"—spirit-rapping is it? or palmistry? or magnetic healing? or what?"
"You'll laugh!"
"Tell me!"
"She's got a beau."
"What? a beau? and she eighty if a day!"
"Yes, we—all her children—think it's absurd. And we're all trying to advise her against it ... but she vows she's going to get married to him anyhow."
"And who is her 'fellow'"?
"—a one-legged Civil War veteran ... a Pennsylvania Dutchman named Snyder ... owns a house near Beaver Falls ... draws a pension ... he's a jolly old apple-cheeked fellow ... there's no doubt they love each other ... only—only it seems rather horrible for two people as old as they are to go and get married like two young things ... and really fall in love, too!"
I was silent ... amused ... interested ... then—"well, Granma'll tell me all about it when she comes ... and I can judge for myself, and," I added whimsically, "I suppose if they love each other it ought to be all right."
And we both laughed.