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is just what I haven’t been quite able to explain in a
satisfactory manner to myself. Perhaps,” he added
meditatively, “it was her strength of faith and wonderful
optimism that took me most. Yes, I am quite sure that
was it.”
In spite of myself I began to feel interested in
“Grandma,” because optimism is certainly a rare quality in old
folks. So, as I was about to light the second pipe of “Old
English, I asked him to let me have the whole story.
This he did, narrating slowly and with a pathos that I
never had thought he possessed.
Nearly everybody up in that country called her
Grandma, and Grandma she certainly was. Her face, kind and
sympathetic, was deeply furrowed — the work of nearly
a century. The silver gray color of her hair was made
still richer by the black satin cap she always wore. And
then there were the spectacles so necessary to every
genuine grandma. Sons and daughters she had many, some
of whom had already passed life’s noonday. Numerous
grandchildren were wont to play around her, happy
almost to ecstasy when she laughed at their frolics, but
troubled and disappointed if she chanced to be too deeply
absorbed in the bygone to notice them. Rarely did that
happen. Grandma was different from most old folks
in this, that she took an active interest in the present;
yes, what is more, she believed in it and clung to it “for
the promise that it disclosed.”
I first met her at a surprise party on the son with
whom she stayed. Had heard much about her already,
and, of course, I was anxious to meet her. The minister
was there, and as he knew Grandma well, I asked him
to introduce me. She had a small flower garden, which,
as she afterwards told me, she attended to all alone.
There we found her, busily making bouquets of pansies,
wood violets and moss-roses for a crowd of little folks
who had come to see her. Neither she nor they noticed
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