Joanne lifted her head and turned in her position on her grandmother’s lap. “It—it wasn’t a dream,” she said, with a catch in her voice. “I am a mean, sneaking varmint, for I went to the head of the stairs and leaned over the baluster to listen, and I heard what you said about suppose something were to happen to you what would I do, then it came over me what a deceiving, eavesdropping sinner I was, and I just couldn’t stand it, I had to come down and tell you that I love you harder than I ever did in my life.”
“You poor, dear, excitable little child,” said her grandmother, patting her shoulder. “I don’t know what is to become of you if you keep on like this.”
“But I don’t intend to keep on like this,” returned Joanne straightening up and wiping her eyes. “I don’t mean to keep on thinking so much of myself and what I like. Every now and then I come to a place where something opens, like a path, and I see farther. I suppose that is the way one grows up. You go on for a while as complacent as a pussy cat that has just had a saucer of cream, then suddenly something comes over you and you see yourself in quite a different light. It isn’t pleasant,” she shook her head mournfully.
“No, the truth isn’t always pleasant,” her grandfather agreed, “but I wouldn’t take myself too seriously. Suppose a soldier were suddenly to come face to face with an enemy whom he didn’t at first recognize as an enemy, but suppose in the fight that followed the soldier came off victor, would he throw himself on the ground and weep because he failed to recognize the enemy at the offset?”
Joanne smiled. “He would be an idiot if he did that.”
“Then don’t do that. Go to the fight with a smile and a cheer. Down the enemy but do it like a man. You’ll have battles to the end of your days, but don’t let any one see you go all to pieces when you are entering the fight.”
Joanne looked up with a sort of awed expression. “Goodness!” she exclaimed, “you make me feel more of an idiot than ever, Grad.”
“I don’t think you are an idiot, by any means, but I do think you are still rather babyish.”
Joanne sat thoughtfully lapping the fingers of her grandmother’s hand one over the other. Presently she looked up brightly. “All right, Grad,” she said. “An eavesdropping, weepy baby is almost worse than a woebegone soldier; I don’t intend to be either.”
“Then trot off to bed and don’t let’s have any more of these heroics.”