"Sixty-four years the seventh of May," she said pertly. "Came as a
sixteen-year-old bride. Enos, God rest his soul, has been gone these
past three years. You two come on into the kitchen."
She led them into the kitchen, seated them, opened a trap door in the
floor, took cool milk from an earth-bound chamber, and lifted a tray of
gingerbread from a cabinet. Eighty years old, her movements were almost
as brisk and sure as a girl's. Jeff and Dan ate heartily; any food they
prepared for themselves could not possibly compare with this. Granny
seated herself companionably near.
"Ike say when he was gettin' out?" she asked.
"Well, no. He was there with Bucky--" Jeff snapped his fingers. "I
forgot his last name."
"Bucky Edwards," she furnished. "Land! He and Ike been stealin' chickens
for a span of time."
Jeff sensed something completely fine. She was old in years only. Until
the day she died her mind would be young and strong. Ike's escapades
probably did hurt her, but Ike was as much her son as the doctor, the
lawyer and the others who had decided in favor of respectable careers.
She would not deny him.