PART II
May went to see her Grandmother Farley. May dreaded the visit. When she arrived there she sat in the dining room, smiling and listening to her grandmother's talk, and feeling small and mindless as she had felt as a child. In the old Farley home May was always like that, like something asleep possessed by itself in a shining unbroken dream. She wanted to get back to Aunt Julia, who took her life out of her and showed it to her so that she knew the shape of its thoughts.
Old Mrs. Farley gave May cookies from the cake box, and Grandpapa Farley, who did not go to his office any longer, took his granddaughter into the back yard and showed her his vegetable garden. He was kindly too, but, when this tall stooping elderly man with his handsome white head looked with vague eyes at her, she fancied that he also was asleep and could not see her. She was a little frightened of her silly thoughts about him. Aunt Julia could have told her what she wanted to say.
"And how is your father?" Grandmama Farley asked in a dry voice. "We can't expect him to come to see us very often. His wife is so busy with clubs and movements she has no time for us and I suppose he can't leave her."
May was cautious and timid in the presence of her grandmother. There was something obscure and remote about the old woman's engrossed face, her squinting eyes that gazed at one as from an infinitely projected distance, her puckered lips with their self-righteous twist. May smiled helplessly, not knowing how to reply.
"I suppose Mrs. Julia is bringing you up to have the wider interests she talks about when she is here. You want to vote, I suppose, don't you?" Mrs. Farley squinted a smile. Her humor had an acrid flavor.
May giggled apologetically. "I don't think I care much about voting, Grandmother. I don't think Aunt Julia is trying to make me like anything in particular."
"I'm making bread. Your grandfather has to have his bread just right," Mrs. Farley said. She went into the kitchen.
May hesitated, then followed her.
The clean room was full of sunlight. Mrs. Farley took down the bread pans and began to work the stiff dough on a floured board. Her knotted fingers sank tremulously into the bulging white stuff. The dough made a snapping noise when she turned it and patted it. "I suppose it would be a waste of time for you to learn to make bread, May."