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evening, when the fire was heaped with the sticks she had gathered till it blazed and crackled up the cottage chimney, Dame Frostyface sat aside her wheel, and told her a new story. Often did the little girl wonder where her grandmother had gathered so many stories, but she soon learned that. One sunny morning, at the time of the swallows’ coming, the dame rose up, put on the grey hood and mantle in which she carried her yarn to the fairs, and said, “My child, I am going a long journey to visit an aunt of mine, who lives far in the north country. I cannot take you with me, because my aunt is the crossest woman alive, and never liked young people: but the hens will lay eggs for you; there is barley-meal in the barrel; and, as you have been a good girl, I’ll tell you what to do when you feel lonely. Lay your head gently down on the cushion of the arm-chair, and say, ‘Chair of my grandmother, tell me a story.’ It was made by a cunning fairy, who lived in the forest when I was young, and she gave it to me because she knew nobody could keep what they got hold of better. Remember, you must never ask a story more than once in the day; and if there be any occasion to travel, you have only to seat yourself in it, and say, ‘Chair of my grandmother, take me such a way.’ It will carry you wherever