Grandma, feeling unable to stand another minute, tottered forward and dropped into the softness of the easy chair, and spied, tucked under the edge of a plate, a sheet of folded paper. Then she fumbled for what Johnnie called the “speticles that could wead,” and read:
Welcome home, dear Grandma Blakslee. Merry Christmas to you and Johnnie.
From Miss Parker’s Girls.
No, they hadn’t “done it every bit themselves.” There had been several fathers and mothers who were glad to help, as soon as they thought about it. Cora Henderson’s father had said, “Why, Grandma Blakslee might live in the little empty cottage this winter and welcome;” he wondered they had not thought of it before. Anna Smith’s mother said she would be glad to get rid of that carpet rolled up in the attic; she had no use for it, and it was a pattern she had never liked. Ella Stuart’s mother said the old arm-chair and the old lounge would do nicely if they were re-covered, and she was sure she did not want them. And so the plan grew and grew, and the girls were O, so busy and happy! It was the best Christmas of their lives, they all declared, especially after they made their call on Grandma, and found her almost too happy.
“It is almost pitiful,” said Anna Smith, “to see a poor woman cry for joy over one little room and a few old duds!”
And Cora Henderson, with her eyes shining like stars, said, “Isn’t it lovely? I’m so glad that verse is in the Bible, and Miss Parker thought it all out!”
Pansy.
