"IT rained a lot this morning, Grannie."
"Yes. And it is cold for the time of year."
"I wish it wouldn't be cold. I wish it was nice and warm for Mummie."
Jock sat on the rug before the drawing-room fire. Though early autumn
still, the weather had taken a sharp turn, becoming almost wintry—"bad
for Mrs. Munro, coming from India," people said; and this rather
troubled Jock. She was expected to arrive very soon.
Mousie that afternoon had been especially perverse, refusing to hear a
word when he wanted to talk about the one subject. And at last he had
left her, taking refuge with his Grannie.
"Do you think the ship is getting very very near now—almost quite
close, Grannie?"
"I hope so, dear. Any day we may have a telegram."
"And then Aunt Judith will go off to meet her—and they'll come home. I
do wish I could go too."
"But your mother said not. She would rather find you here. And it only
means a few more hours."
"I would 'like' to go," sighed Jock.
"Suppose you hold this skein of wool for me. I want to wind it, and
that would be a real help."
Jock was quite an adept at holding a skein. He twisted round so as to
face Mrs. Baynes, and the firelight fell on her soft grey hair and
gentle eyes. Jock watched with interest the lessening of the wool on
his wrists, and the growth of the ball in Grannie's hands. From time to
time he glanced up at a painting over the fireplace of a pretty child
in white, nursing a kitten. He loved that picture, and often before he
had asked as he asked now—"Was Mummie just like that?"
"Just exactly. She was the sweetest little pet ever seen, always so
dear and loving. Yes—naughty sometimes, but so quick to be sorry."
"Mummie once told me she wasn't clever. Wasn't she? I thought she was
awfully clever. And she said—she said—she was only clever at loving."
"That is true. I suppose one would not call her clever—if it means
being sharp at lessons. Aunt Judith could always beat her there. But
she certainly was 'clever at loving.' It just describes her. Even as a
tiny child, she seemed to have such a fount of love and tenderness in
her little heart—such sympathy for others. And it is the same now. You
and I know—don't we?"