Hatty looked up suddenly, (Aunt Barbara had never called her “my dear” before,) but she only said “What, ma’am,” and then waited to see what would come next.
“Do you love your grandma?” asked Aunt Barbara.
“Indeed I do!” said Hatty, warmly. “She is the dearest and sweetest old lady in the world!”
“She is older than I am, I believe, and a great deal more wrinkled,—at least I have heard so!” said Aunt Barbara.
“I don’t know, I never thought about that; she looks very sweet to me!” said Hatty, with a puzzled look.
“I have had a notion,” said Aunt Barbara, “that children did not like old people, and perhaps I have not tried to make myself pleasant to them. Do you think if I tried to be like your grandma you could love me, too?” and the old lady looked earnestly at the little girl.
“O Aunt Barbara, I love you now!” said Hatty affectionately; “and you grow more like grandma every day.”
“Dear child!” said Aunt Barbara, and she laid her thin hand on the head of the little girl. After a moment’s pause she went on—“Hatty, I think I must have been very cross before I was sick; somehow everything seemed wrong to me. I am sorry!”
“I and Marcus and Meg and all of us are sorry we were so naughty. It was our fault, Aunt Barbara,—and we mean to be better,” said Hatty, eagerly.
“Poor old Aunt Barbara did wrong, too, child. God has laid her on her bed of sickness to think, and he has raised her up again for some good purpose. Perhaps he wanted to give her an opportunity to be more like what a person ought to be, who has had more than seventy years of blessings, and who has the promise of a home in Heaven. Aunt Barbara means to try not to be fretful, and you children must have patience with her if she don’t always speak just as she should.”