He and Bobby’s mother were seated on one side, and Nan’s mother (her father could not leave) and Mrs. Rayburn were across from them, while Nan, Ethelwyn, Beth, and Bobby appeared and disappeared, like meteors, in the most unexpected places.  Joe’s sister was not well enough that day to accompany them, so it was arranged that her brother should bring her as soon as she felt better.

If I have, by the use of the word “grandfather,” given you an idea of decrepitude and old age, in the case of Bobby’s grandfather, I wish at once to change that idea.

He was a very erect and handsome man, with a white mustache indeed, but with a firm mouth underneath that gave no sign of diminished force.

He had always told Mrs. Rayburn that he thought it was very foolish for her to give such large sums of money for charity.

“It’s not right,” he now repeated, twirling his mustache.  The morning paper lay across his knees, and, as he spoke, with an air of finality and disapproval, he picked it up.

“What isn’t right, grandfather?” asked Bobby, suddenly appearing on the back of his chair, and encircling his grandfather’s neck with a pair of sturdy legs.

His grandfather drew him down by one leg into his lap.

“Giving all your money away to people who don’t appreciate it,” he explained.

“How do you know they don’t?” asked Bobby.

“Because, sir, people don’t appreciate what is given to them, as much as they do what they earn.”

Bobby pondered over this.

“I like my Christmas presents better than the money I get for chopping kindling,” he replied at length; “because the Christmas money is more, for one thing.”

“And more certain,” put in his mother, laughing; “the kindling money isn’t always earned.”

“Are you talking about the Home money?” asked Ethelwyn, looking over the back of the chair in front of them.

“Yes.”

“But we like to give it, and so will you, when you see how nice it is, and Dick and Aunty Stevens and the best cookies that she can make.  What’s the good of keeping money?  We can always buy more down at your bank,” she concluded easily.

“You may not always think so, young lady, nor take such wide views of things.  When you grow up, you may wish you had more money,” said the banker, laughing.

“Does keeping money make folks happy?” inquired Beth, suddenly popping up.

The lines in grandfather’s face deepened, and there came over it a look of care.

“Not always, child, I must confess,” he said at length.

“Besides, my father says not to lay up treasure for roth and must to corrupt!” put in Nan, coming to the surface.  At this, they all shouted, much to Nan’s discomfiture.

For awhile the banker looked out on the showery landscape, then he turned to the children’s mother.

“Perhaps you are right, Mrs. Rayburn,” he said gently.  “The world is all too selfish;” and he sighed as he said it.