"This is Emily, grandmamma," she said.
"Another Emily!" replied the old lady, "I am rich indeed!" and, fixing her eyes on the younger little girl, "I could almost think I had my child again. Daughter," she added, speaking to Mrs. Fairchild, "do my eyes deceive me? Is there not a likeness? But your little girls are such exactly as I fondly wished them to be. And this is Henry, our youngest one;" and she took his hand in hers, and said, "Did you expect to see grandmamma looking so very old, my little man?"
"No, ma'am," replied Henry, "not quite so old;" and the little boy made a bow, thinking how very civil he ought to be to his own father's mother.
"He does not mean to be rude, ma'am," said Lucy.
"I see it, my dear," replied the old lady, smiling. "Do not, I pray you, say anything to destroy his honesty—the world will soon enough teach him to use deception."
Henry did not understand all this, but fearing, perhaps, to lose his place as grandmamma's horse, he took the occasion to ask if he might not be her horse.
"What is it, my child?" said the old lady.
"May I be your horse, ma'am?" he said.
"My horse?" repeated the old lady, looking for an explanation from Lucy; and when she had got it, she made him quite happy by assuring him that no horse could please her better.
She did not drink tea that evening with the family, and went very early to bed; but having seen them all that evening, she was ready to meet them more calmly in the morning, and quite prepared to rejoice in the blessing of having such grandchildren to make up her losses.