"GRANNY."
Aunt Madge seated her four guests at a little table.
"Will you have oysters or scallops?"
"What are scallops?"
"They are a sort of fish; taste a little like oysters. They come out of
those small shells, such as you've seen pin-cushions made of."
The children thought they should prefer oysters; and after the stews
were ordered, Mrs. Allen went out, and soon returned with a dessert of
cake, pie, and fruit.
"I thought I would bring it all at once," said she, "just what I know
you will like; and then sit down and be comfortable. We'll lay the
wreaths under the table. There are no napkins, girls (this isn't Boston,
you know); so you'd better tuck your handkerchiefs under your chins."
"But is this the handsomest place they've got in New York, without any
carpet to it?" whispered Dotty.
"We'll see, one of these days," replied auntie, with a smile that spoke
volumes.
It was a very jolly dinner, and Mrs. Allen had to send for three plates
of scallops; for the children found, after tasting hers, that they were
very nice; all but Fly, who did not relish them, and thought it was
because she did not like to eat pin-cushions.
"Now, little folks, if you have eaten sufficiently, and are thoroughly
rested, shall we start for home? I think a journey to Brooklyn is about
enough for one day--don't you? But you musn't leave without seeing
Granny."
"Granny?"
"Yes, I call her so, and it pleases her. She has had a little table in
the market for a long while, and I like to buy some of her goodies just
to encourage her, for she has such a way of looking on the bright side
that she wins my respect. Listen, now, while I speak to her."
Auntie's old woman had on a hood and shawl, and was curled up in a
little heap, half asleep.
"Pleasant day," said Mrs. Allen, going up to the table.
"Yes, mum; nice weather _underful_," returned the old woman, rousing
herself, and rubbing an apple with her shawl.
"And how do you do, Granny?"
"Why, is that you?" said she, the sun coming out all over her face.
"And how've you been, mum, since the last time I've seen yer?"
"Very well, Granny; and how do things prosper with you?"
"O, _I'm_ all right! I've had a touch of rheumaty, and this is the fust
I've stirred for two weeks."
"Sorry to hear it, Granny. Rheumatism can't be very comfortable."
"Well, no; it's bahd for the jints," said the old woman, holding up her
fingers, which were as shapeless as knobby potatoes.
"Poor Granny! How hard that is!"
"Well, they be hard, and kind o' stiff-like. But bless ye," laughed she,
"that's nothing. I wouldn't 'a' cared, only I's afeared I'd lose this
stand. There was a gyurl come and kep' it for me, what time she could
spare."
"I'm glad you havn't lost the stand, Granny; but I don't see how you can
laugh at the rheumatism."
"Well, mum, what'd be the use to cry? Why, bless ye, there's wus
things'n that! As long's I hain't got no husband, I don't feel to
complain!"
She shook her sides so heartily at this, that Fly laughed aloud.
"So you don't approve of husbands, Granny?"
"No more I don't, mum; they're troublesome craychers, so fur as I've
seen."
"But don't you get down-hearted, living all alone?"
"O, no, mum; I do suppose I'm the happiest woman in the city o' New
Yorruk. When I goes to bed, I just gives up all my thrubbles to the
Lord, and goes to sleep."
"But when you are sick, Granny?"
"O, then, sometimes I feels bahd, not to be airnin' nothin', and gets
some afeard o' the poorhouse; but, bless ye, I can't help thinking the
Lord'll keep me out."
"I'm pretty sure He will," said Aunt Madge, resolving on the spot that
the good old soul never should go to a place she dreaded so much. "Have
you any butter-scotch to-day, Granny?"
"O, yes, mum; sights of it. Help yourself. I want to tell you
something'll please you," said the old woman, bending forward, and
speaking in a low tone, and with sparkling eyes. "I've put some money in
the bank, mum; enough to bury me! _Ain't_ that good!"
Prudy and Dotty were terribly shocked. She must be crazy to talk about
her own funeral. As if she was glad of it, too? But Horace thought it a
capital joke.
"That's a jolly way to use your money," whispered he to Prudy; "much
good may it do her?" And then aloud, in a patronizing tone, "I'll take a
few of your apples, Granny. How do you sell 'em?"
"These here, a penny apiece; them there, two pennies; and them, three."
Horace felt in his coat pocket for his purse; and drew out his hand
quickly, as if a bee had stung it.
"Why, what! What does this mean?"
"What is it, Horace?"
"Nothing, auntie, only my wallet's gone," replied the boy, very white
about the mouth.
"Gone? Look again. Are you sure?"
"Yes, as sure as I want to be?"
"Mine,--is mine gone too?" cried Prudy.
Horace did not seem willing to answer.
"Where did you have your purse last?"
"Just before we came out of Dorlon's oyster saloon. Just before we came
here for butter-scotch," replied Horace, glaring fiercely at Granny.
"Are you quite sure?"
"Is mine gone, too?" cried Prudy again. "Did you put mine in the same
pocket?"
"Yes, Prue; I put yours in the same pocket; and it's gone, too."
"O, Horace!"
"A pretty clean sweep, Prue."
"The _vilyins_!" cried Granny; looking, auntie thought, as if her whole
soul was stirred with pity for the children; but, as Horace thought, as
if she were trying to put a bold face on a very black crime.
"Let us go back to Dorlon's, and ask the waiters if you dropped it in
there," suggested Aunt Madge.
"Yes, but _I know I didn't,"_ said Horace, with another scowl at Granny.
"_My_ money is safe," said self-righteous Dotty, as they walked away;
"don't you wish you _had_ given yours to me, Prudy?"
"The deceitful old witch!" muttered Horace; meaning Granny, of course.
And lo, there she stood close behind them! She was beckoning Mrs. Allen
back to her fruit-stand.
