"I don't know, mother," replied Mrs. Clifford; "I think I could never have got here without Grace: she has been my little waiter, and Katie's little nurse."
Grace blushed with delight at this well-deserved praise.
"And Horace is so large now, that he was some help, too, I've no doubt," said his grandmother.
"I would have took the baby," cried Horace, speaking up very quickly, before any one else had time to answer,—"I would have took the baby, but she wouldn't let me."
Mrs. Clifford might have said that Horace himself had been as much trouble as the baby; but she was too kind to wound her little boy's feelings.
It was certainly a very happy party who met around the tea-table at Mr. Parlin's that evening. It was already dusk, and the large globe lamp, with its white porcelain shade, gave a cheery glow to the pleasant dining-room.
First, there was cream-toast, made of the whitest bread, and the sweetest cream.
"This makes me think of Mrs. Gray," said Mrs. Clifford, smiling; "I hope she is living yet."
"She is," said Margaret, "but twelve years old."
Grace looked up in surprise.