“I made this for ee, Granny,” he said, putting into her hands a motley string of pink, and green, and blue and red. “I did make ’e for ee all myself, no-one else did never do none of ’e at all.”
Once more Granny opened her eyes. “Thank ee ma lovely,” she whispered, and a little sigh fluttered between her parted lips.
Then Tommy was led away.
When Aunt Keziah Kate would have removed the tangled chain the feeble fingers closed and held it more firmly.
Afterwards, when Granny was at rest, Granfäather Tregennis took it from the cold hands and put it away in a drawer with his few treasures—a dry, withered rose given him by Granny many, many years ago, and an artificial spray of orange-blossom worn by Granny on their wedding-day.
CHAPTER XXIII
ON the day of Granny’s funeral Old John took care of Tommy.
Old John lived up towards the Barbican, in as neat a cottage as you could find in Draeth. No woman ever did a hand’s turn in his little, two-roomed crib; the old sailor washed and mended, cleaned and scrubbed, and kept his home so well that, as Mrs. Tregennis remarked, ’twould be possible to eat anything as ’e’d made, an’ eat it off his floor at that, an’ she for one would gladly do it.