"
Since that day I have seen Uncle Richard Summers many times walking on
the country roads with his cane. He always looks around at me and slowly
nods his head, but rarely says anything. At his age what is there to say
that has not already been said?
His trousers appear a size too large for him, his hat sets too far down,
his hands are long and thin upon the head of his cane. But his face is
tranquil. He has come a long way; there have been times of tempest and
keen winds, there have been wild hills in his road, and rocky places,
and threatening voices in the air. All that is past now: and his face is
tranquil.
I think we younger people do not often realize how keenly dependent we
are upon our contemporaries in age. We get little understanding and
sympathy either above or below them. Much of the world is a little misty
to us, a little out of focus. Uncle Richard Summer's contemporaries have
nearly all gone--mostly long ago: one of the last, his old wife. At his
home--I have been there often to see his son--he sits in a large rocking
chair with a cushion in it, and a comfortable high back to lean upon. No
one else ventures to sit in his chair, even when he is not there. It is
not far from the window; and when he sits down he can lean his cane
against the wall where he can easily reach it again.
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