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Mr. and Mrs. Wilton were as much pleased as the children with this little story of Grandy's reminiscences. "And now, George," said Mr. Wilton, "carry my drawings into the study, for I hear John coming up-stairs with the supper." George collected his papa's pencils and paper.
"Maybe there's a garden with my French house," she thought as she looked down into the back yard. She reached for The theory and practise of gardening and tucked it into the top of Grandy's bag. All day long the house seethed with the excitement of her leave- taking. Most of the morning belonged to Dulcie, who was still working feverishly on Pandora.
I have opened the box and let out all the troubles but perhaps I haven't let out Hope probably everything is as right as right can be in some of Grandy's papers " She was grateful that she had this hope to hold out to her "children" she thought of them always now as children, these folk who dwelt about her. Perhaps she caught that feeling from Molly, who mothered every one of them.
"George is to open this meeting, by reciting some lines written by Mrs. Howitt, which are very clever, and will most appropriately introduce our subject." So saying, Mrs. Wilton proceeded to arrange the members in their various places; and, seating herself, she turned to her son, who by virtue of his office was allowed to remain near Grandy's chair until the great work was accomplished.
"Did you?" breathed Felicia. "Oh, did you see Grandy's Louisa?" "Did I ever see her?" the Disagreeable Walnut leaned her sharp elbows on the show case. "I see her when she was a bride I'd just took charge here then she was a high-stepper!
Shall I tell you something " she was down the stairs, running like a girl to point out the wonders of the room. "You see Grandy's father was a Judge and he knew Louisa's uncle It was Louisa's uncle who used to live in this house and both those men used to sit in this room and talk and talk and talk Mademoiselle told me about it. You shall have Grandy's father's picture over the fireplace.
Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten o'clock Molly O'Reilly couldn't endure the suspense any longer. She cunningly stacked a tray with nut- bread sandwiches and a pitcher of milk and strode bravely up the stairs to Grandy's room. "Miss Day, darlint," she called through the half opened door, "I've the matter of a nibble of food here " Felicia did not put down the knitting, she merely lifted her head.
Can't you almost hear Felicia talking with her, describing the kitchen and the back yard and the dumb-waiter that goes up to Grandy's room and stops at Maman's room and on up to the old nursery? Can't you see Felicia triumphantly bringing Mollyhome to look it over? And can't you almost hear the lovely Irish songs that Molly's mother taught her? And Felicia pretending that she is Molly's mother?
He murmured things about neighborhoods and slums and not being able to afford to live in such a hole and appearances and other futile excuses. But in the end he followed her meekly up the stairway and was shown the glories of Grandy's old room.
"First," Felicia at least began her thinking clearly, "I shall go to see the Judge and I shall say 'Don't sell Grandy's house because Certain Legal Matters hasn't attended to things. Just wait. I know another lawyer, he's in Temple Bar. He will attend to everything. Oh no!
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