After sending a messenger to find grandpa, I led the way to the open
door of the old home, then slipped aside to let my husband seek
admission. He rapped.
[Illustration: GENERAL VALLEJO'S CARRIAGE, BUILT IN ENGLAND IN 1832]
[Illustration: GENERAL VALLEJO'S OLD JAIL]
I heard a side door open, uneven footsteps in the hall, and him saying
quietly, "I think the old lady herself is coming, and you had better
meet her alone." I crossed the threshold, opened my arms, and uttered
the one word, "Grandma!"
She came and rested her head against my bosom and I folded my arms
about her just as she had enfolded me when I went to her a lonely child
yearning for love. She stirred, then drew back, looked up into my face
and asked, "Who be you?"
Touched by her wistful gaze, I exclaimed, "Grandma, don't you know me?"
"Be you Eliza?" she asked, and when I had given answer, she turned from
me in deepest emotion, murmuring, "No, no, it can't be my little
Eliza!" She would have tottered away had I not supported her to a seat
in the well-remembered living room and caressed her until she looked up
through her tears, saying, "When you smile, you be my little Eliza, but
when you look serious, I don't know you."
She inquired about Georgia, and how I came to be there without her.
Then she bade me call my husband, and thanked him for bringing me to
her. Forgetting all the faults and shortcomings that once had troubled
her sorely, she spoke of my busy childhood and the place I had won in
the affections of all who knew me.
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