It was a pitiful confession.
Outside, the evening was drawing in, and gray, shroud-like shadows stole into the room. I did not like leaving her.
"Come back to Richmond with me," I suggested. "Molly will soon pull you round. You're brooding here."
"No!" she said. "I'm not unhappy. It's just the . . . sudden change. In a short time I shall be my old self again. Don't think me ungrateful, George, but the last twelve months have not been natural. I don't seem to have had a moment's rest. All the bustle and hurry have unnerved me. I feel more contented, now that it is over and done with. . . ."
She must have seen that I doubted her last statement, for she placed a hand on my arm and said:
"Young people can never understand that it's no hardship to be old—if one is still well. It all happens so gradually. Nature is kind. It is only her children who make life so difficult!"
Her philosophy astounded me. It even converted me. I felt that Sally's view was right, and Gran'pa's wrong. The one was art; the other vandalism. Why had we tried to patch up and renovate Nature's old masterpieces? Not because we sought artistic improvement but merely because we were eager to show our own cleverness. Gran'pa's whole attitude was: "Look what I've done!" Unfortunately, I, too, had adopted the pose, and Sally's youthfulness had temporarily captivated me solely because it was the living proof of a marvellous achievement (by us).
Sally rejuvenated was impossible, absurd. But Sally as a gracious, white-haired old lady was lovable—a work of art, hallowed and moulded and softened by the hand of Time. To tamper with such a masterpiece was sacrilegious, profane.
Thus did this sudden relapse present itself to me, and I eventually returned home feeling much as a man must feel when he has become converted to a new religion. I saw old age not as a tragedy or curse, but as a sort of blissful and holy peace. It was the quiet pleasure of relaxation after effort, accomplishment after strife.
And yet I could not dispel my curiosity as to the condition of the others who had been rejuvenated. Were they also slipping back to old age? Or had some of them that wonderful, Gran'pa-like faith which was capable of moving mountains—and finding thereunder the springs of perpetual youth?