"You're not a grandmother, you're an angel," she said, and flew back, in a panic, to Peggy.
"Here's my present," that young lady informed her. "It's something very practical, but I made it myself. I thought you might like it. I always give away the kind of thing I adore, don't you? That's doing the very best you can to show love—and one person's sure to be suited."
"It's a laundry bag," Elizabeth said, "and I haven't got one. You dear." She put out her hand toward Peggy, and missed her. Then they both put out their hands together, and kissed.
"The beauty of this creation is that you don't have to fish down into it," Peggy explained. "It buttons all the way across the bottom, and can be dumped that way. I made the buttonholes myself."
"And it's my colour, too. Have you made this since you were here last week?"
"No, I made it the first week I came down, to be sure to have it ready."
"Before you even saw me. How did you know you'd like me well enough to give it to me when it was done?"
"I was willing to take my chances. When I heard about your brother being sick, and your disappointment about the cottage, I thought you might be feeling kind of low when you first got here. So I prepared for it."
"How kind you are! How kind everybody is."
"Well, don't get the weeps. See here, do you know what this bar on this settee was put on for? It's a kind of a cradle arrangement. Mother makes up baby's bed on the lower end, puts up the bar, sits herself up at the head, and rocks and knits. Grandmother told me. She was rocked there herself when she was a baby. She remembers having scarlet fever on it. Aren't these old things fascinating? You're an awfully lucky girl to have grandparents like this. Mine live in a Back Bay apartment, and are just like everybody else, only a lot more so."