Rollins knew that Mrs.
Dustin was a great friend of Tony's and that she would be the best
person to coax a consent from the shy, gentle old man.
Life, mused Grandma, was a matter full of sweet and incomprehensible
things,--things that now, after long years when the stories were almost
finished, seemed right and just enough but that at the time were cruel
and hard to bear. There was Roger Allan and that lonely stone in the
peaceful cemetery. It still seemed a cruel tragedy. Like Mrs. Jerry
Dustin she wondered often about it.
The soft spring night was full of memories and the wood fire sang of
them sadly, sweetly and softly. Grandma rose and mentally shook
herself.
"I declare, I believe I'm lonely or getting old or something," Grandma
chided herself; "here I am poking at the bygone years like an old maid
with the heartache and here's the whole world terribly alive and
needing attention. And here's Cynthia's boy back from India, and a
real Green Valley kind of minister, I do believe; a straightforward
chap to tell us of life, its miracles and mysteries; of God and
eternity as he honestly thinks, but mostly of love and the little happy
ways of earthly living. A man who won't be always dividing us into
sheep and goats but will show us the sheep and the goat in ourselves.
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