Mom put a heavy wool hat on Grandpa's head. "Now，" she said， "you will not get cold. Wait until I get your gloves." "Do not get them，" Grandpa said. "My hands will not be cold." But Mom went to get the gloves. Grandpa and I looked at each other.
"Your mother is putting enough clothes on me to kill a man，" Grandpa laughed. His rough laugh was like a March wind among the tree tops. I started to laugh， too. He thought I was laughing at his words and he was pleased. But I was laughing at his clothes.
Grandpa wore a heavy wool suit that hung from his shoulders. It was right around his middle where he was round and full. His thin legs were like sticks inside the pants.
Mom had dressed Grandpa as if there was snow on the groundl； but there was not. April was here and the sun was shining on the green hills where trees were covered with flowers. When I looked at Grandpa and then looked out the window at the sunshine and green grass， I laughed harder. Grandpa laughed with me.
"I am going to see my old friend，" he said when Mom returned with his gloves.
"Who is he， Grandpa？" I asked. But he did not hear what I said. He just stood there as I did when I was younger and let Mom put the gloves on his hands.
"I am going to see him now，" Grandpa said， "I know he will still be there waiting for me."
Mom opened the front door for Grandpa. He walked slowly outside， holding his strong wooden cane in one hand. With the other hand he held on to the door. I wanted to go with him， but Mom would not let me go.
I wondered what he was going to do out there in the spring sunshine. Perhaps he would take off his shoes when he got far away from the house. That is what I did when Mom could not see me. Sometimes I put my feet into the cool water of the river. I wondered if Grandpa would do that.
I watched him as he slowly walked down the road in front of the house. Mom watched him too. I think she was afraid he would fall. But she was wrong： Grandpa walked along the road better than my baby brother could walk.
"He used to be a powerful man，" Mom said. "He could cut down trees. No man could cut down more trees than Grandpa. He could lift the heaviest tree in the woods."
"Who is Grandpa going to see？" I asked.
"He is not going to see anybody，" she answered softly.
"I heard him say that he is going to see an old friend，" I told her.
Mom gently smoothed my hair. "Oh， he was just talking，" she said.
I watched Grandpa stop under the pine tree in our front yard. He put his cane anainst the tree and pulled off his gloves. Then he alowly reached down toward the grass. He picked up a spring flower. He broke it into little pieces as if he was lookingfor something. Then， he dropped the pieces on the ground.
"What is Grandpa doing？" I asked Mom. But she did not answer me. "How long has Grandpa been with us？" I asked her."Oh， he came before you were born，" she said. "He has been with us for eleven years. He stopped cutting down trees when he was eighty years old； now he is ninety-one."
Mom had told me many stories about Grandpa. He would go out and cut trees in the coldest winter days. Mom often told me how the water on his face would turn into ice-but he never felt cold.
Now Mom would not let him go out of the house in winter.
As I watched Grandpa go toward the farm animals， he stopped to look at every little thing along the road. Once he waved his cane at a bird that flew over his head. Sometimes he stood still and held his face up against the soft spring wind. He took off his hat and let the wind blow his while hair.
Grandpa called to the animals and they ran toward him. He reached down and touched every animal.
This was the first time Mom had let Grandpa out of the house since last autumn. I knew that Grandpa loved the sunshine and the fresh April air that blew across the fields. He loved the insects， the animals， the trees and flowers. And every day from spring until winter Grandpa would take this little walk.
But each year his walk was shorter. This spring he did not go down the farthest end of the farm as he did last year…… I remembered Grandpa's first walks when he would go far away. In those years he walked from one end of the farm to the other. When he returned to the house， he would tell me about the things he had seen.
Now Grandpa stayed near the house.
My Mom and I watched Grandpa go down to the barn.
When he got to the barn， Grandpa slowly got down on his knees and looked closely at the ground. I wondered what he was looking at.
I heard him say： "There you are， my good old friend."
"Who is his friend， Mom？" I asked.
Mom did not say anything. Then I saw what it was. It looked like a flat stone but it was a turtle. "He is playing with that old turtle， Mom." I said.
"I know he is，" she answered in a soft voice.
"The turtle does not get angry when Grandpa touches him， does he？" I asked.
Seh shook her head.
"But that old turtle will not let me touch him，" I said. "Why does he let Grandpa get near him？"
Mom smiled in a secret way. "The turtle knows your Grandpa，" she said.
"He should know me， too，" I said. "But when I come close he just hides inside his shell."
Mom did not seem to hear me. She was listening to Grandpa talk to the turtle. "It has been a hard winter，" Grandpa said to the turtle. "Did you suffer in your home underneath the barn？"
The turtle turned his face to one side. He was trying to talk to Grandpa. Perhaps the turtle could understand what Grandpa was saying.
"I am happy to see you again， old fellow，" Grandpa said. The turtle sat quietly and let Grandpa's big hand touch him.
"I do not understand why the turtle does not bite him，" I said.
"That turtle has lived under the barn for many years，" Mom explained. "Grandpa has known him for eleven years.
He talks to the turtle every spring. "Is the turtle old like Grandpa？" I asked.
"It has tbe number l847 cut into its hard shell，" Mom said. "He might be older than that."
Then I wondered how a turtle could get that old and what kind of person had cut the number on his back. I wondercd where it happened——if it happened near our house' l wondered what sort of man lived here then——if he had cut down trees like Grandpa. I wondered if he enjoyed April as Grandpa always did. I wondered if he talked to this same turtle. "Are you healthy， old fellow？" Grandpe asked the turtle. The turtle just 1ooked back and closed his eyes.
"Did the turtle ask Grandpa if he was healthy？" I asked.
"I do not know，" Mom Said softly. "l cannot talk to turtles."
"But Grandpa can，" I said proudly.
Grandpa was talking again. "Wait until the tomatoes get red，" he promised the turtle， "and we will go into the garden together."
This was another surprisefor me， I did not know that turtles ate tomatoes.
"That turtle has been eating tomatoes from our garden for many years，" Mom said. "He is almost like one of our family".
"Gee，" l said， "Grandpa looks like the turtle， doesn't he？" Mon's eyes filled with tears and she tried to smile， "I'll be back to see you，" Grandpa Said. "I am getting cold now. I must go back into the house."
The turtle pushed his head out more to watch as Grandpa slowly moved away.
"Goodbye， old friend"，he called.
The turtle watched grandpa until he came into the house， then went bact under the barn.