Grandmother Dear | Page 6

this delightful, long-talked-of visit to Paris, were to turn out not
delightful at all. And through Sylvia's honest little heart there darted a
quick sting of pain and regret for her sharpness to Molly. How was it
that she could not manage to keep the resolutions so often and so
conscientiously made? How was it that she could not succeed in
remembering at the time, the very moment at which she was tempted to
be snappish and supercilious, her never-really-forgotten motive for
peculiar gentleness and patience with her younger sister, the promise

she had made, now so many years ago, to the mother Molly could
scarcely even remember, to be kind, very kind, and gentle to the little,
flaxen-haired, toddling thing, the "baby" whom that dear mother had
loved so piteously.
"Eight years ago," said Sylvia to herself. "I was five and Molly only
three and a half then. Poor little Molly, how funny she was!"
And a hand crept in 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