But Grandmother’s arms were out, and Grandmother’s face was shining with clear light, like an alabaster lamp. Oh, one would know that her name was Pity, even though none used the name now, even Manuel, even Grandfather himself calling her Grandmother. “Darling!” she said, and she hugged the child close to her, as if she would shield it from all the world. “Here is a daisy chain for you. See! I will put it round your neck. Now you are mine for the whole afternoon. Good father will go—” she nodded to the man; “go and do the errands, and see to all his business, and then when it gets toward supper-time he will come back and pick you up and carry you off. And now we’ll go and make some posies for the others; my name is Grandmother; what is yours, darling? whisper now!” The man turned away, and brushed his hand across his eyes. “Gosh!” he said simply. “I guess you’re a good woman.” “I’m just Grandmother,” said the girl; “that’s all, isn’t it, Nelly? Good-bye, father!” “Good-bye, father!” echoed the child, clinging round Grandmother’s neck as though she feared she might vanish suddenly into thin air. “Sure she won’t pester ye?” said the man, timidly. “She’s real clever!” “You won’t pester me, will you, Nelly?” said Grandmother. “Nelly Nell, Nelly Nell, Come and hear the flowers tell How they heed you, Why they need you, How they mean to love you well.” And off they went together, little Nelly nodding and waving her hand, with a wholly new smile on her pale shrivelled face. “Gosh!” said the father again; he had not many words, and only one to express emotion. When the other children came, they found a little girl with a radiant face, crowned with a forget-me-not wreath, and with the prettiest pale blue scarf over her shoulders, all embroidered with butterflies. She was sitting in a low round chair with cushioned back, and chair and cushion and child were all heaped and garlanded with flowers, daisies and lilies, pink hawthorn and great drifts of snowballs. Grandmother called to them, “Come children, come! here is the Queen of the May. Her name is Nelly, and she has come to stay to tea, and you shall all stay too.” The children came up half shy, half bold. “What makes her sit so funny?” asked a very little boy. “You be still or I’ll bat your head off!” muttered his elder brother savagely. No one else made any mistake, and most of them were careful not to look too much at Nelly; children are gentlefolk, if you take them the right way.