my dear, you don't know what
sort of stuff John Henry's mother is made of! Why, my lass, it would be
throwing God Almighty's gifts back in His face. I've wearied for my twin
babies all these years, and fretted and fumed because I'd lost them, and
then as soon as He gives 'em back to me, I go and shove them off into
the House! No, no, my dear,' said grandmother, 'I'm not such an old
stupid as that. And as for Poppy, my lass, why, she'll be my right-hand
woman! They shall come home with me, my dear, and I'll be their
mother--dear, blessed little chaps--and Poppy shall be their nurse, and
we'll all be as happy as ever we _can_ be without you, my dear.'

'Oh, grandmother, it seems too good to be true,' said Poppy's mother;
'but you can never keep three children.'

'Yes, my dear, I can; my good man, he was careful and thrifty, and he
saved a good tidy sum. And my lady's very good to me,--why, I live in
the lodge rent free, and get my coals, and many's the coppers the folks
in their carriages throws out, when I go to open the gate. You see it's
a sort of a public road, my dear, and there's all kinds of folk goes by.
So I've enough and to spare; only I'm lonesome often, and haven't nobody
to speak to for hours together. And now the Lord's going to send me good
company, and I shall be a happier woman than I've been since my good
man died, and my John Henry went away; I shall indeed, my dear.'

Poppy's mother was almost too happy to answer her; a great load was
lifted off her heart, and she lay quite still, with her eyes closed for
some time, trying to tell her best Friend how grateful she was to Him
for all He had done for her. Meanwhile, the poor old woman was rocking
the babies in her arms, and wiping away the tears, which would come in
her eyes as she thought of what the doctor had said.

Then Poppy came in, bright and happy, with a bunch of white roses in her
hands, which Jack's friend the greengrocer had given him, and which he
had sent to Poppy's mother. She was very much distressed to see her
grandmother crying.

'What is it, granny, dear?' she said, putting her arms round her neck,
and kissing her; 'are you poorly?'

'You had best tell her, grandmother,' said Poppy's mother; 'it will
come less sudden-like on her after.'

But grandmother could not speak. She tried once or twice, but something
in her throat seemed to choke her, and at length she laid the sleeping
babies on the bed, buried her face in her apron, an