She had no patience with newfangled notions.
The old ways and the old times were good enough for her.

She had never seen a steam engine, though she had heard "the dratted thing" screech in the distance.

In her day, when gentlefolk traveled, they went in their own coaches.

She didn't see how respectable people could bring themselves down to "riding in a car with rag-tag and bobtail and Lord-knows-who." Poor old aristocrat The landlord charged her no rent for the room, and the neighbors took turns in supplying her with meals.
Towards the close of her life--she lived to be ninety-nine--she grew very fretful and capricious about her food.

If she didn't chance to fancy what was sent her, she had no hesitation in sending it back to the giver with "Miss Jocelyn's respectful compliments." But I have been gossiping too long--and yet not too long if I have impressed upon the reader an idea of what a rusty, delightful old town it was to which I had come to spend the next three or four years of my boyhood.
A drive of twenty minutes from the station brought us to the door-step of Grandfather Nutter's house.