Oh, how grateful Poppy's mother was!
'Granny,' she said, as she gave her a kiss, 'I haven't been so comfortable never since I was ill; I declare I feel quite sleepy.'
'Well, go to sleep, my lass,' said grandmother; 'that's the very best thing you can do.' So she laid the babies beside their mother in bed, and she and Poppy went downstairs.
'Now, my little lass,' said the old woman, 'you and me will soon tidy things up here.'
It was wonderful to Poppy to see how quickly her grandmother could work. She was a brisk, active old woman, and in a very short time all the cups, and saucers, and plates were washed and put by, the fireside was swept, and the kitchen table was scoured. Then, leaving Poppy to wash the floor, her grandmother carried off the heap of dirty clothes lying in the corner into the tiny back kitchen, and, long before Poppy's mother or the babies woke, there were two lines of little garments hung out to be quickly dried in the scorching afternoon sun.
'And now, Poppy,' said grandmother, 'fetch my basket, my good little lass, and we'll unpack it.'
Oh, what a basket that was! Poppy's eyes opened wide with astonishment when she saw all that it contained. There was a whole pound of fresh country butter, a loaf of grandmother's own home-made bread, a plum cake she had made on purpose for Poppy, a jar of honey made by grandmother's bees, and a box of fresh eggs laid by grandmother's hens, a bottle of thick yellow cream, and, what Poppy liked best of all, a bunch of roses, and southernwood and pansies, and lavender from grandmother's garden.
It was very pleasant to get tea ready, when there were so many good things to put on the table, and it was still more pleasant when Poppy's mother woke, to take her a cup of tea with the good country cream in it, and to watch how she enjoyed some thin slices of grandmother's bread and butter, and a fresh egg laid that morning by 'little Jenny, the bonniest hen of the lot.'
'Now, Poppy,' said grandmother, when tea was over, 'you get on your hat, and go out a bit. You're a good little lass if ever there was one—bless you, my darling, my own John Henry's bairn! But you want a bit of rest and play, you do indeed.'
'Yes, that she does,' said her mother. 'Why, it's weeks since she got out for a walk—not since I was in bed, bless her!'