Here the houses were smaller, but still prosperous. None were new but all were in excellent repair, with neatly kept lawns. Some even had picket fences, and from one big tree hung a tire swing.

It was all so charmingly sweet, Betsy remarked, “What is this place, Mayberry-of-the-North?”

Margot laughed. “I’ll have to repeat that next time I’m trying to get the city council to understand why it’s important we fight to preserve the amenities of Excelsior.”

They turned left at the next corner, and there was a quaint little church across the street, with a new, large, and modern church hall attached by a covered walk. “Trinity Episcopal,” said Margot. “That’s where I go.”

“Uh-huh,” said Betsy, and pointed to a window on a house on her side of the street where a large brown tabby sat watching them suspiciously. “That cat looks almost as big as Sophie.” She didn’t want to start a discussion of churchgoing, because she almost never went anymore.

Safely past the church, Margot continued with her tour. “If you look across the parking lot,” she said, pointing, “you can see the library, the fire department, and our little city hall on the other side.”

Betsy, squinting, nodded. “I see the sign that says CITY HALL,” she said, “but it seems to be pointing to the same building that says FIRE DEPARTMENT.”

“It is,” said Margot. “City Hall is in the basement of the fire department building. I voted against them moving into a building of their own,” she added. “Keeps them modest.”

They walked to the comer, and found themselves in the heart of the miniature “downtown” of Excelsior. To the left was the movie theater, pet shop, and bookstore, with a gift shop on the comer. Margot turned right and Betsy went with her, past the hardware store, a toy shop, an antique store, and so on. The stores were small, in good repair, apparently prosperous. Delicious smells came from the pizza-by-the-slice shop and the bakery. The wallpaper-and-paint store was having a sale. An art-supply store up the way and across the street had its side painted with a mural of a small cottage and a pond covered with water lilies. In the mural, an artist had set up a large canvas and was painting the water lilies. Betsy saw it and started to laugh. “Monet, I love it!” she said.

They turned and started back, past a dress shop and a florist. “I guess you’re farther from the Twin Cities than I thought,” remarked Betsy.

“What makes you say that?”

“Well, this isn’t a bedroom community, is it? I mean, there are real stores here, open for business.”

“Actually, we’re very close to Minneapolis. Even back at the turn of the century, people would commute from here to the Cities, using that streetcar boat to get to where the regular streetcars ran. But somewhere, somehow, when a lot of little communities gave up trying to be towns, Excelsior didn’t. And the people who live here have decided they wanted to keep the town intact. So they patronize the stores and organize lots of festivals, like Apple Days, which is coming up soon. Excelsior is an old-fashioned word that means ‘upward,’ and I like to think the name inspires the people who live here.”