“How I wish gran’pa was here!” exclaimed little Susan Fielding, one day to her mother, who was busying herself about household affairs, and could not devote as much of her time to her children, Susan and Robert, as usual. Robert was about nine years old, and thought himself too much of a little man to complain of any fancied neglect on his mother’s part; so he amused himself by drawing horses and dogs on his new slate, a department of the fine arts, for which, if he had no particular talent, he showed at least a plentiful supply of industry. Susan was two years younger than Robert, and having no female companion of her own age, to converse with when her mother was engaged, really felt lonesome; and this is the reason why she cried, perhaps, a little impatiently, “How I wish gran’pa was here!”

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