“How many more times shall I have to tell you that grandmamma hates to be helped?”
“Then she was very kind to me,” replied Henrietta.
“I see how it will be,” said Beatrice, smiling, “you will be grandmamma’s pet, and it will be a just division. I never yet could get her to let me help her in anything, she is so resolutely independent.”
Queen Bee did not take into account how often her service was either grudgingly offered, or else when she came with a good will, it was also with a way, it might be better, it might be worse, but in which she was determined to have the thing done, and against which her grandmamma was of course equally resolute.
“She is an amazing person!” said Henrietta. “Is she eighty yet?”
“Seventy-nine,” said Beatrice; “and grandpapa eighty-two. I always say I think we should get the prize in a show of grandfathers and grandmothers, if there was one like Uncle Roger’s fat cattle shows. You know she thinks nothing of walking twice to church on a Sunday, and all over the village besides when there is anybody ill. But here is the Sutton Leigh path. Let me see if those boys are to be trusted. Yes, yes, that’s right! Capital!” cried she in high glee; “here is Birnam wood coming across the field.” And springing on one of the bars of the gate near the top, she flourished her handkerchief, chanting or singing,
“Greet thee well, thou holly green, Welcome, welcome, art thou seen, With all thy glittering garlands bending, As to greet my—quick descending:”
she finished in an altered tone, as she was obliged to spring precipitately down to avoid a fall. “It made a capital conclusion, however, though not quite what I had proposed. Well, gentlemen,” as four or five of the boys came up, each bearing a huge holly bush—“Well, gentlemen, you are a sight for sair een.”
“With sair fingers, you mean,” said Fred; “these bushes scratch like half a dozen wild cats.”
“It is in too good a cause for me to pity you,” said Beatrice.