She ran into their little front room where the elder was working on a
sermon, pulling grandma out of the kitchen by the hand.
"Teunis and I," she gasped, "have been lost in the storm, and nearly
froze to death, and he tied that man up with the well-rope, and maybe
he's starved to death in Teunis's house, and Teunis and I slept in a
strawstack, and Teunis is just as brave as he can be, and we're going to
be married awful soon, and I'm going to board with him then, and that'll
be nicer than with the McConkeys' and nearer the schoolhouse, and
cheaper, and Teunis will build fires for me, and we'll be just as happy
as we can be, and when you quit this stingy church you'll both of you
live with us forever and ever, and I want you to kiss Teunis and call
him your son right now, and if you don't we'll both be mad at you
always--no we won't, no we won't, you dear things, but you will marry
us, won't you?"
And then she cried hysterically and kissed us all.
"What Virginia says," said I, "is all true--especially the getting
married right now, and your living with us. We'll both be awful sorry if
we can't have you right off."
"I snum!" exclaimed Grandma Thorndyke. "Just as I expected!"
Grandma outlived the elder by many years; and it was not very long
before she came, a widow, to live with us "until she could hear from her
folks in Massachusetts." She finally heard from them, but she lived with
us, and is buried in our lot in the Monterey Centre burying-ground.
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