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Updated: June 18, 2025
These feelings had been growing since the beginning of grandpa's partnership in that bar-room. Neither he nor grandma saw harm in the business. They regarded it as a convenient place where men could meet and spend a social evening, and where strangers might feel at home. Yet, who could say that harm did not emanate from that bar? I could not but wish that grandpa had no interest in it.
" And so," added Joyce sorrowfully, "Don and I can't go to the farm and stay with you as we did last year, and the year before last, and every year since we can remember." Joyce looked anxiously from one face to another. Daddy's eyes were twinkling. Mother looked rather sorry, and so did Grandma. But she knew at once, by the look on Grandpa's face that he understood.
What do you know about such things? Little boys shouldn't be bothering about money for years and years to come." So Sunny told him about Grandpa's bonds and how he had lost them by pasting them on his kite. Mr. Horton was very sorry, but he said little. "Only remember this, Sunny Boy," he insisted gravely.
Our dislike of the man became intense; and later, when we discovered that he was to be bartender at grandpa's bar, and board at our house, we held an indignation meeting in the back yard.
"He'll come to see us," promised Mother. "Let me read you what Grandpa has written you, dear." Grandpa Horton's note to Sunny told him he was depending on him to help him with the early haying. "Wasn't it lucky Harriet rubbed the numbers on the front door this morning?" chuckled Sunny Boy. "S'posing we didn't get this letter? Where's Brookside, Mother?" Brookside was the name of Grandpa's farm.
She invoked the grace of God; her head, her body, her feet seemed very light and remote as she walked; she seemed, rather, to float; her feet scarcely touched the red-ingrain aisle "runner" she was nearly all spirit. She knelt before the altar between grandpa and grandma, one hand tight-clasped in grandpa's. Despite her exaltation, she was conscious of material things.
The grocer's boy was coming down the steps, and he laughed, too. "Millions and dozens of what?" he demanded, stopping before Sunny Boy. "Apples, at my grandpa's farm." The grocer boy had a basket on his arm and he wore a white coat. He looked very clean and cheerful. Sunny Boy had a sudden idea. "If you're going up to our house, could I hang on back of your wheel?" he said.
For the first day or two of this dispensation, Grandpa's face perceptibly brightened. At the end of two weeks it was longer than ever before. He came over from his potato patch, I remember, and leaned on the fence, as I was going by to school. "It's be'n a mild winter on the Cape, teacher," he observed, studying the heavens with an air of utter abstraction.
"Where'll you do 'em?" "In grandpa's room if you'll just clean off the top of the stove for me now do, Cynthy! I'll do 'em beautifully and you won't have a bit of trouble. Come!" "It'll make an awful smoke, Flidda; you'll fill your grandpa's room with the smoke, and he won't like that, I guess." "O he won't mind it," said Fleda. "Will you, grandpa?" "What, dear?" said Mr.
"Mun Bun and Margy are asleep in their chairs this very minute, and Vi is almost asleep. Come, children, off to bed with you!" Outside it was darker than ever, and still snowing and blowing hard. But Grandpa's house at Great Hedge was the nicest place in the world. "Did the horses go to bed?" sleepily asked Mun Bun as his mother carried him up. "Yes, they're in bed and asleep long ago.
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