"'Granny said she was so beautiful,' I suggested.

"'So she was, my dear, when your grandmother was young.'

"These and similar remarks I heard and heeded not. They did not add
one wrinkle to my ideal of Mrs. Moss: they in no way whatever lessened
my desire of seeing her. I had never seen my grandmother young, and
her having ever been so seemed to me at the most a matter of
tradition; on the other hand, Mrs. Moss had been presented to my
imagination in the bloom of youth and beauty, and, say what they
would, in the bloom of youth and beauty I expected to see her still.

"One afternoon, about a week after the arrival of Mrs. Moss, I was
busy in the garden, where I had been working for an hour or more, when
I heard carriage wheels drive up and stop at our door. Could it be
Mrs. Moss? I stole gently round to a position where I could see
without being seen, and discovered that the carriage was not that of
any caller, but my uncle's. Then Granny and Aunt Harriet were going
out. I rushed up to the coachman, and asked where they were going. He
seemed in no way overpowered by having to reply--'To the manor, Miss.'

"That was to Mrs. Moss, and I was to be left behind! I stood
speechless in bitter disappointment, as my grandmother rustled out in
her best silk dress, followed by Aunt Harriet and my uncle, who, when
he saw me, exclaimed:

"'Why, there's my little Mary! Why don't you take her? I'll be bound
she wants to go.'