She embarked with a lunch basket, with picture books and
with theories. She landed, a chastened woman. Within twelve hours, the
basket was empty, the picture books were in shreds, and Mac, bareheaded,
coated with cinders and wreathed in smiles, was prancing up and down the
car, heedless of her admonitions. By day, the other passengers petted
him and encouraged him to all manner of pertnesses. At night, they
murmured, not always among themselves, when he waked up and in stentorian
tones demanded a drink. No child of three is altogether a desirable
companion on a long journey, least of all McAlister Holden. Small wonder
that it was a pale and haggard Hope who drove up to The Savins, one night
in late June, while Mac was as vivacious as at the start!
He went through the introductions with the nonchalance of his years,
though he resisted Theodora's efforts to kiss him, and sniffed
disdainfully at Phebe who was trying for her sister's sake to conceal her
dislike of children. By Mrs. McAlister's side, he paused and looked
straight up into her face. Then he tucked his hand into hers confidingly.
"Are you my grandma?"
"Yes, dear."
"Why, you look too new," he said frankly, and then put up his rosy lips
for a kiss. For the moment, the cherub side was uppermost, and his
mother, as she reflected upon the permanence of first impressions,
rejoiced that it was so, and she hurried the child off to bed, for fear
he might do something to destroy the illusion.
Pages:
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111