A JOURNEY TO NATURE 



ing in side ringlets on a staid coiffure, and the 

 same lift of the head on a quietly imperative neck, 

 that were only a few feet from me close to the 

 wild-grape vine. 



&quot;Tell me all about her,&quot; I said. &quot;These old 

 mothers were the salt of the earth. Do you know 

 that you look like her a little ? &quot; 



Yes, she had been told that often enough when 

 she was younger and the Hotchkisses came thick 

 about the house on Christmas times. &quot; But, dear 

 me, I m not at all like her, for she was what Uncle 

 Billy Hotchkiss called a grand dame.&quot; 



&quot; Uncle Billy was probably right. What did 

 he tell you about her ? Really, this interests me 

 deeply.&quot; 



She tried to recall the old man s account, prob 

 ably garrulous disjecta membra, and I, with a sur 

 prising patience, listened attentively, and looked 

 on with admiration. It was very much as if a 

 pair of white hands were taking to pieces one of 

 those old bits of rag carpet, and a soft voice were 

 telling me that this bit of colour was part of a wed 

 ding dress, and that other was a scrap of baldric 

 worn when somebody was queen of the May, and 

 that other well, that was the old blue coat that 

 had brass buttons on it, and that was brushed 

 up for Henry Clay s funeral, and then hung in 

 the pantry long after they buried the old man that 

 wore it. But weave these old strands as one 

 might, there was always the vital colour of the 

 grandmother, and shift the events into any con 

 tinuity that was possible, there was always sure 



J 34 



