In the upper windows of the double-fronted house near the church plain
short blinds had replaced the long Madras muslin curtains. Again the
gay Brussels carpet in the best sitting-room was covered with
newspaper and the ornaments were put away. All visitors had left
Draeth, for the Summer was over, and with the summer Tommy's sixth
birthday had come and gone.
Being six did not bring with it the rare delight that Tommy had
expected. For one thing he missed his ladies; for another he was
troubled by the growing sadness of his Mammy's face. Twice when he
came in unexpectedly he had found her in tears, and yet she had
assured him that she had no headache anywhere.
It was most unfortunate, too, that just when things were a little
dreary Granny Tregennis should be so very tired. Whenever Tommy ran in
to see her now, he found that she was still in bed, and although she
wanted him to play with her on Saturday mornings yet, when he went
upstairs, she seemed to have but little pleasure in the play-toys that
were kept in the fireplace cupboard.
"My Granny did ought to have a brave long sleep," he asserted with
puckered brow.
"She do be goin' to have a brave long sleep, ma handsome," Mammy's
eyes filled with tears as she spoke and this seemed to Tommy
inconsistent.
On the front, looking for occupation, he fell in with Old John. Old
John was a life-long friend, but of late there had been so many other
interests to attract him that Old John had been neglected.
Now Tommy hailed him. "Gotten a noo pair o' trousers," he shouted, and
almost overbalanced in his effort to stand on one leg with the other
stretched out at right angles in front of him.
"Hm!" said Old John.
Taking his pipe from his mouth he examined the trousers critically.
"Hm!" he said again.
"My Mammy's blue skirt," Tommy explained, proudly, while he reversed
his position. He now stood on the left leg and thrust forward the
right.
"Hallo!" he cried, for Mammy was approaching to bring him in to bed.
"Tommy 'e do tell me 'e've gotten noo trousers."
Mammy nodded.
"Made out o' your blue skirt, Ellen Tregennis?"
Mammy nodded and smiled.
"You'm gotten as good a little woman as ever is in the world for your
Mammy, Tommy." Old John looked at Mrs. Tregennis, who laughed in
acknowledgement of the compliment.
"We'm forced to do as careful as we can," she said. "When Tom can't go
neither boulter-fishin' nor whiffin' we be livin' on our means like
the gintry; then I make clothes for Tommy, so's he'll be respectable.
'Taint no mortal use, Old John, for we to _look_ small and _be_ small
both, so there's where 'tis to."
"Makes 'en out of hers!" This was a fact that Tommy was very proud of.
Again Mammy laughed. "Well, 'tis so," she admitted. "Tom an' me we
wears the clothes, then Tommy wears 'en, then they do be made into
mats an' we treads on 'en. Blouses bain't no good though, for 'e," she
added ruefully; "very wastely things they be to tear up for 'e, the
sleeves do come s'awkward!"
"An' Tom now, 'e do be a brave good husband?" queried Old John.
"That he be. I wouldn't stand no nonsense, I wouldn't be 'umbugged
about with 'e, me at my size."
Mammy smiled and led Tommy off to bed.
At the top of the alley Tommy stopped. "I'll be back in a minute," he
said as he turned towards Main Street.
"Where be a-goin'?" asked Mammy.
"Where be I a-goin'?" Tommy echoed in surprise. "Why I be a-goin' to
say good-night to my Gran."
"I shouldn't go to-night, ma handsome; Granny's tired."
Tommy turned and looked at his mother in amazement. Every night ever
since he could remember he had run along to say "good-night" to
Granny.
"She'll want me, an' I must go," he demurred.
"She do be too tired for ee to-night, my lamb."
"Do ee mean, Mammy, that 'er do be too tired for me to say good-night
to she?" Tommy was frankly incredulous.
Mammy nodded and again the tears came. "She can't do with ee, not
to-night," she said very softly.
Much puzzled Tommy was led into the house and undressed; still puzzled
he went upstairs to bed. Half-an-hour later he fell asleep, wondering.
The next day, Saturday, a reluctant Tommy was sent to spend the
morning on the beach, while Mammy went along to be with Aunt Keziah
Kate, for Granny's tiredness was nearly over.
In the old-fashioned bedroom there was little to do but wait.
"She do be slippin' away fast," said Aunt Keziah Kate.
Gently she stroked the frail old hands that lay on the coarse
coverlet. There were no tears in her eyes. There would be plenty of
time for weeping afterwards, now they must just wait.
"It do be just like Gran." Mammy hastily brushed away a tear. "Never
wasn't no trouble to no-one, wasn't Gran. All her life she've spent in
considerin' others. As long as visitors was here she've keppen up; now
that the summer's over she do be quietly slippin' away."
The old woman, lying so quietly on the bed, opened her eyes and her
lips moved slowly. Aunt Keziah Kate bent to catch the whispered words.
"Saturday?"
Aunt Keziah Kate nodded.
"What be the time?"
Aunt Keziah Kate told her.
"Then where be Tommy?"
"You don't want 'e mother this mornin', do ee?"
An almost imperceptible movement of Granny's head was the reply, and
Tommy was hastily found and brought up from the sunshine of the beach
to the dim light of Granny's room.
"Go very quietly, my lamb," warned Mrs. Tregennis.
"But I allus do," answered Tommy, rather indignantly. "She don't never
hear me come; it do be a surprise for she."
Then he creaked across the room on tip-toe, stepped first of all on to
the hassock and from this to the chair. When he raised the curtain the
sight of the lined face lying so still, so very still, upon the pillow
stopped the "Bo" before it left his lips.
Instead, "Granny, Granny," he whispered. "I do be come to play with
ee, my Granny."
The tired old eyes opened very slowly, and for a moment it almost
seemed as though she smiled. "Ma lovely," she whispered.
But there were no play-toys to-day, for in the same room where a new
life had begun so many years ago an old one was soon to end. There was
no storm now. Outside the sun shone brightly, and a little breeze
gently moved the old chintz window curtains made so many years ago by
Granny's busy hands.
Granfäather Tregennis had come into the room and large tears were
rolling down his cheeks. Tommy thought that grown men never cried. His
wonder deepened when Granfäather, who was quite grown up, knelt down
on the other side of the bed and covered his face with his hands.
Mammy and Aunt Keziah Kate were crying too.
Tommy's heart tightened with despair. Granny had forgotten him, for
again her eyes were closed.
Then he remembered something that would surely arouse her interest,
and from his trouser pocket he pulled out yards of tangled, woollen
chain; the very chain that Granny had taught him to make in the
far-away Christmas holidays.
"I made this for ee, Granny," he said, putting into her hands a motley
string of pink, and green, and blue and red. "I did make 'e for ee all
myself, no-one else did never do none of 'e at all."
Once more Granny opened her eyes. "Thank ee ma lovely," she whispered,
and a little sigh fluttered between her parted lips.
Then Tommy was led away.
When Aunt Keziah Kate would have removed the tangled chain the feeble
fingers closed and held it more firmly.
Afterwards, when Granny was at rest, Granfäather Tregennis took it
from the cold hands and put it away in a drawer with his few
treasures--a dry, withered rose given him by Granny many, many years
ago, and an artificial spray of orange-blossom worn by Granny on their
wedding-day.