“Here, here, that won’t do!  I don’t allow that kind of language in my household.”  And he gave me a severe and admonishing look before going off on another and more urgent call that waited him.

* * * * *

“And how’s Granma been getting on?”

“—­aging rapidly ... " a pause, " ... hasn’t got either of the two houses on Mansion Avenue now ... sold them and divided the money among her children ... gave us some ... and Millie ... and Lan ... wouldn’t hear of ‘no’ ... " parenthetically, “Uncle Joe didn’t need any; he’s always prospered since the early days, you know.”

“And what’s Granma up to these days?” For she was always doing sweet, ignorant, childish, impractical things.

“—­spirit-rapping is it? or palmistry? or magnetic healing? or what?”

“You’ll laugh!”

“Tell me!”

“She’s got a beau.”

“What? a beau? and she eighty if a day!”

“Yes, we—­all her children—­think it’s absurd.  And we’re all trying to advise her against it ... but she vows she’s going to get married to him anyhow.”

“And who is her ‘fellow’”?

“—­a one-legged Civil War veteran ... a Pennsylvania Dutchman named Snyder ... owns a house near Beaver Falls ... draws a pension ... he’s a jolly old apple-cheeked fellow ... there’s no doubt they love each other ... only—­only it seems rather horrible for two people as old as they are to go and get married like two young things ... and really fall in love, too!”

I was silent ... amused ... interested ... then—­“well, Granma’ll tell me all about it when she comes ... and I can judge for myself, and,” I added whimsically, “I suppose if they love each other it ought to be all right.”

And we both laughed.

* * * * *

When Granma heard I was West she couldn’t reach Antonville fast enough.  She was the same dear childlike woman, only incredibly older-looking.  Age seemed to have fallen on her like an invading army, all at once.  Her hair was, every shred of it, not only grey, but almost white.  There shone the same patient, sweet, ignorant, too-trusting eyes ... there was the blue burst of vein on her lower lip.

After she had kissed and kissed me, stroked and stroked my head and face in speechless love, I looked at her intently and lied to please her: 

“Why, Granma, you don’t look a day older.”

“But I am, Johnnie, I am.  I’ve been working hard since you left.”  As if she had not worked hard before I left ... she informed me that, giving away to her children what she had received for the sale of her two houses (that never brought her anything because of her simplicity, while they were in her possession) she had grown tired of “being a burden to them,” as she phrased it, and had hired herself out here and there as scrubwoman, washerwoman, housekeeper, and what not....