anything less than good?

And then, at the end of the long journey she was still trudging
patiently and gladly along, side by side with Grandfather - making less
fuss over the years - old pain in her knees than we make now over a
splinter in a finger - going daily and uncomplainingly about her
manifold duties.

And at night, about an hour before bedtime, she would sit down in the
black-upholstered rocker almost behind the big base burner - her first
quiet moment in all the long day - head resting against the chair's high
back - and doze and listen to the fitful conversation in the room, or to
someone reading - giving everything, demanding nothing - as had been her
wont all the long years!

And Christmas eve . . . (I'll have to go a bit slow now) . . . On
Christmas eve, you remember, when out-of-doors the big snow-flakes were
slowly and softly fluttering down, grandmother would get the huge Bible
and her treasure-box and bring them up to the little round table covered
with its red cloth . . . And you'd get a chair and come up close ('cause
you knew what was happening) . . . Then she would read you a wonderful
story out of the Bible about the love of God so great that He sent His
only-begotten Son to be a Light unto the World . . . and then she'd go
down into that little old card-board treasure-box and find some
Christmas carols printed in beautiful colors on lace-edged cards folded
up just like a fan. She would look down at you over the top of her specs
and tell you how the street minstrels in England used to stand out in
the snow and sing, and be brought into the house and given a warm mug
and a bite to eat - going from house to house all through the early
night . . .