"Wait here one minute, children; I'll be right back."
"Nothin', mum," said Granny, looking very much grieved; "nothin' only I
wants to say, mum, if that youngster thinks as I took his money, I wisht
you'd sarch me."
"Fie, Granny! Never mind what a boy like that says, when he is excited.
I know you too well to think you'd steal."
"The Lord bless you, mum," cried the old woman, all smiles again.
"And, Granny, I mean to come here next week, and I'll bring you some
flannel and liniment for your rheumatism. Where shall I leave them if
you're sick, and can't be here?"
"O, thank ye, mum; thank ye kindly. The ain't many o' the likes of you,
mum. And if ye does bring the things for my rheumaty, and I ain't here,
just ye leave 'em with the gyurl at this stand, if yer will."
"Did she give it back?" cried Horace, the moment his aunt appeared.
"No, my boy; how could she when she hadn't it to give?"
"But, auntie, I'm up and down sure I felt that wallet in my
breast-pocket, when we came out of Dorlon's," persisted Horace. "I don't
see how on earth that old woman contrived it; but I can't help
remembering how she kept leaning forward when she talked; and once she
hit square against me. And just about that time I was drawing out my
handkerchief to wipe my nose."
"Yes, he did! He wiped his nose. And the woman tookened the money; I saw
her do it."
"There, I told you so!"
"You saw her, Miss Policeman Flyaway?" said Aunt Madge. "And pray how
did she take it?"
"Just so,--right in her hand."
"O, you mean the money for the butter-scotch, you little tease!"
"Yes," replied the child, with a roguish twinkle over the sensation she
had made.
"Just like little bits o' flies," said Dotty. "Don't care how folks
feel. And here's her brother ready to cry; heart all broken."
"Needn't be concerned about my heart, Dot; 'tisn't broken yet; only
cracked. But how anybody could get at my pocket, without my knowing it,
is a mystery to me, unless Granny is a witch."
"Horace, I pledge you my word Granny is innocent."
"And I'm sure nobody else could take it, auntie. The clerks at Dorlon's
had no knowledge of the money; neither had any of the apple or pie
merchants along the market. Things look darker for us, Prue; but I will
give you the credit of behaving like a lady. And one thing is sure--the
moment I get home to Indiana I shall send you back your money."
"Horace," said Aunt Madge, "I am very suspicious that you lost your
purse in one of those cars, on the Brooklyn side."
"But, auntie, I tell you there couldn't anybody get at my pockets
without my knowing it!"
"Just as Prudy told you you would, you lost it in that car," echoed
Dotty. "Don't you remember what you said, Prudy?"
"That's right; hit him again," growled Horace.
"Now, Dotty," said Prudy, suppressing a great sob in her effort to
"behave like a lady," "what's the use? Don't you suppose Horace feels
bad enough without being scolded at?"
"Auntie don't scold, nor Prudy don't, 'cause he didn't mean to lose
it," said Fly, frowning at Dotty, and caressing Horace, with her hands
full of evergreens.
"Besides, he has lost more than I have," continued Prudy.
"Well, a trifle more! Fifty times as much, say. I shouldn't care a
fig,--speaking figuratively,--only it was all I had to get home with."
"Don't fret about that," said Aunt Madge; "I'll see that you go home
with as full a purse as you brought to my house."
"O, auntie, how can I thank you? But you know father never would allow
that!"
"I could tell you how to thank me," thought Mrs. Allen, though she was
so kind she would _not_ tell; "you could thank me by saying, 'Auntie,
I've been a naughty boy.'"
But Horace had no idea of making such a confession as that. "The
money'll come up," said he; "I'm one of the lucky kind. Let's see;
wouldn't it be best to advertise?"
"Thieves won't answer advertisements," said Mrs. Allen.
"But, I tell you, auntie, I dropped that wallet. I could take my oath of
it."
"Well, in such a case an advertisement is the proper thing. But, my boy,
your positiveness on this subject is extraordinary. How could you drop
the wallet? Do you keep it in the same pocket with your handkerchief?"
"On, no, auntie; right in here."
"And you haven't bought anything?"
"No, auntie; you wouldn't let me pay the car fare, or anything else. But
still I must have taken out the wallet by mistake. You see I _know_
nobody's picked my pockets."
"Why, Horace, you just said Granny picked 'em."
"No, Dot, I didn't! I only spoke of the queer way she had of leaning
forward."
"But you scowled at her sharp enough to take head off."
"If I were you, Dot, I wouldn't be any more disagreeable than I was
absolutely obliged to.--Now, auntie, how much does it cost to
advertise?"
"A dollar or so I believe."
"Well, if you'll lend me the money, I want to do it."
"To be plain with you, Horace, I really do not think it will be of the
slightest use in this case; but I will consent to it if it will be any
relief to your mind. We shall be obliged to cross the ferry again, for
the advertisement ought to go into a Brooklyn paper."
"We are tired enough to drop," said Dotty; "and all these stars and
things, too!"
"Yes, we are all tired; but we will leave you little girls at the
ferry-house on the other side."
"But, auntie," said Prudy, anxiously, "I shouldn't really dare have the
care of Fly. You know just how it is."
"Yes, I do know just how it is. Fly must walk, with her tired little
feet, to the Eagle office, with Horace and me; or else she must make a
solemn promise not to go out of the ferry-house."
"But I don't want to make a _solomon_ promise, auntie; I want to see the
eagle."
Mrs. Allen sighed. She began to think she had undertaken a great task
in inviting these children to visit her. Instead of a pleasure, they had
proved, thus far, a weariness--always excepting Prudy. She, dear,
self-forgetting little girl, could not fail to be a comfort wherever she
went.