And all the while, in the midst
of her patient and never-ending work, she will tell us the most charming
and marvellous stories of ages ago when she was young, or of the
treasures that lie hidden in the most distant and secret closets of her
palace; just such stories as you all like so well to hear your mother
tell when you gather round her in the twilight.
A few of these stories which she has told to me, I am about to tell you,
beginning with this one.
I know a little Scotch girl: she lives among the Highlands. Her home is
hardly more than a hut; her food, broth and bread. Her father keeps
sheep on the hillsides; and, instead of wearing a coat, wraps himself in
his plaid, for protection from the cold winds that drive before them
great clouds of mist and snow among the mountains.
As for Jeanie herself (you must be careful to spell her name with an ea,
for that is Scotch fashion), her yellow hair is bound about with a
little snood; her face is browned by exposure to the weather; and her
hands are hardened by work, for she helps her mother to cook and sew, to
spin and weave.
One treasure little Jeanie has which many a lady would be proud to wear.
It is a necklace of amber beads,--"lamour beads," old Elsie calls them;
that is the name they went by when she was young.
You have, perhaps, seen amber, and know its rich, sunshiny color, and
its fragrance when rubbed; and do you also know that rubbing will make
amber attract things somewhat as a magnet does? Jeanie's beads had all
these properties, but some others besides, wonderful and lovely; and it
is of those particularly that I wish to tell you.
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