My grandmother sat in her own particular easy-chair by the open
window of her back parlor. This was a pleasant place in which to
sit in the afternoon, for the sun was then on the other side of the
house, and she could look not only over the smooth grass of the
side yard and the flower beds, which were under her especial care,
but across the corner of the front lawn into the village street.
Here, between two handsome maple-trees which stood upon the
sidewalk, she could see something of what was going on in the outer
world without presenting the appearance of one who is fond of
watching her neighbors. It was not much that she saw, for the
street was a quiet one; but a very little of that sort of thing
satisfied her. She was a woman who was easily satisfied. As a proof
of this, I may say that she looked upon me as a man who always did
what was right. Indeed, I am quite sure there were cases when she
saved herself a good deal of perplexing cogitation by assuming that
a thing was right because I did it.
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