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.
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