“Yipee!” Ronnie exclaimed.
“I’m right proud of you, Ronnie—proud of all you boys,” Grandfather added. “That Seaway fellow told me that it was what you boys have done this summer that convinced him. He said any youngsters who would put their hearts and souls and time into something worthwhile like this, why, they deserved to get what they were working for.”
Late that night a thunderstorm broke. Thunder boomed incessantly, and the lightning was so vivid that Ronnie’s room was as bright as noonday. But twenty minutes later the storm had stopped and when Ronnie opened his window again a cool breeze blew through.
When Grandfather came into the kitchen for breakfast the next morning he was as full of life and pep as a puppy. “Prayed for this cool weather, I did!” he exclaimed. “Prayed for cool weather and I prayed for the village, too. Seems like I got both my wishes.”
After breakfast Ronnie and Grandfather took a walk. “I want to see the village again,” Grandfather said. “I want to see it again knowing that it’ll be here after I’m gone, and even after you’re gone, Ronnie.” He stepped along briskly as if suddenly he’d found a new pair of legs.
They stood at the top of the bluff near a large bull hickory tree. Below, the village lay peaceful and quiet in the early morning light. The red brick of the glassworks caught the sunlight and reflected it, glowing like molten lava.
“I’m proud of you, lad.” Grandfather was talking again. “I’m proud of you for helping to save the village and bringing back honor and respect to the Rorth name. And you know, boy, you took to yourself a little bit of what we Rorths stand for, just from the working and fighting you’ve been doing. Folks become what they believe in and fight for. You understand what I’m trying to say to you, boy?”
Ronnie blushed. “No, sir, I don’t,” he answered.
“Well, you will some day. Yes, sir, boy,” he said, “we’ve had everything pretty much the way we wanted it, haven’t we? Everything I wanted anyway. All but one thing, that is.”
“What’s that, Gramps?”