And if instead of warmth, and great damp feathery snowflakes, there came a bitter wind and an icy sleet that froze as it fell—what then? Never mind! Sunrise would set the whole world a-sparkle. Every tree and bush would be gay with splendid ice-jewels! And in the great shining ice palace, we could run and laugh and shout, watching the ice-jewels loosen and fall, all day long.
Percia V. White.
“AWAY WE WOULD GO!”
GRAN’MA GRACIE.
It was Uncle George who called her “Gran’ma” when she was only six, and by the time she was seven everybody had taken to the name, and she answered to it as a matter of course.
Why did he call her so? Because she was such a prim, staid, serious, little old-fashioned body, and consequently her mother laughingly took to dressing her in an old-fashioned way, so that at last, whether she was out in the grounds, or round by the stables with Grant, in her figured pink dress, red sash, long gloves, and sun-bonnet, looking after her pets, or indoors of an evening, in her yellow brocade, muslin apron—with pockets, of course, and quaint mob cap tied up with its ribbon—she always looked serious and grandmotherly.
“It is her nature to,” Uncle George said, quoting from “Let dogs delight;” and when he laughed at her, Gran’ma used to look at him wonderingly in the most quaint way, and then put her hand in his, and ask him to take her for a walk.