“Oh, who is it?” cried winsome May;
“How I wish she was here to-day!
Wouldn’t I love her like everything,
And give her my new carnelian ring!
Say, dear grandmamma, who can she be?”
“Darling,” said grandmamma, “that child was me!”
an afternoon call on grandmother
May looked along at the dimpled grace,
And then at the saint-like, fair old face,
“How funny!” she cried, with a smile and a kiss,
“To have such a dear little grandma as this!
Still,” she added, with a smiling zest,
“I think, dear grandma, I like you best!”
So May climbed on the silken knee,
And grandma told her her history—
What plays she played, what toys she had,
How at times she was naughty, or good, or sad.
“But the best thing you did,” said May, “don’t you see?
Was to grow a beautiful grandma for me!”
THANKSGIVING DAY
BY LYDIA MARIA CHILD