to be awake. Isn't it later than usual, girlie?"

I tiptoed over to grandmamma's mantel, and looked at her little French
clock. It _was_ late! Eight, a