“I was proud of her. It did me good to walk by her side. I tell you, Joseph, Anna was born for a lady.” “So was grandma. She _is_ a lady.” “She’s a dear, old blessed grandma, she is!” cried Robert. “If it hadn’t been for her my heart would have burst. It was wonderful how she quieted us all down. I wonder if the angels are more still and sweet than she is? Oh, Joseph! it isn’t many soldiers’ children that have a woman like that to comfort them when bad news comes; but we came out here all alone to have a sort of private convention about things in general. As I was saying, Anna is too pretty for a working-girl; men turn round and look at her in the street when she goes out. I’ve seen it, and it made me so mad that I’ve longed to knock them down. Once I did stamp on a big fellow’s boots, and it did me good to hear him cry out, ‘Oh!’ He never knew why it was done; but I knew, and his Oh! made me dance with joy on the pavement. What business have strangers to be looking at her?” “She doesn’t mind ’em—she doesn’t know it herself,” said Joseph, lifting his soft eyes appealingly, as if some one had been blaming him. “She never looks up, nor seems to notice.” “I know that. Of course, she doesn’t. I’m not saying she does; but she’s very, very pretty, Joseph—too pretty for a poor man’s child; and now that she’s only a poor soldier’s orphan, who will take care of her, if we don’t?” “But I am so small, I shouldn’t even dare to stamp on a big fellow’s boots. It isn’t her fault if she’s so pretty, you know, Robert. I dare say she’d help it if she could.” “This isn’t exactly an idea of mine,” answered Robert. “I never should have had the sense to think of it, but I heard father grieve about Anna being so handsome before he went away to that glorious death of his! It troubled him then—and it troubles me now.” “Still I like to see her so pretty,” said Joseph, smiling, “it makes my heart swell here.” Joseph put one hand on his breast, and sighed, as sensitive people will, over a remembrance of beauty in any thing. “Well, brother, it is natural. I love grandma for her beauty, too. Other people, I dare say, think her a little, old woman; but I know there is something more than that, just as I feel when a rose is near by its scent. How lovely she looked that night when we knelt around her! Anna is pretty—but grandma looks so good. Her beauty seems to have turned to light, which shines from her eyes and makes her old mouth so lovely. I can’t just say what I mean, Joseph, but there is something about grandma that is sweeter than beauty.” Joseph had lifted his young face to that of his more ardent brother, with a look of tender interest in all that he was saying that seemed beyond his years. “Yes,” he said, with a sigh, “I feel that when grandma looks at me. Besides, she never hurts one. Her hand is so soft and light, it seems like a bird’s wing brushing you. Then she steps so softly. Dear, old grandma!”