boldly, pointing to a great sack which October had thrown down on entering.
"Samples," replied October, briskly. "You see, I belong to a firm of dyers,—a celebrated one,—'Brown October & Co.' These are our novelties for the season. Look!" And, seizing the bag by the bottom, he shook out upon the floor what seemed to be rainbows in confusion,—a vast heap of brilliant scraps, so vivid and so various that nobody could count the different tints.
"Two billion new shades," went on October, triumphantly; "all patented, warranted to wash, and unlike any thing seen in the shop last year. Where is the mortal dyer, outside our firm, who can say that?" Then he began cramming the samples into the bag again. When order was restored, he turned toward Grandfather's chair, and said in a gentle voice, "Would you like to hear one more story from me, old friend, before you and I part for ever?"
Grandfather nodded his head. "You used to
