Well, first we got into Boston at four o'clock Monday afternoon, and
there was Grandpa Desmond to meet us. He's lovely--tall and dignified,
with grayish hair and merry eyes like Mother's, only his are behind
glasses. At the station he just kissed Mother and me and said he was
glad to see us, and led us to the place where Peter was waiting with
the car. (Peter drives Grandpa's automobile, and _he's_ lovely, too.)
Mother and Grandpa talked very fast and very lively all the way home,
and Mother laughed quite a lot. But in the hall she cried a little,
and Grandpa patted her shoulder, and said, "There, there!" and told
her how glad he was to get his little girl back, and that they were
going to be very happy now and forget the past. And Mother said, yes,
yes, indeed, she knew she was; and she was _so_ glad to be there,
and that everything _was_ going to be just the same, wasn't it?
Only--then, all of a sudden she looked over at me and began to cry
again--only, of course, things couldn't be "just the same," she
choked, hurrying over to me and putting both arms around me, and
crying harder than ever.
Then Grandpa came and hugged us both, and patted us, and said, "There,
there!" and pulled off his glasses and wiped them very fast and very
hard.
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