“So did I,” said Lee. “I know what made me feel happy. You were coming.”

“I was glad about that too, but—”

“You are changed,” said Lee. “You aren’t any part a little girl any more. Can you tell me?”

“I burned all of Aron’s letters.”

“Did he do bad things to you?”

“No. I guess not. Lately I never felt good enough. I always wanted to explain to him that I was not good.”

“And now that you don’t have to be perfect, you can be good. Is that it?”

“I guess so. Maybe that’s it.”

“Do you know about the mother of the boys?”

“Yes. Do you know I haven’t tasted a single one of the tarts?” Abra said. “My mouth is dry.”

“Drink some tea, Abra. Do you like Cal?”

“Yes.”

Lee said, “He’s crammed full to the top with every good thing and every bad thing. I’ve thought that one single person could almost with the weight of a finger—”

Abra bowed her head over her tea. “He asked me to go to the Alisal when the wild azaleas bloom.”

Lee put his hands on the table and leaned over. “I don’t want to ask you whether, you are going,” he said.

“You don’t have to,” said Abra. “I’m going.”

Lee sat opposite her at the table. “Don’t stay away from this house for long,” he said.

“My father and mother don’t want me here.”

“I only saw them once,” Lee said cynically. “They seemed to be good people. Sometimes, Abra, the strangest medicines are effective. I wonder if it would help if they knew Aron has just inherited over a hundred thousand dollars.”

Abra nodded gravely and fought to keep the corners of her mouth from turning up. “I think it would help,” she said. “I wonder how I could get the news to them.”

“My dear,” said Lee, “if I heard such a piece of news I think my first impulse would be to telephone someone. Maybe you’d have a bad connection.”

Abra nodded. “Would you tell her where the money came from?”

“That I would not,” said Lee.

She looked at the alarm clock hung on a nail on the wall. “Nearly five,” she said. “I’ll have to go. My father isn’t well. I thought Cal might get back from drill.”

“Come back very soon,” Lee said.

4

Cal was on the porch when she came out.

“Wait for me,” he said, and he went into the house and dropped his books.

“Take good care of Abra’s books,” Lee called from the kitchen.

The winter night blew in with frosty wind, and the street lamps with their sputtering carbons swung restlessly and made the shadows dart back and forth like a runner trying to steal second base. Men coming home from work buried their chins in their overcoats and hurried toward warmth. In the still night the monotonous scattering music of the skating rink could be heard from many blocks away.

Cal said, “Will you take your books for a minute, Abra? I want to unhook this collar. It’s cutting my head off.” He worked the hooks out of the. eyes and sighed with relief. “I’m all chafed,” he said and took her books back. The branches of the big palm tree in Berges’s front yard were lashing with a dry clatter, and a cat meowed over and over and over in front of some kitchen door closed against it.

Abra said, “I don’t think you make much of a soldier. You’re too independent.”

“I could be,” said Cal. “This drilling with old Krag-Jorgensens seems silly to me. When the time comes, and I take an interest, I’ll be good.”

“The tarts were wonderful,” said Abra. “I left one for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll bet Aron makes a good soldier.”

“Yes, he will—and the best-looking soldier in the army. When are we going for the azaleas?”

“Not until spring.”

“Let’s go early and take a lunch.”

“It might be raining.”

“Let’s go anyway, rain or shine.”

She took her books and went into her yard. “See you tomorrow,” she said.

He did not turn toward home. He walked in the nervous night past the high school and past the skating rink—a floor with a big tent over it, and a mechanical orchestra clanging away. Not a soul was skating. The old man who owned it sat miserably in his booth, flipping the end of a roll of tickets against his forefinger.

Main Street was deserted. The wind skidded papers on the sidewalk. Tom Meek, the constable, came out of Bell’s candy store and fell into step with Cal. “Better hook that tunic collar, soldier,” he said softly.

“Hello, Tom. The damn thing’s too tight.”

“I don’t see you around the town at night lately.”

“No.”

“Don’t tell me you reformed.”

“Maybe.”

Tom prided himself on his ability to kid people and make it sound serious. He said, “Sounds like you got a girl.”

Cal didn’t answer.

“I heard your brother faked his age and joined the army. Are you picking off his girl?”

“Oh, sure—sure,” said Cal.

Tom’s interest sharpened. “I nearly forgot,” he said. “I hear Will Hamilton is telling around you made fifteen thousand dollars in beans. That true?”