There were a few chairs in the room besides, but the doorsteps were wide.
Grandpa sat always in the south door, Grandma on the steps looking
towards the lane, and it was at this latter inviting spot that the
neighbors, the "passers by," paused most frequently and disposed
themselves, with a grateful air.
I listened to their talk, while the birds struggled to make noisy
interruptions and cast their fleeting shadows in the sunlight on the
floor, and the peach-blossoms outside were falling noiselessly.
Grandma Keeler had been telling me in a happy, droning voice, though
gravely enough, of the "awakenin'" that was going on in Wallencamp--how
"a good many o' the young folks was impressed," and "Cap'n Sartell had
been seekin', ever since little Bessie died, and some that had seemed to
be forgitful and backslidin' had come forward and told where they stood,
until it seemed as though the Lord was a sendin' a blessin' down, jest as
soft and beautiful as them blossoms;" and Grandma's eyes wandered towards
the peach-tree with a tearful fervor in them.
Aunt Patty was a temporary occupant of the steps. Her anxious, care-lined
face was turned indoors, away from the light and the falling blossoms.
Pages:
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352