It was the one subject upon which they agreed.
"Well, let her take lessons in something, then. There's the piano standing untouched. I've heard of Hottentots who had a very good ear for music."
He pinched my ear as he spoke, and puffed out his cheeks in a funny way, as he always did when he wanted to laugh. He had very little hair on his head, and a round, pink face like a baby's, and a pair of wicked blue eyes that saw everything, both before and behind him. I had never heard of granddad Lawrence being cross. He was good to everybody, from the little newsboy who ran after him every morning in the street to the stray dogs which selected him for a master on account of his smile. Most of all he was good to us, his grandchildren, and hardly a day passed by that granddad Lawrence did not come walking in to hear the news. There were no children at his own house, for Auntie May was growing into a young lady, and granddad Lawrence liked children, being a child himself at heart, with all a child's love of mischief. But to the friends who trusted in him, he was the soul of loyalty, in thought as well as in word.
When he went home I walked out to the hall door with him, as I always did, and then we had what he called a mercantile transaction. He bent down low, and patted his pocket.
"Don't you want to draw on the bank?" he asked, invitingly.
I ran my hand far into the depths of that jingling pocket. I could have whatever I liked, but the little brass pennies were the prettiest, and the cute little silver ten-cent pieces, which seemed especially made for children.
"Draw again," he said, generously. "Now give the cashier a kiss."
I did not kiss him for pennies. I kissed him for pure love.
"Come again, dear granddad," I said, standing at the door to peep after him. "Come again to-morrow."