al fate of their kind. It was because
Grandmamma always washed them up herself! I think there was no part of
the day more pleasant to "us" than when--Dymock having cleared away all
that was his charge, and brought all that Grandmamma required from the
pantry--the old lady established herself at one end of the table, with
two bowls of beautifully white wood, and a jug of hot water before her,
and a towel of fine damask in her hand, and set to work daintily to
rinse out each cup and saucer in the first bowl, passing them then into
the fresh water of the second, and wiping them--after they had stood to
drip for a moment or two on a small slab of wood made for the
purpose--most carefully with the little cloth. It was nice to watch
her--her hands looked so white, and moved so nimbly, and--I had
forgotten to mention that--looked so business-like with the brown
holland cuffs braided in white which she kept for this occasion, and
always put on, with the big holland apron to match, before she began
operations. Yes, it had been a treat to "us" merely to watch her, and so
you can fancy how very proud Duke and Pamela felt when she at length
allowed them, each with a little towel, to wipe their own cups and
saucers. They had been promoted to this for some months now, and no
accident had happened; and on those days--few and far between, it must
be allowed--on which they had not been found deserving of their
breakfast number two, I think the punishment of not "helping Grandmamma
to wash up" had been quite as great as that of missing the treat itself.
For very often, while deftly getting through her task, Grandmamma would
talk so nicely to the children, telling them stories of the time when
she was a little girl herself, and of all the changes between those
far-away days and "now"; of the strange, wonderful places she had
visited with Grandpapa; of cities with mosques and minarets gleaming
against the intense blue sky of the East in the too splendid, scorching
sunshine that no one who has not seen it can picture to himself; of
rides--weary endless rides--night after night through the desert; or
voyages of months and months together across the pathless ocean. They
would sit, the little brother and sister, staring up at her with their
great solemn blue eyes, as if they would never tire of listening--how
wonderfully wise Grandpapa and Grandmamma must be!--"Surely," said
little Pamela one day with a great sigh, "surely Grandmamma must know