The fourth Williams was the mother of these two boys.

Annabel Williams was generally believed to be a sane and law-abiding person, and no unusual stories of her behavior were circulated. Her head rested on her shoulders at a deliberate and sensible angle. Annabel was thin and pretty for a woman who must be nearly fifty years old, and her hair-dos and dresses were all of the sort worn only by sensible and law-abiding women. She was never seen on the street without a full make-up; and she was a churchgoer. Therefore, if Annabel Williams was discussed at all unfavorably it was only by reason of her marriage to a man who would, some said, overthrow the United States government by force, and gladly; with one wild son whose whereabouts and doings were as a rule unknown or unsavory; with one odd son who had nervous habits like writing everything down and might one day go berserk; and with an intermittent visitor, the strangely beautiful driver of the 1929 Dodge touring car, who was the consul for God alone knew which foreign power.

At any rate, Mrs. Williams’ slate was clean—except for one trivial event that took place the day they moved in:

A flock of children gathered around the Seminary Street place to watch the Italians unload furniture from the van. Annabel hunted through a kitchen barrel, as yet unpacked, and found in it a box of marshmallows. She tried to make friends with these new children by passing out the marshmallows to them. But as she did so, something happened in the truck: a bird cage got smashed. It was a cage made by Berry-berry in an eighth-grade woodcrafting class, a fragile thing to begin with, and not large enough to be comfortably lived in by any bird. But Annabel scolded the workmen in such a way that the children withdrew and widened their circle. And then some bold child, a boy of eight, came forward and held out his hand: “Ma’am, I didn’t get a marshmallow!” Annabel turned to him in irritation. “Here!” she said sharply, “take the whole package!” But what she handed the child was the broken cage. Frightened, he dropped it at her feet and withdrew quickly to hide behind the other children. Annabel instantly realized her mistake and tried to make reparations. But the children backed off. One by one, and in small groups, they disappeared into driveways and behind parked cars. From where they watched, the children knew she was crying as she called to them: “There’s lots more left, there’s a whole bottom layer. Doesn’t anybody like marshmallows any more?” But children are suspicious of grownups who weep; and chances are, word got around that very morning that something was wrong with the new lady.

Seminary Street had hold of half the truth, and this was the half that made it wary of the entire Williams family. You could not say it was unfriendly to them. Most of the grown-up people made a point of smiling at any Williams they met on the street or in a store or gas station; and though certain older children might, on a dare, run up on the porch and try to peep into a window at night, not even the boldest of them would ever make an out-and-out nuisance of himself on their property, or repeat to any Williams the tales that went around.