_CHAPTER XI.—For Great-grandmama Lois._
Not one of the grandmothers heard Mary Ellen on the stairs or on the
landing, and the little creature patted along by the wall in her pretty
red slippers, past the door where she had tumbled in the day before, past
Madam Esther’s, and turned into the other hall with her rose. This hall
was lighted by a large window, and as Mary Ellen felt the sunshine full
in her face she began to smile and look like herself again. She pattered
along faster, smiling and smiling, and just as she came to the last door
was on the point of exploding into a whole fireworks of laughs and crows
and calls, as was her way when very much pleased.
“Gum-um!” she called, but first running into the corner and backing
up close against the wall. Mary Ellen had no notion of falling in when
_this_ door opened.
It was at Old Lady Lois’s room that she had stopped, as she her little
self knew very well. The door opened instantly. But the dear old
great-grandmother did not see the child at first. She looked all about
her, as if very much alarmed.
“Yosy!” Mary Ellen cried out. “Yosy, Gum-um!” She toddled forward and
held up the big wet rose.
Old Lady Lois gathered her up in her arms and went in. “Are you up here
_again_, child?” she said, reproachfully.
“Yosy,” said Mary Ellen. “Yosy.”
“Yes, pretty rosy,” answered Old Lady Lois.
“Yosy!” persisted Mary Ellen.
[Illustration: “YOSY!” SAID MARY ELLEN.]
“You best take the flower, Mrs. Gray,” said Mrs. Camp. The others had
heard the chirping of the little voice and had come in to see what had
happened.
“Don’t you see she has brought it on purpose for _you_? I _told_ you she
would know us apart. I knew she would know _you_ by your _flower_! She
must have been very observing when her mother has had her up here, to
know which was your room.”
“Yosy,” said Mary Ellen, pushing the wet flower up against the gentle
old face. This time Old Lady Lois took the rose and pinned it in her
kerchief. She looked very pleased. The child seemed satisfied now. She
laid her little yellow head back on the white kerchiefed shoulder and
looked around on the others.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” said Mrs. Persis, contemplating her, “if she
has broken the vase getting the rose out. Her dress seems very wet.”
“Notty watty,” said Mary Ellen.
Madam Esther had gone down-stairs. She came up now with Mary Ellen’s
father and mother. Poor Mama Nan seemed even more terrified and
breathless than on the day before. “I _told_ you I should never know
another moment’s peace,” said she.
Papa Dick laughed at her. “You ought to feel relieved,” said he. “Here
your smart little Mary Ellen has taught herself, all alone, how to go
up-stairs.”
But Mama Nan was not to be comforted in that way. “What _is_ to be done?”
said she. “She will undertake this thing every day.” And here she quite
broke down and began to sob in a miserable helpless way.
Nobody spoke for a minute. Then Great-Grandmother Day said gently, “Just
let me take her in charge, Nancy. I promise you the child shall soon go
up and down with perfect safety.”
Mama Nan started up in fresh terror. “She has got to learn how to go
_down_ too? Oh, me!”
[Illustration: MARY ELLEN LOOKED AFTER THEM.]
“See here, Nan, you better come down-stairs,” said Papa Dick, a droll
look about his mouth.
They went out, leaving Mary Ellen with her grandmothers. She sat up and
looked after them, with big eyes. “Mama k’y!” she said.
_Ella Farman Pratt._