"Where is Grandfather?"
"Grandfather isn't here any more, dearie. He has gone 'way up in the sky to see God and the angels."
"And won't he ever come back to our house?"
"No, dear; but if you are a good boy, you will go to see him some day."
"But, oh, Mother, what will Grandfather do when he goes to walk with the little boy angels? See—he's gone and forgot his cane!"
Grandmother
n the days when you went into the country to visit her, Grandmother was a gay, spry little lady with velvety cheeks and gold-rimmed spectacles, knitting reins for your hobby-horse, and spreading bread-and-butter and brown sugar for you in the hungry middle of the afternoon. For a bumped head there was nothing in the bottles to compare with the magic of her lips.
"And what did the floor do to my poor little lamb? See! Grandmother will make the place well again." And when she had kissed it three times, lo! you knew that you were hungry, and on the door-sill of Grandmother's pantry you shed a final tear.
When you arrived for a visit, and Grandmother had taken off your cap and coat as you sat in her lap, you would say, softly, "Grandmother." Then she would know that you wanted to whisper, and she would lower her ear till it was even with your lips. Through the hollow of your two hands you said it: