so anxiously to see what we thought of them. I _could_ not say they were
pretty--Duke's children though they were." And a queer little
sound--half laugh, half sob--escaped from Grandmamma at the
recollection. But it did not matter--Grandpapa was too deaf to hear. So
she dried her eyes again quietly with her fine lavender-scented cambric
pocket-handkerchief, and went on with her recollections all to herself.
She seemed to see the two tiny creatures gradually--very
gradually--growing plump and rosy in the sweet fresh English air, the
look of unnatural old age that one sometimes sees in very delicate
babies by degrees fading away as the thin little faces grew round and
even dimpled; then came the recollection of the first toddling walk,
when the two kept tumbling against each other, so that even the sad-eyed
young widow could not help laughing; the first lisping words, which,
alas, might not be the sweet baby names for father or mother--for by
that time poor Lavinia had faded out of life, with words of whispered
love and thankfulness to the grandparents so willing to do their utmost.
But it was a sad little story at best, and even Grandmamma's brave old
heart trembled when she thought that it might come to be sadder still.


"What would become of them if they were left _quite_ alone in the
world," she could not help saying to herself. "And though I am not so
old as my dear husband by ten years, I cannot picture myself finding
strength to live without him, nor would a poor old woman like me be much
good to the young creatures if I did! But one must not lose courage, nor
grieve about troubles before they come. For, after all, who would ever
have believed these two poor fledglings would grow up to be two bonnie
bairnies like Marmaduke and Pamela now!"

And for the last time that evening Grandmamma again wiped her