"Grandmother! Grandmother! Home again! How glad I am!" Little Margot threw herself into Madame Villard's arms, and the old lady hugged her close. "Yes, my little Margot. Grandmother comes back for one splendid occasion!" "Ah, my birthday," smiled Margot. And then Grandmother and Margot planned for that birthday. It was strange how Margot did not like so many things. When Grandmother mentioned a "No, it is not what I like," she said. Then Grandmother suggested a trip to the zoo with a party of girls and boys. "No, I do not like the zoo!" Margot pouted. "A Guignol party, chÉrie?" asked Grandmother. "Ah, no! They are so stupid!" complained Margot. And Grandmother smiled and shook her head. "My Margot is a little bit spoiled, perhaps," she observed. Margot was not a little bit, but a great big bit spoiled. Grandmother Mother was nearly always with Father and Margot saw little of her. When they were together Mother would kiss and hug a great deal and sometimes she would cry. There were always gifts in Mother's room for Margot. And when Mother brought her into Father's room, he, too, would pet and caress her and give her toys or candy. Poor, helpless Father! He loved to see his little girl. It made his dull eyes brighten when she came into the room. He would say to Mother after Margot had left, "Has the sun gone under a cloud, Marie? It seems darker to me." But the nurse would not allow frequent visits. Ah, Father might never be allowed to forget that bitter war! So Grandmother played guardian to Margot. And a loving and indulgent guardian was she! Margot could play from morning until night if she wanted to, except, of course, for school hours. The nursery was filled with costly toys. They did not interest little Margot any more. There were so many of them. In fact, little spoiled Margot was not interested in anything, because she had too much. Frocks were of no more interest to Margot than toys. She had too many of those, also. So she hardly listened to Grandmother's last remark. "I am going to take you to a shop where a little girl shows clothes to the people who come to buy—a real little model. You might call her a live puppet. My chÉrie will enjoy that, will she not?" asked Grandmother eagerly, hoping to interest the child in a new pleasure. For she turned and asked, "And does this little girl really walk about and pose, as people do on the stage?" "Yes, chÉrie. So I hear," answered Madame Villard. "A live puppet!" Margot clapped her hands, and Grandmother was pleased to see her joy. Then her face fell, she turned to Grandmother and said slowly, "Oh, what a lucky little girl she is!" |