Grandmother Dear | Page 7

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 it wasn't," retorted Ralph. "It's Sylvia's love of horrors I
was laughing at."
"She doesn't love horrors," replied Molly, more and more indignant.

"You needn't talk," said Ralph coolly. "Who was it that took a box of
matches in her pocket to Holyrood Palace, and was going to strike one
to look for the blood-stains on the floor? It was the only thing you
cared to see, and yet you are such a goose--crying out if a butterfly
settles on you. I think girls are----"
"Ralph, my boy," said grandmother, seeing that by this time Molly was
almost in tears; "whatever you think of girls, you make me, I am sorry
to say, think that boys' love of teasing is utterly incomprehensible--and
oh, so unmanly!"
The last touch went home.
"I was only in fun, grandmother," said Ralph with unusual meekness; "I
didn't mean really to vex Molly."
So peace was restored.
To-morrow turned out fine, deliriously fine.
"Not like England," said Molly superciliously, "where it always rains
when you want it to be fine."
They made the most of the beautiful weather, though by no means
agreeing with aunty's reminder that even in Paris it did sometimes rain,
and the three pairs of eager feet were pretty tired by the time bed-time
came.
And oh, what a disappointment the next morning brought!
The children woke to a regular, pouring wet day, no chance of fulfilling
the programme laid out, for Sylvia was subject to sore throats, and
grandmother would not let her go out in the damp, and there would be
no fun in going to the Louvre without her. So, as what can't be cured
must be endured, the children had just to make the best of it and amuse
themselves in the house in the hopes of sunshine again for to-morrow.
These hopes were happily fulfilled.

"A lovely day," said aunty, "all the brighter for yesterday's rain."
"And we may go to the Louvre," exclaimed Sylvia eagerly.
Aunty hesitated and turned, as everybody did when they were at a loss,
to grandmother.
"What do you think?" she said. She was reluctant to disappoint the
children--Sylvia especially--as they had all been very good the day
before, but yet----"It is Saturday, and the Louvre will be so crowded
you know, mother."
"But I shall be with you," said Ralph.
"And I!" said grandmother. "Is not a little old lady like me equal to
taking care of you all?"
"Will you really come too, dear grandmother?" exclaimed Sylvia and
Molly in a breath. "Oh, how nice!"
"I should like to go," said grandmother. "It is ever so many years since
I was at the Louvre."
"Do let us go then. Oh, do let us all go," said the little girls. "You know
we are leaving on Tuesday, and something might come in the way
again on Monday."
So it was settled.
"Remember, children," said grandmother as they were all getting out of
the carriage, "remember to keep close together. You have no idea how
easily some of you might get lost in the crowd."
"Lost!" repeated Sylvia incredulously.
"LOST!" echoed Molly.
"LOST!" shouted Ralph so loudly that some of their fellow-sight-seers,
passing beside them into the palace, turned round to see what was the

matter. "How could we possibly get lost here?"
"Very easily," replied aunty calmly. "There is nothing, to people
unaccustomed to it, so utterly bewildering as a crowd."
"Not to me," persisted Ralph. "I could thread my way in and out of the
people till I found you. The girls might get lost, perhaps."
"Thank you," said Molly; "as it happens, Master Ralph, I think it would
be much harder to lose us than you.