And after that, she came and helped me with the dinner, talking all the time in such a way as to draw me out as to my past.

I told her of my life on the canal--and she looked distrustfully at me.

I told her of my farm, and of how I got it; and that brought out the story of my long hunt for my mother, and of my finding of her unmarked grave.

Of my relations with Virginia she seemed to want no information.

By the time our dinner was over--one of my plentiful wholesome meals, with some lettuce and radishes and young onions I had bought the night before--we were chatting together like old friends.
"That was a better dinner," said the elder, "than we'd have had at Mr.
Smith's." "But Jacob, here," said grandma, "is not a deacon of the church." "That doesn't lessen my enjoyment of the dinner," said the elder.
"No," said Grandma Thorndyke dryly, "I suppose not.