Grandmother Dear | Page 6

under Molly's sleeve, and a whisper reached her ear.
"I don't mean to be cross or to tease you, Molly."
And Molly in a moment was her own queer, happy, muddle-headed little self again.
"Dear Sylvia," she whispered in return, "of course you don't. You never do, and if the top of the bed did come down, I'm sure I'd pull you out first, however sleepy I was. Only of course I know it won't, and it's just my silly way, but when I'm as big as you, Sylvia, I'll get out of it, I'm sure."
"You're as big as me now, you silly girl," said Sylvia laughingly, which was true. Molly was tall and well-grown for her age, while Sylvia was small, so that very often, to Molly's delight, they were taken for twins.
"In my body, but not in my mind," rejoined Molly, with a little sigh. "I wish the growing would go into my mind for a little, though I wouldn't like to be much smaller than you, Sylvia. Perhaps we shouldn't be dressed alike, then."
"Do be quiet, Molly, you are such an awful chatterbox," growled Ralph from his corner. "I was just having a nice little nap."
He was far too "grown-up" to own to the eagerness with which, as they went along, he had been furtively peeping out at the window beside him--or to join in Molly's screams of delight at the brilliance of the illumined shop windows, and the interminable perspective of gas lamps growing longer and longer behind them as they rapidly made their way.
A sudden slackening of their speed, a sharp turn, and a rattle over the stones, told of their arrival at their destination. And "Oh!" cried Molly, "I am so glad. Aren't you awfully hungry, Sylvia?"
And grandmother, who, to tell the truth, had been indulging in a peaceful, real little nap--not a sham one like Ralph's--quite woke up at this, and told Molly it was the best sign in the world to be hungry after a journey; she was delighted to find her so good a traveller.
The "dinner-tea" which, out of consideration for the children's home hours, had been ordered for them, turned out delicious. Never had they tasted such butter, such bread, such grilled chicken, and fried potatoes! And to complete Molly's satisfaction the beds proved to have no tops to them at all.
"I told you so," said Ralph majestically, when they had made the tour of the various rooms and settled who was to have which, and though neither Sylvia nor Molly had the slightest recollection of his "telling you so," they were wise enough to say nothing.
"But the little doors in the walls are quite as bad, or worse," Ralph continued mischievously. "There's one at the head of your bed, Molly,"--Molly and Sylvia were to have two little beds in the same room, standing in a sort of alcove--"which I am almost sure opens on to a secret staircase."
Molly gave a little shiver, and looked up appealingly.
"Ralph, you are not to tease her," said aunty. "Remember all your promises to your father."
Ralph looked rather snubbed.
"Let us talk of something pleasant," continued aunty, anxious to change the subject. "What shall we do to-morrow? What shall we go to see first?"
"Yes," said grandmother. "What are your pet wishes, children?"
"Notre Dame," cried Molly.
"The Louvre," said Sylvia.
"Anything you like. I don't care much for sightseeing," said Ralph.
"That's a pity," said aunty drily. "However, as you are the only gentleman of the party, and we are all dependent on you, perhaps it is just as well that you have no special fancies of your own. So to-morrow I propose that we should go a drive in the morning, to give you a general idea of Paris, returning by Notre Dame. In the afternoon I have some calls to make, and a little shopping to do, and you three must not forget to write to your father. Then the next day we can go to the Louvre, as Sylvia wished."
"Thank you, aunty," said Sylvia. "It isn't so much for the pictures I want to go, but I do so want to see the room where poor Henry the Fourth was killed. I am so fond of Henry the Fourth."
Aunty smiled, and Ralph burst out laughing.
"What a queer idea!" he said. "If you are so fond of him, I should think you would rather not see the room where he was killed."
Sylvia grew scarlet, and Molly flew up in her defence.
"You've no business to laugh at Sylvia, Ralph," she cried. "I understand her quite well. And she knows a great deal more history than you do--and about pictures, too. Of course we want to see the pictures, too. There's that beautiful blue and orange one of Murillo's that papa has a little copy of. It's at the Louvre."
"I didn't say