More Stories from Grandma’s Attic

The Grandma’s Attic Series

In Grandma’s Attic

More Stories from Grandma’s Attic

Still More Stories from Grandma’s Attic

Treasures from Grandma’s Attic

More Stories from Grandma’s Attic

Grandma’s Attic Series

Book Two

Arleta Richardson

MORE STORIES FROM GRANDMA’S ATTIC

Published by David C Cook

4050 Lee Vance Drive

Colorado Springs, CO 80918 U.S.A.

David C Cook U.K., Kingsway Communications

Eastbourne, East Sussex BN23 6NT, England

The graphic circle C logo is a registered trademark of David C Cook.

All rights reserved. Except for brief excerpts for review purposes, no part of this book may be reproduced or used in any form without written permission from the publisher.

LCCN 2011922183

ISBN 978-0-7814-0380-1

eISBN 978-1-4347-0225-8

© 1979, 2011 Arleta Richardson

The Team: Don Pape, Susan Tjaden, Amy Kiechlin, Sarah Schultz, Erin Prater, Jack Campbell, Karen Athen

Cover Design: Melody Christian

Illustrations: Patrice Barton

Third Edition 2011

To Ethel, who knew that I could write these stories and was so pleased when I did

Grandma’s Stories

Introduction: When Grandma Was Young

1. The Nuisance in Ma’s Kitchen

2. Grandma’s Sampler

3. Mrs. Carter’s Fright

4. When Grandma Needed Prayer

5. The Stranger

6. The Big Snowstorm

7. Grandma and the Slate

8. A Pig in a Poke

9. Grandma’s Day Off

10. How News Spread

11. Charlotte

12. The Slate Pencil

13. What Shall We Write About?

14. The Cover-Up

15. The Haircut

16. Grandma Makes a Friend

Introduction

When Grandma Was Young

Ever wonder what it was like when your grandmother was a little girl? Arleta Richardson did. And she was lucky enough to have a grandma who never forgot the fun and laughter of her childhood years.

Over one hundred years ago! That’s when Arleta’s grandma Mabel lived on a little farm in Michigan with her ma and pa and her two brothers, Reuben and Roy.

Arleta’s trips to Grandma’s old house were her favorite times. She explored the attic and the root cellar, the barn, and the meadow brook—all the places her grandma knew and loved as a little girl.

The attic was dusty and creaky, but what marvelous treasures it contained! The old house was really a big storybook, and those stories became Arleta’s as Grandma told them to her. Arleta could practically hear Nellie, the family’s gentle horse, clip-clopping up the long, tree-bordered lane and see a small goat dancing stiff-legged through the kitchen. From her grandma, Arleta learned the meaning of kindness and compassion, how important prayer is, and how rewarding life can be when it is lived for the Lord.

All of this was possible because Arleta loved to hear stories as much as Grandma Mabel loved to tell them.

So if you are young enough at heart to appreciate a story, come now to a little farm in Michigan and enjoy the laughter and tears that old farmhouse saw so many years ago.…

1

The Nuisance in Ma’s Kitchen

When Grandma called from the backyard, I knew I was in for it. She was using her would-you-look-at-this voice, which usually meant I was responsible for something.

What, Grandma? I asked once I reached the spot where she was hanging up the washing.

Would you look at this? she asked. I just went into the kitchen for more clothespins and came back out to find this.

I looked where she was pointing. One of my kittens had crawled into the clothes basket and lay sound asleep on a clean sheet.

If you’re going to have kittens around the house, you’ll have to keep an eye on them. Otherwise leave them in the barn where they belong. It’s hard enough to wash sheets once without doing them over again.

Grandma headed toward the house with the soiled sheet, and I took the kitten back to the barn. But I didn’t agree that it belonged there. I would much rather have had the whole family of kittens in the house with me. Later I mentioned this to Grandma.

I know, she said. I felt the same way when I was your age. If it had been up to me, I would have moved every animal on the place into the house every time it rained or snowed.

Didn’t your folks let any pets in the house? I asked.

Most of our animals weren’t pets, Grandma admitted. But there were a few times when they were allowed in. If an animal needed special care, it stayed in the kitchen. I really enjoyed those times, especially if it was one I could help with.

Tell me about one, I said, encouraging her to tell me another story about her childhood.

I remember one cold spring, she began, when Pa came in from the barn carrying a tiny goat.

I’m not sure we can save this one. Pa held the baby goat up for us to see. The nanny had twins last night, and she’ll only let one come near her. I’m afraid this one’s almost gone.

Ma agreed and hurried to find an old blanket and a box for a bed. She opened the oven door, put the box on it, and gently took the little goat and laid it on the blanket. It didn’t move at all. It just lay there, barely breathing.

Oh, Ma, I said. Do you think it will live? Shouldn’t we give it something to eat?

It’s too weak to eat right now, Ma replied. Let it rest and get warm. Then we’ll try to feed it.

Fortunately it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to go to school. I sat on the floor next to the oven and watched the goat. Sometimes it seemed as though it had stopped breathing, and I would call Ma to look.

It’s still alive, she assured me. It just isn’t strong enough to move yet. You wait there and watch if you want to, but don’t call me again unless it opens its eyes.

When Pa and my brothers came in for dinner, Reuben stopped and looked down at the tiny animal. Doesn’t look like much, does it?

I burst into tears. It does so! I howled. It looks just fine! Ma says it’s going to open its eyes. Don’t discourage it!

Reuben backed off in surprise, and Pa came over to comfort me. Now, Reuben wasn’t trying to harm that goat. He just meant that it doesn’t … look like a whole lot.

I started to cry again, and Ma tried to soothe me. Crying isn’t going to help that goat one bit, she said. When it gets stronger, it will want something to eat. I’ll put some milk on to heat while we have dinner.

I couldn’t leave my post long enough to go to the table, so Ma let me hold my plate in my lap. I ate dinner watching the goat. Suddenly it quivered and opened its mouth. It’s moving, Ma! I shouted. You’d better bring the milk!

Ma soaked a rag in the milk, and I held it while the little goat sucked it greedily. By the time it had fallen asleep again, I was convinced that it would be just fine.

And it was! By evening the little goat was standing on its wobbly legs and began to baa loudly for more to eat. Pa, maybe you’d better bring its box into my room, I suggested at bedtime.

Whatever for? Pa asked. "It will keep warm right here by the stove. We’ll