_Daisy Crabbe Curtis_
“There!” said Grandmother Minton, standing stock-still in the middle of
the sidewalk, all unmindful of the fact that she was blocking the way
of the hurrying Christmas shoppers. “That child has hurt himself! I can
tell by the way he cries. Pick him up, Susan!”
“O grandmother!” protested Susan. “He’s dirty!”
“Bumps hurt a dirty boy just as much as a clean one,” said Grandmother
Minton.
Susan sighed, and with the air of a martyr lifted the weeping urchin to
his feet.
“It’s his forehead, poor child!” said Grandmother Minton, gently
touching a red bump on the boy’s forehead. “Don’t cry, sonny; grandma’s
got somethin’ in her little black bag that will stop the hurt. Here
’tis--arnica, and a nice clean handkerchief to bind it up with,” she
went on soothingly as she worked. “Feels better already, eh? And here’s
somethin’ more to help,” she added, popping a piece of white candy into
his mouth. “That’s good for the cry. All right, now?”
“Grandmother, come!” whispered Susan with scarlet cheeks.
She was painfully embarrassed by the curious crowd that had collected
about them.
“Wait till I see if he walks all right,” said the old lady, whose face
was filled with motherly anxiety.
“Of course he walks all right! Do come!”
The bystanders made way respectfully for the little old lady and her
stylishly dressed granddaughter. Susan carefully avoided their glances,
but Grandmother Minton beamed impartially upon them all from behind her
massive-rimmed spectacles.
Would grandmother ever learn not to make herself so conspicuous,
Susan wondered. Mother might have known that something like this
would happen. She ought not to have insisted upon Susan’s going with
grandmother to the city, and on a shopping expedition, too! “Why,”
thought Susan, glancing at her companion, “even if grandmother wasn’t
always doing things that make people stop and look at her, they would
look at her just the same because of her queer, old-fashioned clothes!
Why will she insist upon making them herself, and all after the same
old pattern, when father’s ready and willing to buy her the best the
stores afford? Why can’t she be like Lillian Teller’s grandmother,
always dressed in fashion and with her hair stylishly arranged? And why
will grandmother persist in carrying that absurd old black velvet bag
everywhere she goes? Hasn’t each of us, at some time or other, given
her a new bag?”
“Why don’t you take one of your new bags?” Susan had asked grandmother
that very morning when they started for the train.
“It seems like they’re too gorgeous,” grandmother had said, “to hold my
peppermint drops and snacks of medicine and pennies for the children,
not to mention my packet of court-plaster and spectacle case and bit
of thread and needle. The bags you dear people gave me just go with
’broidered handkerchiefs and smellin’ salts and ten-dollar bills,” she
added, with a twinkle in her eye.
“But your black bag is so--shabby.”
“Tut, child, it’s an old friend grown shabby in helpin’ me and others.
Your grandfather gave it to me before he died and I came to live at
your house. That bag’s seen good times and bad times. It’s taken
medicine to the poor and the sick. It’s carried my clean handkerchief
and collection money to church. It’s been to weddin’s and funerals,
and even carried a set of infant’s clothes for a newborn babe of the
Raffertys’ that hadn’t a stitch to its back. Why,” said Grandmother
Minton, tenderly smoothing its rusty drawing-strings, “you don’t know
how lonesome and homesick I’d feel without this bag!”
“Here we are at Trasher & Brown’s,” said Susan as they approached a
great store. “Now, what’s first on your list?” she asked briskly.
“I’ll just hurry her along,” she thought, “and maybe we can catch the
one-thirty train home.”
“Let’s see!” said Grandmother Minton, pulling a worn piece of paper
from her bag. “You’ll have to read it for me, Susan. I left my readin’
specs at home.”
“Peppermint sticks,” read Susan. “Candy’s in the basement. Let’s take
the elevator.”
“Department stores are funny,” said Grandmother Minton, with a chuckle.
“Candy, calicoes and furniture all mixed up together.” They had reached
the candy counter, and she addressed the clerk in a confidential
tone. “Yes, I want peppermint sticks, red and white ones. They’re the
tastiest for Christmas. What? Oh, two dozen, I should say! Let me see,
they’re for the Raffertys and Bensons and Manders and-- Best make it
three dozen. What’s that, Susan? A shopping card? You tell her how to
make it out. I’m too old-fashioned for shopping cards, I guess. What
next, Susan? Oh, yes, dolls! Nellie Rafferty wants a yellow-haired
one. Can you tell me where the yellow-haired dolls are?” she asked the
clerk. “Nellie Rafferty’s set her heart--”
“I know where the dolls are, grandmother,” said Susan hastily.
She did wish that grandmother would not always take the clerks into her
confidence!
Grandmother Minton fairly reveled in the doll department. She went
from one show case to another, exclaiming over the pretty curls and
attractive dresses. Each doll brought for her inspection seemed more
beautiful than the last, and she could not decide which one would best
please ragged little Nellie Rafferty. Susan was in despair! It was
after twelve o’clock and she had seen other items on grandmother’s
list; a fire engine, a red cart, some brown yarn, a girl’s coat,
infant’s underwear, shoes and stockings. She fairly gasped. Why, they
would be lucky if they reached home on the three-eighteen!
“Grandmother,” she suggested, “how would it be if I bought some of
the other things for you while you’re selecting the doll? Shall I,”
consulting the list, “buy the girl’s coat and the infant’s underwear?”
“Why, you might, I suppose, though I’d counted on pickin’ them out
myself.”
“It will save time if I do it.”
