's great garden, and chasing Jack up and down
those winding stairs; and my blessed father, in his plum-colored coat
and knee buckles, and the queue I used to tie up for him every day,
handing aunt in to dinner, looking so dignified and splendid."

Grandma seemed to forget her story for a minute, and become a little
girl again, among the playmates dead and gone so many years. Polly
motioned the others to be quiet, and no one spoke till the old lady,
with a long sigh, came back to the present, and went on.

"Well, as I was saying, the Governor wanted to give a breakfast to the
French officers, and Madam, who was a hospitable soul, got up a splendid
one for them. But by some mistake, or accident, it was discovered at the
last minute that there was no milk.

"A great deal was needed, and very little could be bought or borrowed,
so despair fell upon the cooks and maids, and the great breakfast would
have been a failure, if Madam, with the presence of mind of her sex, had
not suddenly bethought herself of the cows feeding on the Common.

"To be sure, they belonged to her neighbors, and there was no time to
ask leave, but it was a national affair; our allies must be fed; and
feeling sure that her patriotic friends would gladly lay their cows on
the altar of their country, Madam Hancock covered herself with glory,
by calmly issuing the command, 'Milk 'em!' It was done, to the great
astonishment of the cows, and the entire satisfaction of the guests,
among whom was Lafayette.

"This milking feat was such a good joke, that no one seems to have
remembered much about the great man, though one of his officers, a
count, signalized himself by getting very tipsy, and going to bed with
his boots and spurs on, which caused the destruction of aunt's best
yellow damask coverlet, for the restless sleeper kicked it into rags by
morning.

"Aunt valued it very much, even in its tattered condition, and kept it a
long while, as a memorial of her distinguished guests.

"The time when I saw Lafayette was in 1825, and there were no tipsy
counts then. Uncle Hancock (a sweet man, my dears, though some call him
mean now-a-days) was dead, and aunt had married Captain Scott.

"It was not at all the thing for her to do; however, that 's neither
here nor there. She was living in Federal Street at the time, a most
aristocratic street then, children, and we lived close by.

"Old Josiah Quincy was mayor of the city, and he sent aunt word that the
M