Her grandmother was invested with a curious new interest in her eyes. That any one belonging to her should have lived in the Revolutionary War seemed a real stretch of the imagination for a little girl eight years old. Grandmother considered her wonderful also. She wasn't so much in favor of short frocks and pantalets that came down to your ankles, but the little girl did look pretty in them. And when she found how neatly she could hemstitch and do such beautiful featherstitch, and darn, and read so plainly that it was a pleasure to listen to her, she had to admit that Hannah Ann was a real credit, and, she confessed in her secret heart, a very sweet little girl.
"I've begun your new Irish chain patchwork," she said. "I've made one block for a pattern, and cut out quite a pile. Aunt Eunice lighted upon some beautiful green calico. I was upon a stand whether to have green or red, but an Irish chain generally is pieced of green. It seems more appropriate."
And yet people had not begun to sing "The Wearing of the Green."
"I declare," said Cousin Ann, "you're such an old-fashioned little thing one can hardly tell which is the oldest, you or grandmother."
"Is it anything"—what should she say?—wrong or bad seemed too forcible—"queer to be old-fashioned?"
"Well, yes, queer. But you're awful sweet and cunning, Hannah Ann, and we'd just like to keep you forever."
With that she almost squeezed the breath out of the little girl and kissed her a dozen times.
Grandmother could tell such wonderful stories as they sat and sewed. All the glories of the old Underhill house, and the silver and plate that had come over from England, and the set of real china that a sea captain, one of the Underhills, had brought from China and how it had taken three years to go there and come back. And the beautiful India shawl it had taken seven years to make, and the Persian silk gown that had been bought of some great chief or Mogul—grandmother wasn't quite sure, but she thought they had a king or emperor in those countries. She had a little piece of the silk that she showed Hanny, and a waist ribbon that came from Paris, "For you see," said she, "we were so angry with England that we wouldn't buy anything of her if we could help it. And the French people came over and helped us."
"What did they fight about, grandmother?"
"Oh, child, a great many things. You can't understand them all now, but you'll learn about them presently. The people who came here and settled the country wanted the right to govern themselves. They thought a king, thousands of miles away, couldn't know what was best for them. And England sent over things and we had to pay for them whether we wanted them or not. And it was a long struggle, but we won, and the British had to go back to their own country. Why, if we hadn't fought, we wouldn't have had any country," and grandmother's old face flushed.