After dinner the babies and all the children except Rufus were laid out on the beds to take their naps, and his mother thought he ought to lie down too, but his father said no, why did he need to, so he was allowed to stay up. He stayed out on the porch with the men. They were so full up and sleepy they hardly even tried to talk, and he was so full up and sleepy that he could hardly see or hear, but half dozing between his father’s knees in the thin shade, trying to keep his eyes open, he could just hear the mild, lazy rumbling of their voices, and the more talkative voices of the women back in the kitchen, talking more easily, but keeping their voices low, not to wake the children, and the rattling of the dishes they were doing, and now and then their walking here or there along the floor; and mused with half-closed eyes which went in and out of focus with sleepiness, upon the slow twinkling of the millions of heavy leaves on the trees and the slow flashing of the blades of the corn, and nearer at hand, the hens dabbing in the pocked dirt yard and the ragged edge of the porch floor, and everything hung dreaming in a shining silver haze, and a long, low hill of blue silver shut off everything against a blue-white sky, and he leaned back against his father’s chest and he could hear his heart pumping and his stomach growling and he could feel the hard knees against his sides, and the next thing he knew his eyes opened and he was looking up into his mother’s face and he was lying on a bed and she was saying it was time to wake up because they were going on a call and see his great-great-grandmother and she would most specially want to see him because he was her oldest great-great-grandchild. And he and his father and mother and Catherine got in the front seat and his Granpa Follet and Aunt Jessie and her baby and Jim-Wilson and Ettie Lou and Aunt Sadie and her baby got in the back seat and Uncle Ralph stood on the running board because he was sure he could remember the way and that was all there was room for, and they started off very carefully down the lane, so nobody would be jolted, and even before they got out to the road his mother asked his father to stop a minute, and she insisted on taking Ettie Lou with them in front, to make a little more room in back, and after she insisted for a while, they gave in, and then they all got started again, and his father guided the auto so very carefully across the deep ruts into the road, the other way four LaFollette as Ralph told him to (“Yeah, I know,” his father said, “I remember that much anyhow.”), that they were hardly joggled at all, and his mother commented on how very nicely and carefully his father always drove when he didn’t just forget and go too fast, and his father blushed, and after a few minutes his mother began to look uneasy, as if she had to go to the bathroom but didn’t want to say anything about it, and after a few minutes more she said, “Jay, I’m awfully sorry but now I really think you are forgetting.”

“Forgetting what?” he said.

“I mean a little too fast, dear,” she said.

“Good road along here,” he said. “Got to make time while the road’s good.” He slowed down a little. “Way I remember it,” he said, “there’s some stretches you can’t hardly ever get a mule through, we’re coming to, ain’t they Ralph?”

“Oh mercy,” his mother said.

“We are just raggin you,” he said. “They’re not all that bad. But all the same we better make time while we can.” And he sped up a little.

After another two or three miles Uncle Ralph said, “Now around this bend you run through a branch and you turn up sharp to the right,” and they ran through the branch and turned into a sandy woods road and his father went a little slower and a cool breeze flowed through them and his mother said how lovely this shade was after that terrible hot sun, wasn’t it, and all the older people murmured that it sure was, and almost immediately they broke out of the woods and ran through two miles of burned country with stumps and sometimes whole tree trunks sticking up out of it sharp and cruel, and blackberry and honeysuckle all over the place, and a hill and its shadow ahead. And when they came within the shadow of the hill, Uncle Ralph said in a low voice, “Now you get to the hill, start along the base of it to your left till you see your second right and then you take that,” but when they got there, there was only the road to the left and none to the right and his father took it and nobody said anything, and after a minute Uncle Ralph said, “Reckon they wasn’t much to choose from there, was they?” and laughed unhappily.

“That’s right,” his father said, and smiled.

“Reckon my memory ain’t so sharp as I bragged,” Ralph said.

“You’re doin fine,” his father said, and his mother said so too.

“I could a swore they was a road both ways there,” Ralph said, “but it was nigh on twenty years since I was out here.” Why for goodness sake, his mother said, then she certainly thought he had a wonderful memory.

“How long since you were here, Jay?” He did not say anything. “Jay?”

“I’m a-studyin it,” he said.

“There’s your turn,” Ralph said suddenly, and they had to back the auto to turn into it.

They began a long, slow, winding climb, and Rufus half heard and scarcely understood their disjointed talking. His father had not been there in nearly thirteen years; the last time was just before he came to Knoxville. He was always her favorite, Ralph said. Yes, his grandfather said, he reckoned that was a fact, she always seemed to take a shine to Jay. His father said quietly that he always did take a shine to her. It turned out he was the last of those in the auto who had seen her. They asked how she was, as if it had been within a month or two. He said she was failing lots of ways, specially getting around, her rheumatism was pretty bad, but in the mind she was bright as a dollar, course that wasn’t saying how they might find her by now, poor old soul; no use saying. Nope, Uncle Ralph said, that was a fact; time sure did fly, didn’t it; seemed like before you knew it, this year was last year. She had never yet seen Jay’s children, or Ralph’s, or Jessie’s or Sadie’s, it was sure going to be a treat for her. A treat and a surprise. Yes it sure would be that, his father said, always supposing she could still recognize them. Mightn’t she even have died? his mother wanted to know. Oh no, all the Follets said, they’d have heard for sure if she’d died. Matter of fact they had heard she had failed a good bit. Sometimes her memory slipped up and she got confused, poor old soul. His mother said well she should think so, poor old lady. She asked, carefully, if she was taken good care of. Oh, yes, they said. That she was. Sadie’s practically giving her life to her. That was Grandpa Follet’s oldest sister and young Sadie was named for her. Lived right with her tending to her wants, day and night. Well, isn’t that just wonderful, his mother said. Wasn’t anybody else could do it, they agreed with each other. All married and gone, and she wouldn’t come live with any of them, they all offered, over and over, but she wouldn’t leave her home. I raised my family here, she said, I lived here all my life from fourteen years on and I aim to die here, that must be a good thirty-five, most, a good near forty year ago, Grampaw died. Goodness sake, his mother said, and she was an old old woman then! His father said soberly, “She’s a hundred and three years old. Hundred and three or hundred and four. She never could remember for sure which. But she knows she wasn’t born later than eighteen-twelve. And she always reckoned it might of been eighteen-eleven.”

