Granny Willard, seeing the end of her days approaching, begs to leave her bed and sit in her old armchair, the bumble throne about which three generations have assembled. Her favorite grandson, Tom Willard, has come in from the farm with his buxom wife to visit. So the strong arms of youth carry old age gently to the armchair in the sunlit room for a last meeting with all her kith and kin. There came the rural types known to that modest old cottage, and then that more sacred circle of grandsons with their wives and little ones.
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Granny Willard, seeing the end of her days approaching, begs to leave her bed and sit in her old armchair, the bumble throne about which three generations have assembled. Her favorite grandson, Tom Willard, has come in from the farm with his buxom wife to visit. So the strong arms of youth carry old age gently to the armchair in the sunlit room for a last meeting with all her kith and kin. There came the rural types known to that modest old cottage, and then that more sacred circle of grandsons with their wives and little ones.
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