Some such thought as this struggled in Shaw's brain and shone in his
eyes as he waited for her at the headland.
He raised his hat as she drew near. Maud went right into the subject.
"Have you my grandmother?" she asked.
Shaw hesitated--the dreaded moment had come. Visions of former
housekeepers--dirty dishes, unmade bed, dust, flies, mice--rose before
him and tempted him to say "no," but something stronger and better,
perhaps it was the "clean hide" prompting the clean heart, spoke up in
him.
"I have your grandmother," he said slowly, "and she is very well and
happy."
"Will you give her up?" was Maud's next question.
"Never!" he answered stoutly; "and she won't give me up, either. Your
grandmother and I are very fond of each other, I would like you to
know--but come in and see her."
That night after supper, which proved to be a very merry meal in spite
of the shadow which had fallen across the little home, Mrs. Harris said
almost tearfully: "I can't leave this pore lamb, Maud--there's no
knowin' what will happen to him."
"I will go straight back to the blanket and dog soup," Shaw declared
with cheerful conviction. "You can't imagine the state things were in
when your grandmother came--bed not made since Christmas, horsenails
for buttons, comb and brush lost but not missed, wash basin rusty! Your
grandmother, of course, has been severe with me--she makes me go to bed
before sundown. Yet I refuse to part with her.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101