"Danpa's real mean an' horrid," sobbed Polypod, making a very bad face at the wall behind which he sat, the better to express her hurt feelings. She did not know how tired old folks are, how their bones ache, and their eyes get dim after they have lived and worked so long and so hard; and poor grandpa could not remember how he felt when he was a rosy naughty little boy himself. He did not think of much now but how to keep warm and quiet, and not have anybody push against his chair, or hit his lame foot that lay up on a carpet stool all the time. No wonder he did not like kittens, they jump about so everywhere!
But before spring came grandpa died one day, and there was a funeral. Nobody cried much: grandpa was too old to cry for; they all knew—all the grown-up people—that he must be glad not to ache any more, and he had been pretty cross, poor old man. The day of the funeral Polypod noticed her mother putting some black ribbon on Nelly's felt hat, and trying on to her own head a new black bonnet.
"What is you putting that ugly black bow on to Norken's bonnet for, muvver?" she asked.
"It's mourning, Polypod; people wear black when their folks die."
"What for?" curtly inquired the child.
"Oh, well, I s'pose to show they feel bad."
"I don't feel bad one mite," said Polypod, thoughtfully. Her mother in her busy hurry did not hear this comment, or Polypod would have been reproved, no doubt. But nobody puts black on so small a child for the loss of a grandfather, so Polypod made no more remarks.
The next week Nelly came into the sitting-room where the child had for once established herself in a corner of the old chintz-covered sofa.
"Polypod," she called out, "what do you suppose I've got in my apron?"
Polypod did not stop to guess; she jumped down and peeped in at a corner.