Then the children stole quietly away one by one, till presently they were again at play amid the myriad blossoms of the star flower. But the old man rested beneath the shepherds’ tower, while the shadows lengthened across the Field of Angels.
[6] Reprinted by permission of the author and the “Ladies’ Home Journal.”
SHOPPING WITH GRANDMOTHER MINTON[7]
Daisy Crabbe Curtis
“There!” said Grandmother Minton, standing stock-still in the middle of the sidewalk, all unmindful of the fact that she was blocking the way of the hurrying Christmas shoppers. “That child has hurt himself! I can tell by the way he cries. Pick him up, Susan!”
“O grandmother!” protested Susan. “He’s dirty!”
“Bumps hurt a dirty boy just as much as a clean one,” said Grandmother Minton.
Susan sighed, and with the air of a martyr lifted the weeping urchin to his feet.
“It’s his forehead, poor child!” said Grandmother Minton, gently touching a red bump on the boy’s forehead. “Don’t cry, sonny; grandma’s got somethin’ in her little black bag that will stop the hurt. Here ’tis—arnica, and a nice clean handkerchief to bind it up with,” she went on soothingly as she worked. “Feels better already, eh? And here’s somethin’ more to help,” she added, popping a piece of white candy into his mouth. “That’s good for the cry. All right, now?”
“Grandmother, come!” whispered Susan with scarlet cheeks.