"I fancy, papa, it is not for her own sake Miss Clare lives here."
"I hope not," she interposed.
"I believe," I went on, "she has a grandmother, who probably has grown accustomed to the place, and is unwilling to leave it."
She looked puzzled for a moment, then burst into a merry laugh.
"I see," she exclaimed. "How stupid I am! You have heard some of the people in the house talk about grannie: that's me! I am known in the house as grannie, and have been for a good many years now—I can hardly, without thinking, tell for how many."
Again she laughed heartily, and my father and I shared her merriment.
"How many grandchildren have you then, pray, Miss Clare?"
"Let me see."
She thought for a minute.
"I could easily tell you if it were only the people in this house I had to reckon up. They are about five and thirty; but unfortunately the name has been caught up in the neighboring houses, and I am very sorry that in consequence I cannot with certainty say how many grandchildren I have. I think I know them all, however; and I fancy that is more than many an English grandmother, with children in America, India, and Australia, can say for herself."