The War that Saved My Life by Kimberly Brubaker Bradley

“Who’s this?” barked the old man. “Who’re you talking to? Somebody
new?” He was looking straight at me, the old coot.
Stephen cleared his throat. “It’s Ada,” he said, “from our lane. Ada—”
The man said, crossly, “That’s not the way you do a proper introduction.
Haven’t I taught you?”
“Yes, sir.” Stephen took a deep breath. “Sir, may I present Miss Ada Smith,
from London. Ada, this is Colonel Robert McPherson, British Army, retired. I
live with him here.”
The old man stuck one of his hands into the air. “And now you shake my
hand, Miss Smith,” he said. “If you’re from the same place the boy’s from,
nobody’s taught you proper manners either. You shake my hand, and you say,
‘Nice to meet you, Colonel McPherson.’”
I touched his gnarled dry hand. He snatched my fingers and shook them up
and down. “Say, ‘Nice to meet you, Colonel McPherson,’” he ordered.
“Nice to meet you, Colonel McPherson,” I said.
“And it’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Ada Smith. If you’re a friend of
Stephen’s, you must come around for tea.” He let go of my hand. I wiped it
against my skirt, not because his hand had been dirty—it hadn’t—but because
touching a stranger seemed like such an odd thing to do.
Stephen was grinning, as though he found the whole exchange funny.
“How come you didn’t go home?” I asked him.
“Oh,” he said, cutting his eyes toward Colonel McPherson, “Mam thought
it better if I stayed here for a while.”
“No she didn’t,” I said. “She said—”
Stephen smacked me on the arm, hard. I glared at him. He nodded his head
toward the old man, frowning. “What?” I asked.
“I’ll talk to you later,” Stephen said. “Later, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, still puzzled.
Back on the other side of the street, Miss Smith and Jamie stood in front of
a second poster. “This one’s better,” Jamie said.
“‘Freedom is in peril,’” Miss Smith read. “‘Defend it with all your might.’”
It was better. “What’s ‘might’?” I asked.
“I might have some tea,” said Jamie.