Sophie May

Little Grandmother Sophie May

I believe I will tell you the story of Grandma Parlin's little childhood, as nearly as possible in the way I have heard her tell it herself to Flyaway Clifford. ________________________________________ Well, then, Grandma Parlin, her face full of wrinkles, lay in bed under a red and green patchwork quilt, with her day-cap on. That is, the one who was going to be Grandma Parlin some time in the far-off future. She wouldn't have believed it of herself now if you had told her. You might as well have talked to the four walls. Not that she was deaf: she had ears enough; it was only brains she lacked?being exactly six hours old, and not a day over. This was more than seventy years ago, little reader, for she was born on New Year's day, 1800,?born in a town we will call Perseverance, among the hills in Maine, in a large, unpainted house, on the corner of two streets, in a bedroom which looked out upon the east. Her mother, who was, of course, our little Flyaway's great grandmother, lay beside her, with a very happy face.