Here it was that Grandpa sat in place with now this book and now that in his lap and his gold specs on his nose, welcoming visitors who came to stay for a moment and lingered for an hour.

Even Grandmother paused here, after some burdensome time, as an aging animal seeks the watering place to be refreshed. And Grandfather was always here to offer cups of good clear Walden Pond, or shout down the deep well of Shakespeare and listen, with satisfaction, for echoes.

Here the lion and the hartebeest lay together, here the jackass became unicorn, here on Saturday noon an elderly man could be found underneath a not too imaginary bough, eating bread in the guise of sandwiches and pulling briefly at a jug of cellar wine.

Douglas stood on the edge of it all, waiting.

‘Step forward, Douglas,’ said Grandfather.

Douglas stepped forward, holding the gunnysack in one hand behind his back.

‘Got anything to say, Douglas?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Nothing at all about anything?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What you been up to today, son?’

‘Nothing.’

‘A busy nothing or a nothing nothing?’

‘A nothing nothing, I guess.’

‘Douglas.’ Grandpa paused to polish his gold–rimmed specs. ‘They say that confession is good for the soul.’

‘They do say that.’

‘And they must mean it or they wouldn’t say it.’

‘I guess so.’

‘Know it, Douglas, know it. Got anything to confess?’

‘About what?’ said Douglas, keeping the gunnysack behind him.

‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. You going to help?’

‘Maybe you could give me a hint, sir.’

‘All right. Seems there was flood tide down at the City Hall courthouse today. I hear a tidal wave of boys inundated the grass. You know any of them?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Any of them know you?’

‘If I don’t know them, how could they know me, sir?’

‘Is that all you got to say?’

‘Right now? Yes, sir.’

Grandpa shook his head. ‘Doug, I told you, I know about the purloineds. And I’m sorry you think you can’t tell me about them. But I remember being your age, and getting caught red–handed at doing something I knew I shouldn’t do, but I did anyway. Yes, I remember.’ Grandpa’s eyes twinkled behind his specs. ‘Well, I think I’m holding you up, boy. I think you got somewhere to go.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, try to hurry it up. The rain’s still coming down, lightning all over town, and the town square is empty. If you run and let the lightning strike, maybe you’ll do a fast job of what you should be doing. Does that sound reasonable, Doug?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well then, get to it.’

Douglas started to back away.

‘Don’t back off, son,’ said Grandpa. ‘I’m not royalty. Just turn around and skedaddle.’

‘Skedaddle. Was that originally French, Grampa?’