Prosperity's child

by Eleanora H. Stooke

"Here they come at last!" cried Madge, presently. "Does the kettle boil?"

"Yes," Violet answered. "Ruthie, make the tea. Oh, dear me, I do hope the water is not smoky!"

Ruth made the tea, and a few minutes later old Mrs. Reed, leaning on Mr. Wyndham's arm, with Ann on her other side, joined the party, and was made very comfortable in a deck chair, which had been brought down to the beach on purpose for her and placed in a sheltered spot. Though Ann's grandmother was eighty years of age she did not look so old, for her face was singularly unwrinkled and her brow smooth, whilst her intellect was as bright as it had ever been, and her sight and hearing were good. She was a little stiff and slow in her movements, as the result of rheumatism, from which she occasionally suffered, but she was a wonderful woman for her years. There was a strong likeness between her and her son, and consequently between her and Ann. All three had the same fine grey eyes, and the same open, kindly expression of countenance.

"You ought not to make so much of me," the old lady said, in a voice which had more than a touch of west-country dialect in its pleasant tones, "for think how I shall miss your attentions by-and-by!"

"We won't think of 'by-and-by,'" replied Mrs. Wyndham; "let us live in the present and enjoy these happy hours as much as we can. Ruth, will you pour out the tea, my dear? Boys, make yourselves useful and hand around the plates. We must make tables of our laps."

The meal commenced right merrily. Everyone was in good spirits, and the tea, though it proved a trifle smoky, was not enough so to be spoilt, and was drunk and enjoyed; in fact Billy went so far as to declare that he preferred the flavour of smoky tea. Full justice was done to the eatables, too, and the plates of bread and butter and cake were soon emptied, whilst, at the completion of the repast, only about a teaspoonful of cream remained at the bottom of the tin, which had been full to the brim.

"I hope everyone has had enough," said Mrs. Wyndham; then, as they all declared they had made capital teas, she indicated the empty plates and quoted: "Enough is as good as a feast."

"I call it a feast when one has cream," remarked Madge; at which they all laughed, and Mrs. Reed promised to send her some cream on her birthday if she would tell her the date, which she was only too pleased to do.

As soon as tea was over the boys and their father wandered off around the cliffs, whilst Mrs. Wyndham and the girls, having packed the tea things into baskets, settled themselves to enjoy a chat with Mrs. Reed. The latter was a most entertaining companion; for she owned a wonderful memory which went back more than seventy years: She talked to them now of her youth, of the time when she had been her granddaughter's age.

"I was in my first situation, then," she said; "you must understand that my father was a hard-working man who farmed a few acres, and I was the eldest of a long family—we all had to turn out and earn our own livings as soon as we were old enough."