BERTHA’S GRANDPA

New Zealand Tablet, 11 May 1911, Page 885

BERTHA’S GRANDPA

’ Grandpa, I’m going to Cathie’s for supper. You don’t mind, do you Mind, dear! Why should I? I hope you’ll have a pleasant time.’ Bertha’s arms tightened about his neck. She was very fond of her grandfather; fonder of him than of any one in the world. She thought affectionately how sweet it was of him never to make any objection to her enjoying herself with her young friends. 1 But, then, he has his books,’ Bertha; thought, as she tripped away. It was fortunate that books were such satisfying companions to Bertha’s grandfather, since he had to depend on them so much. Cathie’s mother was going out to supper and four of the girls were to have it all to themselves. ‘So your grandfather was willing to spare you,’ she said, smiling at the last arrival. ‘ I thought he might feel too lonely if you were away.’ ‘ Oh, grandpa doesn’t care, so long as he has his books,’ Bertha laughed. ‘Doesn’t he? He was very social a year ago. I suppose it was your grandmother’s death that changed him. It used to be a very full table at that house—seven—yes, eight of them. It must seem strange to him to sit down alone.’ Bertha turned away. She was glad when the door shut behind Mrs. Warner and her reminiscences. Of course grandpa didn’t mind sitting down to a solitary meal. He did it often enough to get used to it. Or could it be that he did mind— as he ate his lonely supper his thoughts went back to happier days, and the shadows of the gathering night lay heavy on his heart? ‘What on earth’s the matter with you?’ cried Cathie’s voice at her elbow. ‘ You look as if you’d lost your last friend.’ ‘ I don’t know as I should have left grandpa,’ Bertha announced dolefully. ‘ He’ll have to eat alone.’ ‘ Why, Bertha', you often do. You were at Kitty’s to dinner Wednesday, and the picnic on Tuesday, and Monday there was that lawn social, and— ’ Bertha stopped her. ‘ I know I’ve done it often, and perhaps that’s the very reason I shouldn’t have done it to-night.’ Somehow, turn where she would, the same picture was before her eyes—the table in the big diningroom and a lonely old man eating his solitary meal. Perhaps Cathie saw it too. Suddenly she burst out with a suggestion: ‘Girls, , I have an idea. Let’s take our supper and carry it down to Bertha’s, so her grandfather won’t have to eat alone.’ The . motion was carried in the informal but highly practical way characteristic of girls. Meg seized the platter containing the cold meat; Milly possessed herself of the hot biscuits and honey; Cathie made Bertha responsible for the cake, and herself took charge of the chocolate pot. And so in a merry procession they marched down the street, greeting with peals of laughter the wondering glances of occasional passers-by. Bertha’s grandfather was not on the porch, ‘He’s gone in to supper, I guess,’ Bertha said. She hurried into the dining-room to prepare him for his guests, but stopped with a start. Her grandfather did not seem to be eating. He was staring vacantly across the table at the empty chair. But the thing that brought Bertha’s heart into her mouth was the fact that the opposite plate had been filled and that a steaming cup of tea stood by it.

‘Why, grandpa,’ she faltered, ‘did you forget? Did you expect me back to supper?’ V ‘Why, no, dear,’ said her grandfather, apologetically. quite so lonely to see that plate arid cup of tea across the table. It looks,’ said the old man, dropping his voice, ‘as if your grandmother might come in any moment.’ Standing behind- his chair, Bertha fought a' battle for self-control. There was ' a quaver in her voice when sno spoke at last, in spite of an assumed sprightliness. ‘Grandpa, we girls decided to come over here for our supper. We brought along what Cathie had, and everything will be ready in a minute.’ ' Then the girls flocked in, laughing, each with her load, and there was a pleasant flurry getting out extra plates and silver, and napkins. But in five minutes everything was ready, and in spite of the fact that an unaccountable lump was continually rising in the throat of the lady of the house, it was the merriest meal eaten under that roof for many a day. And after supper grandfather appeared to be in no haste to return to his books, but seemingly was quite satisfied to sit and listen smilingly to the girlish chatter, punctuated by gay laughter. ‘ It is like the good old times,’ he said to Bertha when bedtime came, ‘ having company to supper.’ Bertha put her arms around his neck and kissed him. ‘And like the good new times, too,’ she promised him. ‘Wait and see.’