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Updated: July 2, 2025
I jumped up and took Miss Susanna in my arms and whirled around the room with her. I was afraid she would get on the grandparent subject, and I didn't want to hear it.
The blue eyes were serious and there was a sort of caressing note in his voice. "We've always been pals, Simmy." "Well, it's just this: I'm darned sorry things have turned out as they have for you. It's a rotten shame. Why don't you choke that old grandparent of yours? Put him out of his misery. Anne has told me of your diabolical designs upon the hopelessly afflicted.
It was quite a different matter, however, to contemplate receiving into the charmed circle a beautiful young girl who was everything her unworthy old grandparent had not been. "But we must go slowly," Little Josh Bucknor had said, when approached by his cousin, Big Josh. "It's a great deal easier to get relations than it is to get rid of them. Ahem Cousin Ann, for instance!
She carries good tidings and pleasure to all; while Sorrow, her sister, administers the woes." "But Joy is good not to leave her sister." "She cannot," said the grandparent. "Cannot! Why?" "Because Providence has so ordered it that Joy and Sorrow go hand in hand, pleasure and pain. No two forces in nature which are alike are coupled. Day and night, sunshine and shadow, pleasure and pain, forever."
When he had established this idea firmly in his own mind and in the mind of Polly, his wife, he set about solving the problem of transportation. Mr. Cavendish's paternal grandparent had drifted down the Holston and Tennessee; and Mr. Cavendish's father, in his son's youth, had poled up the Elk. Mr.
Ellis as escort, and her husband and grandson, seated in armchairs before the sitting room stove, both smoking, talked and talked, of the past and of the future not as man to boy, nor as grandparent to grandson, but for the first time as equals, without reservations, as man to man. The next morning Albert met old Mr. Kendall.
So the fifteen little Princes, with fifteen stiff little bows, took themselves back to the royal nursery. As for the Scarecrow, he paced disconsolately up and down his magnificent throne room, tripping over his kimona at every other step. "You're a good boy, Tappy," said the Scarecrow as Happy returned, "but I tell you being a grandparent is not what I thought it would be.
I am bound to add that I also felt some self-importance at being intrusted with this secret, for such indeed it was. To this second marriage, which occurred in 1713, were born my aunt, Gainor Wynne, and, two years later, my father, John Wynne. I have no remembrance of either grandparent. Both lie in the ground at Merion Meeting-house, under nameless, unmarked graves, after the manner of Friends.
'Perhaps, said Sir Henry, 'the heroic blood of your grandparent will triumph after all; perhaps you will still be great. At any rate we shall see. And now I vote we go to bed. I am dead tired, and we had not much sleep on that confounded rock last night. And so we did, and very strange the tidy rooms and clean white sheets seemed to us after our recent experiences.
Perhaps you have a grandparent who can tell you something of those stirring days. The gold craze of '49 is a never-to-be-forgotten event in our history. As the search for nuggets and gold-dust became less fruitful, many of the men turned homeward, some enriched and some alas! having lost all they possessed. What kind of boy was Houston? What kind of man? What did he do for Texas?
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