“I haven’t time,” returned Lucy. “Come, Dimmie.” And she went out.
When Lucy and Dimmie reached home it was late. They found John and Nannie in the dining room. Nannie was apparently in the best of spirits.
“We’ve been out, too,” she announced, her voice raised to a higher pitch than usual and her eyes unnaturally bright, “and we had the nicest time. Didn’t we, John?”
“Yes, indeed,” agreed John, giving Lucy a resentful look.
“I ran across John going over to Layard’s, or whatever you call them, and took him for a half holiday. He works too hard down at that old office anyway.” Mrs. Merwent showed great animation.
Lucy went upstairs to remove her hat, leaving Dimmie in the dining room.
“Where did you and Mamma go, Jimmie?” Nannie asked, as soon as Lucy was out of hearing.
“We went to Miss Stormses, and see all the things I’ve got!” He showed several packages.
“Who did you see? Who gave them to you?” Mrs. Merwent inquired.
“Oh, we saw Miss Storms, and she give me this necktie, and my new grandpapa, he said he’d buy me a watch and chain. He said I could wear it all the time, and it ain’t going to be a play one neither. It’ll go just like a grown-up one.”
“Who else did you see?” persisted his interrogator.
“Oh, my new grandmamma, too. While I was there she didn’t give me nothing but cakes, but she kissed me a lot, and there’s something in one of my bundles she put there, she told me. She says I’m like my grandpapa. And do you know—” Dimmie stopped open mouthed, in the midst of his expansive confidences, and stared at his grandmother who had begun to sob violently, with her handkerchief to her eyes.
“Come away from there, Dimmie,” commanded John.
The child obeyed, approaching his father with a wondering gaze.
“Now you’ve made poor Nannie cry,” John looked at Dimmie sternly.
The child’s eyes filled and his lips began to quiver.
“I—I—d—didn’t m—make her c—cry!” Dimmie wailed, his face full of woe. “I d—didn’t hurt her!”
“Yes, you did hurt her,” John insisted firmly.
Dimmie dissolved into a rain of tears.
“It isn’t his fault, John—poor child,” interrupted Nannie gently through her own tears. Then to Dimmie, “Come here, darling. Come to Nannie.”
Dimmie held back suspiciously.
“Go to Nannie,” ordered John severely.
“Wait, John.” Mrs. Merwent had wiped her eyes and was smiling at Dimmie. There was an unusual tensity in her manner. “Come on, Jimmie. See! I’ve brought you something, too,” and she lifted a small square parcel from the table and held it out to him.
Dimmie approached her chair.
“See. It’s a box of chocolates your papa bought for Nannie, and I’m going to give it to you.”
Dimmie held out his hand.
“Wait a minute,” she demurred.
“What do you say, Dimmie?” demanded John.
“Thank you,” Dimmie whispered, securing the prize.
Mrs. Merwent put her arms around the child.
“So you love Nannie, Jimmie?” she whispered back.
He did not reply to this, but stood in rapt uncertainty contemplating the box of chocolates he held.
“Come on. Let me untie it for you. Here, sit in my lap.” She lifted him up. “There! Aren’t they nice? You can eat one if you want to.”
Dimmie placed a chocolate in his mouth.
“Now, do you love Nannie?” she whispered again.
“Yes,” said Dimmie.
“Do you love me better than the people you saw today?” This, too, was spoken in a whisper.
“Better than granpapa?” he inquired.
“Yes.”
“And Miss Storms?”
“Yes, and the other woman.”
“My new grandmamma?”
“She’s not your grandmamma.”
Dimmie replied stoutly:
“Grandpapa said she was.”
“Well, she isn’t. Nannie is your truly grandmamma. That woman only wants to be your grandmamma. Your papa’s mamma that you’ve never seen is your other grandmamma. This other woman at Miss Storms’ isn’t any relation to you. A little boy can’t have three grandmammas, can he?”
Dimmie considered this problem gravely.
“Stella Hamilton’s only got two,” he admitted.
“Yes. One is Mrs. Hamilton’s mother, and the other is Dr. Hamilton’s mother. I’m your mamma’s mother, and your papa has a mother. So this woman at Miss Storms’ isn’t your grandmamma at all.”
“All right. I don’t love her any more,” Dimmie decided bravely. “She didn’t give me nothin’ but cookies anyway.”
“And you love Nannie, don’t you?” Her words were inaudible to John.
“Yes,” he responded, leaning against her with his face close to hers.
“As well as you do Papa and Mamma?”
“As much as Papa, but Mamma is nicer,” he answered accurately.
“Don’t you love Nannie as much as you do Mamma? I’ll cry then. See all your chocolates! You’ve only eaten one.”
Dimmie took another chocolate.
“Yes, I love you as well as Mamma,” he confided under his breath.
Nannie kissed him.
“Now go and play,” she suggested, pushing him gently away from her, “and don’t get chocolates on your clean suit,” she added warningly.
Dimmie went in search of his mother. In a few moments he returned to the dining room.
“Mamma says she don’t want no dinner,” he announced. “She’s got a headache.”
“Let’s not wait any longer,” urged John.
“You can serve dinner, Katy,” Mrs. Merwent bade the servant.
“Yes, Miss Nannie. It won’t be a minute,” declared Katy, going out of the room and coming back with the soup tureen which she placed on the table.
John and Nannie seated themselves, and Dimmie climbed into his chair.
“Go upstairs and see if Mrs. Winter doesn’t want a little something to eat, or at least a cup of tea, Katy,” directed Nannie.
“No, Miss Nannie. She say she caint eat nothin’ ’t’all,” Katy reported when she reappeared.
“I’m afraid Lucy has another of her nervous spells,” Nannie remarked to John. “Those people at Miss Storms’ have been filling her head with all kinds of stuff and she probably thinks she is very badly used.”
“Nervous spells! A fit of dumps, you mean,” replied John.
“She’s cryin’,” Dimmie explained impassively between large mouthfuls of potato.
“I’ll swear life has gotten to be almost unbearable in this house,” continued John, frowning. “Not a day passes without some kind of a stunt. It’s either funereal gloom or hysterics. It’s enough to drive a man dippy.”
“I know, dear.”
