package goin' out. Was waitin' for something else to go along with it,
but you're here and we can count that. This way to the only taxicab
service in Shipmont."

The place looked deserted. It was a shabby old clapboard house; the
architecture of the prosperous farmer of seventy-five years ago. The
grounds were spacious but the space was filled with scrub weeds. A
picket fence surrounded the weeds with uncertain security. The
windows--those that could be seen, that is--were dirty enough to prevent
seeing inside with clarity, and what transparency there was left was
covered by curtains. The walk up the "lawn" was flagstone with crabgrass
between the stones.

The station-master unshipped the small trunk and stood it just inside the
fence. He parked the suitcases beside it. "Never go any farther than
this," he explained. "So far's I know, you're the first person to ever
head up thet walk to the front door."

Mrs. Bagley rapped on the door. It opened almost instantly.

"I'm--" then Mrs. Bagley dropped her eyes to the proper level. To the lad
who was standing there she said, "I'm Mrs. Bagley. Your father--a Mr.
Charles Maxwell is expecting me."

"Come in," said Jimmy Holden. "Mr. Maxwell--well, he isn't my father. He
sent me to let you in."

Mrs. Bagley entered and dropped her suitcases in the front hall. Martha
held back behind her mother's skirt. Jimmy closed the door and locked it
carefully, but left the key in the keyhole with a gesture that Mrs.
Bagley could not mistake. "Please come in here and sit down," said James
Holden. "Relax a moment." He turned to look at the girl. He smiled at
her, but she cowered behind her mother's skirt as if she wanted to bury
her face but was afraid to lose sight of what was going on around her.

"What's your name?" asked James.

She retreated, hiding most of her face. Mrs. Bagley stroked her hair and
said, "Now, Martha, come on. Tell the little boy your name."

Purely as a matter of personal pride, James Holden objected to the
"little boy" but he kept his peace because he knew that at eight years
old he was still a little boy. In a soothing way, James said, "Come on
out, Martha. I'll show you some girl-type toys we've got."

The girl's head emerged slowly, "I'm Martha Bagley," she announced.

"How old are you?"

"I'm seven."

"I'm eight," stated James. "Come on."

Mrs. Bagley looked around. She saw that the dirt on the windows was all
on the outside. The inside was clean.