It was Susan come back, Susan with a burden in her arms. She looked at her father with a start. Her face was different. It was suddenly clear that she had been a beautiful girl. She laid her burden upon the little bench.
“Here is a little rifle that was his father’s,” said she. “And here is a little chain and locket that was mine. You put them under the tree, gran’pap.”
“Oh, Susan!” said the old man.
But Susan was already at the door. There she turned and looked back. Again she was crying, but she was smiling, too. It was plain that for Susan the worst of grief was past.
“Merry Christmas, gran’pap!” said she. “You’d better go to bed.”
“Same to you!” faltered gran’pap.
Then he took the little rifle and the chain and locket in his hands and hugged them to his breast.
“Oh my! oh my! oh my!” said gran’pap. “What will those children do!”
[4] By permission of the author and the “Outlook.”