“Well,” agreed Grandmother Minton reluctantly, “I’ll try and tell you
exactly what I want. The coat’s to be eight-year size, and mind, it
must be durable. Like’s not, it will be handed down from one child to
another in the Benson family, and they’re such husky young ones it’ll
have to be good and stout to stand the strain. The infant’s underwear
is to be one-year size and wool, Susan! Don’t let them give you
anything but wool.”
“Yes, yes,” said Susan, impatient to be off. “Stay right here,
grandmother, until I come for you.”
It took Susan much longer than she had expected to purchase the coat
and underwear. She had to go to the third floor for the coat, and she
found a sales clerk busy trying to please a most exacting customer,
who seemed to want to examine every coat in stock before making a
selection. When Susan’s turn came, she hurriedly purchased a dark blue
chinchilla and then went in search of the underwear.
The afternoon shoppers were beginning to throng the floors when Susan
finally made her way back to the toy department. That, thought Susan,
must account for the fact that, although she had nearly reached the
spot where the dolls were sold, she had not yet caught a glimpse of a
little white-haired lady in an old-fashioned black dress and with a
shabby black velvet bag in her hand.
“This is the very counter where I left her,” said Susan, with a puzzled
frown. “She must be looking at some of the show cases near by, or
perhaps she has walked a little way to look for me.”
She was beginning to feel anxious, for she knew that Grandmother Minton
would not be likely to wander about the big store for herself.
Susan began to thread her way among the shoppers, scanning each one
sharply. At first she was deliberate and polite, but after she had
circled several times round the toy department and still had caught
no glimpse of Grandmother Minton’s kind old face she became desperate
and pushed her way rudely hither and thither. What had become of her
grandmother? Was she wandering helplessly round with no one to pilot
her? Would anyone notice that she was lost and try to help her?
Susan stopped short in her wanderings. A possibility that filled her
with dread had flashed into her mind. Such things had happened to other
people, she knew. Could it be that grandmother had been taken suddenly
ill and been rushed to the hospital? What would father say? Was not
Grandmother Minton his own mother? Had he not cautioned Susan that
morning to take the best of care of her and bring her safe home to him
again? Now, she would have to telephone and tell him--oh, she could
not! And what would mother say? And all the Raffertys and Bensons and
Manders? They worshipped Grandmother Minton!
Some one grasped Susan’s arm, and the polite voice of the floorwalker
questioned her.
“What is it, miss? Have you lost your purse?”
Susan realized then that she had been wringing her hands and that tears
were in her eyes.
“No!” she gasped. “I--I wish I had.”
“Beg pardon?”
“I’ve lost my grandmother,” explained Susan. “Have you seen her?”
The puzzled look upon the floorwalker’s face caused Susan to be more
coherent. She told him what had happened, and he suggested that she
go to the waiting-room and rest while he went to the office and made
various inquiries. He was sure that they would be able to find her
grandmother. And, Susan, because she was bewildered and felt faint and
weary and knew nothing better to do, acted upon his suggestion.
The waiting-room was filled with the usual number of weary shoppers,
some of whom were trying to soothe fretful children. Susan sat down
in one of the vacant chairs. It had been more than an hour since she
had missed her grandmother. Could it be only yesterday that she had
gone to her to have her gloves mended at the very last minute, so
that she might wear them to the concert? It seemed ages and ages ago.
Grandmother had never been out of patience with Susan, not even during
that week when she was taking her high-school examinations and was so
snappy and cross to everyone.
“Oh,” thought Susan remorsefully. “I’m just hateful to grandmother! It
was wonderful of her to help that child this morning. I’m such a proud,
stuck-up thing I’d have let him die, I suppose, rather than lift my
hand to help him. Grandmother would help anyone who’s in need. She’d
give her last cent to--”
“There,” said a cheery voice, “you look better! Wasn’t it lucky I was
near by when you felt faint?”
Susan turned sharply and her eyes opened wide. There, bending
solicitously over a woman who lay on the divan, was grandmother! She
had in her hand one of the little bottles from her black bag and was
bathing and rubbing the sick woman’s forehead. Susan held her breath
and drew near. How infinitely dear grandmother was! She had taken off
her coat and looked so quaint and grandmotherly in her fitted basque
and softly shirred skirt. How suitably the close little bonnet framed
the white hair, plump face and kind blue eyes!
Susan’s gaze wandered to the woman to whom her grandmother was
ministering. She was so stylishly gowned that Susan was astonished when
she saw her face. It was much wrinkled and, in spite of the faint touch
of rouge on the cheeks, looked ghastly. “She’s old,” thought Susan,
“in spite of her stylish, young-looking clothes. Why, she must be older
than grandmother! Maybe she’s a grandmother, too, but she doesn’t look
like a comfortable one. _She’d_ never go into the kitchen and make
doughnuts for me and mince pie for Brother Jack. She’d never help a
dirty child that had hurt himself!”
“Grandmother!” called Susan softly.
“Well, Sue, child,” said Grandmother Minton, with a welcoming smile,
“so you’ve come for me! I aimed to get back to the doll counter before
you came, but this lady was taken faint right near where I was, and of
course, I came here with her. Lan’s sake child, you look pale yourself!
Sit right down in this chair. I’ll have to rub your forehead, too.”
“I’m all right now that I’ve found you. Oh, grandmother, I thought you
were lost!”
“Well, well, I was comin’ right back, Sue. Here’s my handkerchief.
There! I guess,” said Grandmother Minton, with a smile, as she fumbled
in her black bag, “if you are going to cry, I’ll have to give you a
candy drop like I gave that little boy this mornin’.”
“Do,” said Susan, laughing through her tears, “and get it from the
bottom of your little black bag, grandmother!”
[7] This story was first printed in “Youth’s Companion,” December 28,
1916. Reprinted by permission of the author and “Youth’s Companion.”