The room that Hazel entered was lighted by a kerosene lamp and a fire of logs that sent forth a rich, yellow flame. Her grandmother helped the child take off her hat and coat, and then, sitting on a low chair by the blaze, drew the little girl toward her.
“You favors your mother, honey,” she said, “but your eyes looks at me like your father’s did. They’s dark and tired, now. You’s come over the sea and over the land clear to your granny. Put your head on my breast where your daddy rested when he was a baby.”
Hazel put her arms around the old woman’s neck and held her tight. Little warm pulses of feeling swept through her. The pines, the sunset, the bird’s note, and this loving welcome by the open fire, all made her heart beat fast and her body shake. She was sobbing before she knew it.
Granny understood what to do. She put the little girl in her chair, and leaving her for a moment came back with a gray kitten, very small and warm and helpless. Hazel ceased crying as she took it on her lap and gently stroked its fur.
“Is it named?” she asked after a moment.
“No, honey; it’s been saving for you.”
“Then, please, I will call it Lucy after my mother.”
She stroked it tenderly and thought of the purring black and white kitten in the kitchen at home.
“You has a sweet, loving mother, I know.”
“I’ve her picture for you.” And that settled the question of whether Granny’s present should be kept until Christmas.