Her caps were a trifle more pretentious, and her gowns more in modern style; but she was Granny still, and not one of them would have had her changed. When she sat in her rocking-chair, with her hands crossed in her lap, Hal thought her the prettiest thing in the house.
"Hooray!" exclaimed Kit, rushing home one evening out of breath, and covered with snow. "What do you think? Granny, you could never guess!"
"I never was good at guessing," returned Granny meekly.
"Something wonderful! Oh, a new fiddle!" said Dot.
"No: and Hal won't try. Well"—with a long breath—"I'm going—to play—at a concert!"
"Oh!" the three exclaimed in a breath.
"And it's the oddest thing," began Kit, full of excitement. "You see, there's to be a concert given in New York, to help raise funds to give the newsboys, and other homeless children, a great Christmas dinner. Mr. Kriessman has it in hand; and, because it's for boys, he wants me to play—all alone."
"O Kit! you can't," said Hal. "When you faced the audience, it would seem so strange, and you would lose your courage."
"No I wouldn't, either! I'd say to myself, 'Here's a dinner for a hungry boy,' and then I wouldn't mind the people. Mr. Kriessman is sure I can do it; and I've been practising all the evening. A real concert! Think of it. Oh, if Joe can only be here!"