s driver completely
intent on his observation of the comet.

"Old Dad Martin's been trying to wrap that thing around a pole for 25
years," Ken said unhappily. "It looks like he's going to make it
tonight!"

Along the street, bystanders whistled at the aged driver, and
pedestrians yelled at one another to get out of the way. The car's
progress broke, for a moment, the sense of ominous concern that spread
over Main Street.

At the post office, Ken found Maria's prediction was right. The stamp
machine was empty.

"I have some at home," the girl said. "You're welcome to them."

"I need a lot. Mother's sending out some invitations."

"I'm sure I have enough. Papa says I'm supporting the postal department
with all the letters I write to everyone at home in Sweden."

"All right, I'll take you up on it. I'll get skinned if I don't get
them. I was supposed to pick them up this afternoon and I forgot all
about it."

"I thought I learned good English in the schools in Sweden," said Maria
wistfully, "but I don't seem to understand half what you say. This
'skinned'--what does that mean?"

"Nothing you need to worry about," Ken laughed. "If you would teach me
English the way you learned it, Miss Rymer would give me a lot better
marks in her class."

"Now I think you're making fun of me," said Maria.

"Not me. Believe me, I'm not! Hey, look what's coming down the street!
That's old Granny Wicks. I thought she had died a long time ago."

In front of the post office, an ancient white horse drew a light,
ramshackle wagon to a halt. From the seat, a small, wizened, old woman
looked at the crowd on the street. She dropped the reins in front of
her. Her eyes, set deeply in her wrinkled face, were bright and sharp as
a bird's, and moved with the same snapping motions.

From both sides of the street the bystanders watched her. Granny Wicks
was known to everyone in Mayfield. She was said to have been the first
white child born in the valley, almost a hundred years ago. At one time,
her horse and wagon were familiar, everyday sights on the streets, but
she seldom came to town any more.

Many people, like Ken, had had the vague impression that she was dead.

She appeared lively enough now as she scrambled down from the wagon seat
and moved across the sidewalk to the post office steps. She climbed
these and stood in front of the doors. Curiously, the crowd watched her.

"Listen to me, you!" she exclaimed suddenly. Her voice wa