Chapter VII: Grandma's Arrival

UNFORTUNATELY, the next day was rainy. And the following, Mrs. Morgan's mother arrived, and they could not leave her.

Milly's patience was nearly exhausted when the second disappointment came. She knew nothing about this grandma, and could not sympathize with Emily's joy at seeing her once more. Grandmother Morgan was very feeble and often irritable. Milly had never become attached to one who was always lamenting that Ida's child should be exactly like a Hindoo girl, and finding fault with her for not doing things that the poor, neglected Milly had never heard of.

Grandma Harris was fatigued with her journey, and lay down for an hour keeping hold of Emily's soft hand all the time, even when she fell into a short doze. But she came from her chamber quite refreshed, and gave a willing consent that Milly should come and hear the story she had promised to tell.

Everybody said, Grandma Harris was a great story-teller. It was certain that when she was at her daughter's, she had a great many stories to tell. She had heard all about the motherless child, and heartily approved of Priscilla's intention to befriend her. Now, when Emily urged that her cousin should be invited to join them and listen to the story, the old lady smilingly consented.

Milly never in all her after life forgot that interview. Grandma was sitting in her favorite chair, a deep seated maroon-covered one without arms; a narrow fold of delicate gauze framing her beautiful silvery hair. Her dress was black silk, the rich, heavy folds lying on the carpet by her side, the waist open and turned back at the neck to show the snowy muslin kerchief folded across her bosom.

At first, Milly saw nothing of all this, except as a part of the beautiful picture. She only saw the kind eyes, and the welcoming smile.

"You must be my granddaughter too, my dear, and give me a kiss," she said, taking the child's hand and patting it softly. "Say, will you be my little girl as Emily is?"

Milly's face expressed great emotion. It was a very tell-tale face. Now it looked pleased and penitent, and astonished by turns. At last, trying to wink back a tear which the loving words brought to her eyes, she answered softly:

"I'm not good enough. Emily can tell you what a bad girl I am; and when everybody is so kind, too."

"Indeed, Emily has told me nothing of the kind. She says you're her own darling cousin,—that she loves you dearly,—and that you are trying so hard to be good."

"Yes, I do try sometimes. I mean, when I think of it. But I'm not nice and clean like Emily. Aunty has a great deal of trouble with me, though my bed looks real smooth to-day, and all my clothes are hung up."

"That is very cheering. Emily tells me you wish to go back to India. It will be very pleasant to your father to have a neat, thorough housekeeper."

Milly's face crimsoned. "Not till I'm grown up," she exclaimed eagerly. "I can't leave Emily for a good while yet."

"I suppose the Hindoos are not very neat."

"Oh, no! I never thought about it till I came here; but the bungalows are awfully dirty. The people have to bathe in the water tanks made for them. That is one of their laws; but they are filthy after all."

"That is true," said grandma, "of all people who do not have the Bible to guide them. One of the first changes which the poor heathen make when they learn about God our heavenly Father, and his Son our Saviour, is cleanliness."

Milly started up and clasped her hands, her eyes shining like stars.

"I know it I know it! One of our women went to the sahibs, that means missionaries, and learned to read the Bible. Everybody said she was better than before. She always wore such clean sarrees, that's the kind of dress Hindoo women have. I used to wear them, too. And she kept her hair smooth. I never thought though about its being the Bible that made her so much nicer."

"Yes, Milly, that is always the effect of true godliness."