"I wonder if he does?" replied David, in a thoughtful voice. "They say that Clay's daughter is mad for Jim, and she'll have a tidy sight of money."
"She may be as mad as she pleases, but she won't get Jim. Now, do hurry on with the breakfast. What a lad you are for chattering!"
Poor David, who had certainly been induced to chatter by Grannie herself, made no response, but rose and set about his work as kitchen-maid and cook with much deftness. He stirred the oatmeal into the pot of boiling water, made the porridge, set the huge smoking dish on the center of the table, put the children's mugs round, laid a trencher of brown bread and a tiny morsel of butter on the board, and then, having seen that Grannie's teapot held an extra pinch of tea, he poured boiling water on it, and announced the meal as ready. The younger children now came trooping in, neat and tidy and ready for school. Grannie had trained her little family to be very orderly. As the children entered the room they came up to her one by one, and bestowed a kiss on her old lips. Her salutation to them was always simple and always the same: "Bless you, Polly; bless you, Susie; bless you, Kitty." But immediately after the blessing came sharp, quick words.
"Now, no dawdling; set down and be quick about it—sup up your porridge without letting a drop of it get on your clean pinafores, or I'll smack you."
Grannie never did smack the children, so this last remark of hers had long fallen flat. Alison came in almost immediately after the children, and then, after a longer interval, Harry, looking red and sleepy, took his place by the table. Harry was undoubtedly the black sheep of the family. Both Alison and David bestowed on him one or two anxious glances, but Grannie was too absorbed in some other thought to take much notice of him this morning. Immediately after breakfast the children knelt down, and Grannie repeated the Lord's Prayer aloud. Then came a great scampering and rushing about.
"Good-by, Grannie—good-by, Ally," came from several pairs of lips.
Then a clatter downstairs, then a silence—even David had gone away. On ordinary occasions Alison would have departed quite an hour before the children, as she always had to be at the shop in good time to display her excellent taste in the dressing of the windows. To-day she and Grannie were left behind together.
"You don't look well, Grannie," began the young girl.
"Now, listen, Alison," said Mrs. Reed, speaking in quite a tart voice, "ef you want to really vex me, you'll talk of my looks. I'm at the slack time o' life, and a little more color or a little less don't matter in the least. Ef I were forty and looked pale, or eighty and looked pale, it might be a subject to worry 'em as love me; being sixty-eight, I have let off pressure, so to speak, and it don't matter, not one little bit, whether I'm like a fresh apple or a piece o' dough. I am goin' out marketing now, and when I come back I'll give you a fresh lesson in that feather-stitching."
A dismayed look crept into Alison's face; she raised her delicate brows very slightly, and fixed her clear blue eyes on Grannie. She was about to speak, but something in the expression on Grannie's face kept her silent.