There was even a picture of her
in a vision as a sweet old lady with snowy hair about her face, and
she was surrounded by grown men who were her sons, and young mothers
who were her daughters. The unending magic of the moving pictures
had enabled her to see herself as others saw her, and as she saw
herself, and as nobody should ever see her.
Kedzie doted on the picture of herself as a dear old lady leaning
on her old husband among their children. She shed tears over that
delightful, most unusual, privilege of witnessing herself peacefully,
blessedly ancient.
Whether she ever reached old age and had a husband living then
and children grown is beyond the knowledge of this chronicle or
its prophecy, for this book goes only so far as 1917. But just for
a venture, assuming Kedzie to be about twenty in 1916, that would
make Kedzie born four years back in the last century. Now, adding
sixty to 1896 brings one to 1956; and what the world will be like
then--and who'll be in it or what they may be doing, how dressing,
if at all, what riding in, fighting about, agreeing upon--it were
folly to guess at.
It is safe to say only that people will then be very much at heart
what they are to-day and were in the days when the Assyrian women
and men felt as we do about most things. Kedzie will be scolding
her children or her grandchildren and telling them that in her
day little girls did not speak disrespectfully to their parents
or run away from them or do immodest, forward things.
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