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‘Now he’s about thirty-five. Little bit older’n you . . .’
Between generous bites of beans and biscuits and sips of sweetspice tea to wash it all down, Granny drew what she hoped was an interesting picture of her grandson. She was too plainspoken and honest to embellish his good points beyond the truth. But being his Nana Penny, she was not above polishing the positive so it outshone the negative.
‘Sure as sweet honey from a happy hive, my Rob’s a fine lad!’ Granny said winding up her recital. She leaned back in her chair and fetched the pipeweed pouch from her apron pocket. ‘’Bout covered everything, Miz Penny,’ she concluded, tamping the pipeweed down into the pipe bowl. ‘Sparked your interest, lass?’
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