GRANFER'S EIGHTIETH BIRTHDAY
FAIR dawned the morning of Granfer's eightieth birthday. The sun rose behind a gray mist which it quickly dispelled, and shone on a world decked with fresh green fields, tender budding leaves, and myriads of flowers. Never during all the eighty years of his long life had Granfer seen a more beautiful May morning; never had his heart beat happier, or his soul been filled with a greater joy, than to-day as he came downstairs to be greeted with good wishes, loving kisses, and kindly looks from each member of the family in turn.
At Coombe Villa Mr. Manners was awake and up early. He went into the garden and gathered a bunch of flowers for his little girl; then returned to the house to wait till she should come downstairs. At last she entered the room, looking a trifle pale still as a result of the shock of her fall, and limping in her walk, but smiling and bright as ever.
"Oh, you dear old father!" she cried when she caught sight of the flowers. "I know those are for me!"
She went up to him and put her arms around his neck, giving him a tender, loving kiss.
"Has my darling slept well?" he enquired.
"I fell asleep the minute I was in bed, and never woke up till Nanny called me just now," she answered.
"Is it not a lovely morning?"
"Beautiful. There has been a heavy dew during the night, and everything in the garden is the fresher for it."
"It is Granfer's birthday," she reminded him. "I wonder if his son has come home?"