She had been thrown from a wagon once--how often and thrillingly have I
heard dear Grandma Keeler relate the particulars of that accident! She
had broken at that time, I believe, nearly every bone in her body. Long
was the story of her fall, but longer still the tale of her recuperation.
In due course of time, she had grown together again; could now use all
her limbs, and was in superabundant flesh. There was an unnatural sort of
stiffness about her movements, however, her way of walking particularly.
She advanced but slowly, and allowed her weight to fall from one foot to
Another without any perceptible bend of any joint whatever.
I have stood at one end of a room and seen Grandma Keeler approaching
from the other, when it seemed as though she was not making any progress
at all, but merely going through with an odd sort of balancing process
in order to maintain her equilibrium.
As for Grandma Keeler's face, there was enough in it to make several
ordinary scrimped faces. Besides large physical proportions, there was
enough in it of generosity, enough of whole-heartedness, a world of
sympathy. The great catastrophe of her life had affected the muscles of
her face so that although she enunciated her words very distinctly, she
had a slow, automatic way of moving her lips.
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