he
absolute silence of the town triumph over the last distant wail of the
train whistle, I became aware that something about Sumac was different.

What it was, I didn't know. I stood where I was a moment longer, trying
to analyze it. In some indefinable way everything looked unreal. That
was as close as I could come to it, and of course having pinned it down
that far I at once dismissed it as a trick of the mind produced by
tiredness.

I began walking. The planks of the platform were certainly real enough.
I circled the depot without going in, and started walking in the
direction of Aunt Matilda's, which was only a short eight blocks from
the depot, as I had known since I was six.

The feeling of the unreality of my surroundings persisted, and with it
came another feeling, of an invisible pressure against me. Almost a
resentment. Not only from the people, but from the houses and even the
trees.

* * * * *

Slowly I began to realize that it couldn't be entirely my imagination.
Most of the dozen or so people I passed knew me, and I remembered
suddenly that every other time I had come to Aunt Matilda's they had
stopped to talk with me and I had had to make some excuse to escape
them. Now they were behaving differently. They would look at me absently
as they might at any stranger walking from the direction of the depot,
then their eyes would light up with recognition and they would open
their lips to greet me with hearty welcome.

Then, as though they just thought of something, they would change, and
just say, "Hello, Arthur," and continue on past me.

It didn't take me long to conclude that this strange behavior was
probably caused by something in connection with Aunt Matilda. Had she
perhaps been named as corespondent in the divorce of the local minister?
Had she, of all people, had a child out of wedlock?

Things in a small town can be deadly serious, so by the time her
familiar frame house came into view down the street I was ready to keep
a straight face, no matter what, and reserve my chuckles for the privacy
of her guest room. It would be a new experience, to find Aunt Matilda
guilty of any human frailty. It was slightly impossible, but I had
prepared myself for it.

And that first day her behavior convinced me I was right in my
conclusion.

She appeared in the doorway as I came up the front walk. She was
breathing hard, as though she had been running, and there was a dust