"Dear me," said grandma, as the children all trooped in, "we must have
a light; these little folks may not like to sit in the dark."

"This is the best kind of light," declared Ben, "and the very time for
telling tales. Let's all sit around the fire and have a good time. We'll
begin with the oldest and so on down to the youngest If we don't have
time to go all the way down the line, we'll stop when we're hungry.
How's that, grandma? Do you like the plan?"

"It is just as the others say, my dear," she answered.

"It's a lovely plan, Ben," said Mrs. Conway. "You will have to begin,
mother, and Aunt Emmeline can come next."

"Oh, dear," protested that lady, "I never was one for telling tales; you
will have to count me out."

"I am sure if I can, you can," grandma assured her. "What shall it be
about, children?"

"Oh, about when you were a little girl," cried Edna.

"About the time the horse ran away with you," spoke up the boys.

"About your first ball please," begged Celia.

Grandma laughed. "Just listen to them. They have heard all those things
dozens of times. I'll tell you what we will do. I will tell about the
runaway horse, that belongs to the time when I was a little girl, and
Emmeline shall tell about her first ball, and I can remind her if she
forgets anything. I remember her first ball even better than my first,
for it was at hers I met your grandfather."

This was all so satisfactory that there was not a murmur of dissent, and
grandma began: "It was when I was about ten years old that I went one
day with my father to the nearest village. He was driving a pair of
spirited horses, and on our way home a parcel we were bringing home,
fell out of the buggy. My father stopped the horses and ran back to pick
up the parcel, but before he could get to the buggy, the horses took
fright at a piece of paper blowing along the road in front of them and
off they started, full tilt, down the road. In vain my father cried,
'Hey, there! Whoa, Barney! Whoa Pet!' on they went faster and faster. I
managed to hold on to the reins but my young hands were not strong
enough to control the wild creatures, and I thought every minute would
be my last, for up hill and down dale we went at such a pace I had never
known. Over a stump would jounce the buggy, and I would nearly pitch
out. Around the last curve they went with a swing which I thought would
land me on my back or my head, but I managed to keep my seat and at
last saw