“Great heavens, Jay! Do you mean that?” He just nodded, and kept his eyes on the road. “Just imagine that, Rufus, she said. “Just think of that!”

“She’s an old, old lady,” his father said gravely; and Ralph gravely and proudly concurred.

“The things she must have seen!” Mary said, quietly. “Indians. Wild animals.” Jay laughed. “I mean man—eaters, Jay. Bears, and wildcats—terrible things.”

“There were cats back in these mountains, Mary—we called em painters, that’s the same as a panther—they were around here still when I was a boy. And there is still bear, they claim.”

“Gracious Jay, did you ever see one? A panther?”

“Saw one’d been shot.”

“Goodness,” Mary said.

“A mean-lookin varmint.”

“I know,” she said. “I mean, I bet he was. I just can’t get over—why she’s almost as old as the country, Jay.”

“Oh, no,” he laughed. “Ain’t nobody that old. Why I read somewhere, that just these mountains here are the oldest ...”

“Dear, I meant the nation,” she said. “The United States, I mean. Why let me see, why it was hardly as old as I am when she was born.” They all calculated for a moment. “Not even as old,” she said triumphantly.

“By golly,” his father said. “I never thought of it like that.” He shook his head. “By golly,” he said, “that’s a fact.”

“Abraham Lincoln was just two years old,” she murmured. “Maybe three,” she said grudgingly. “Just try to imagine that, Rufus,” she said after a moment. “Over a hundred years.” But she could see that he couldn’t comprehend it. “You know what she is?” she said, “she’s Granpa Follet’s grandmother!”

“That’s a fact, Rufus,” his grandfather said from the back seat, and Rufus looked around, able to believe it but not to imagine it, and the old man smiled and winked. “Woulda never believed you’d hear me call nobody ‘Granmaw,’ now would you?”

“No sir,” Rufus said.

“Well, yer goana,” his grandfather said, “quick’s I see her.”

Ralph was beginning to mutter and to look worried and finally his brother said, “What’s eaten ye, Ralph? Lost the way?” And Ralph said he didn’t know for sure as he had lost it exactly, no, he wouldn’t swear to that yet, but by golly he was damned if he was sure this was hit anymore, all the same.

“Oh dear, Ralph, how too bad,” Mary said, “but don’t you mind. Maybe we’ll find it. I mean maybe soon you’ll recognize landmarks and set us all straight again.”

But his father, looking dark and painfully patient, just slowed the auto down and then came to a stop in a shady place. “Maybe we better figure it out right now,” he said.

“Nothin round hyer I know,” Ralph said, miserably. “What I mean, maybe we ought to start back while we still know the way back. Try it another Sunday.”

“Oh, Jay.”

“I hate to but we got to get back in town tonight, don’t forget. We could try it another Sunday. Make an early start.” But the upshot of it was that they decided to keep on ahead awhile, anyway. They descended into a long, narrow valley through the woods of which they could only occasionally see the dark ridges and the road kept bearing in a direction Ralph was almost sure was wrong, and they found a cabin, barely even cut out of the woods, they commented later, hardly even a corn patch, big as an ordinary barnyard, but the people there, very glum and watchful, said they had never even heard of her; and after a long while the valley opened out a little and Ralph began to think that perhaps he recognized it, only it sure didn’t look like itself if it was it, and all of a sudden a curve opened into half-forested meadow and there were glimpses of a gray house through swinging vistas of saplings and Ralph said, “By golly,” and again, “By golly, that is hit. That’s hit all right. Only we come on it from behind!” And his father began to be sure too, and the house grew larger, and they swung around where they could see the front of it, and his father and his Uncle Ralph and his Grandfather all said, “Why sure enough,” and sure enough it was: and, “There she is,” and there she was: it was a great, square-logged gray cabin closed by a breezeway, with a frame second floor, and an enormous oak plunging from the packed dirt in front of it, and a great iron ring, the rim of a wagon wheel, hung by a chain from a branch of the oak which had drunk the chains into itself, and in the shade of the oak, which was as big as the whole corn patch they had seen, an old woman was standing up from a kitchen chair as they swung slowly in onto the dirt and under the edge of the shade, and another old woman continued to sit very still in her chair.

The younger of the two old women was Great Aunt Sadie, and she knew them the minute she laid eyes on them and came right on up to the side of the auto before they could even get out. “Lord God,” she said in a low, hard voice, and she put her hands on the edge of the auto and just looked f............