Mrs. Vernon went forward also, and said: “We came to see you, Mrs. Dunstan; I heard your boy was an aviator in France, and I felt an interest in meeting and talking with you and him. My boy was one, too, but he was shot down.”
This was an opportune introduction, as nothing melted the old lady’s scorn and indifference to visitors like the interest one took in aviation.
“Now, this be a real treat! Them folks at Freedom won’t dare to come and see me since we went to war!” declared the centenarian in a strong voice.
Granny Dunstan squinted keenly at the visitors to make sure they were truthful, and, finding they seemed earnest, she led the way to the cabin.
“I rickon we better sit outside; the cabin’s too small to hold more’n three of us,” announced Granny, as she turned to address her visitors.
Her criss-crossed wrinkled face seemed to roll up with that grin, showing shrivelled toothless gums. Yet the aged face was attractive, with a subtle kind of wholesomeness seldom seen in old people. Mrs. Vernon said, later, that it must be the result of living alone with Nature and her children for so many years.
“You said you had a boy what was aviator in France?” questioned Granny, the moment the scouts had seated themselves.
“Yes, and when I heard your boy had been over, I was anxious to meet you both,” said Mrs. Vernon.
“Wall, my boy’s got a cross from France, an’ now he’s ben sent for to go to Washin’ton and meet some big folks what’s here visitin’ from France. I tell you, John’s a right smart soljer!”
The proud old dame wagged her head briskly as she gazed from one to the other of her hearers. Then she suddenly changed the conversation.