“I am afraid they will miss me,” said Susan, coming forward to look wistfully at her pile of treasures.
“No, they won’t,” said Grandmother, shaking her head with decision. “They will be all the more glad to see you when you come home again. And they will be company for me, too. You don’t want to leave me entirely alone, do you?”
“Oh, Grandmother!” cried Susan, her tender heart touched. “I don’t want to leave you home alone at all. I won’t go. I won’t go one step.” And she caught Mrs. Whiting’s hand and patted it gently against her cheek.
“Nonsense, Susan,” answered Mrs. Whiting, smiling down upon her granddaughter. “How do you suppose Grandfather would get along without you to take care of him? And I expect to be too busy to be lonely. I hope to finish my braided rug while you are gone.”
So Susan decided that, after all, she would go with Grandfather, and that Grandmother must be left in Flip and Snowball’s special charge.
“Take good care of Grandmother, and be good children yourselves,” whispered she a day or so later, as she ran into the little sewing-room to bid them good-bye. Flip and Snowball had been placed on top of the sewing-machine so that they might easily guard Grandmother as she braided her rug. “Kiss me good-bye and look at my new hat.” And Susan stole an admiring glance in the mirror at her new squirrel cap.
She felt very proud of her cap, with tippet and muff to match, and once on the train she sat up stiff and prim hoping some one would say:
“Who is that good little girl in the squirrel furs?”
But after waiting a whole minute to hear the flattering comment which did not come, Susan turned to look out of the window, and sensibly forgot about herself and her furs as she gazed at the world whirling past.
She was so interested in all she saw that the journey seemed a short one, and she could scarcely believe it was over when Grandfather folded his paper and lifted down the suitcase from the rack over his head.