“Good gracious, Pete, what a memory you have!” Christina hurried off to lead the wandering Miss Tuttle back into the fold. And just then the Websters’ Land Rover drove up. So at last the committee had all arrived, and Jem shouted from inside, “Come on, friends, we are waiting for you!”

Finally they were settled round the table—all except Ellen, the only one of the group who might be said to have work to do, and who slipped in just as Jem coughed and called the meeting to order. Jane Tuttle leaned over to whisper, “Good to see you, Ellen.”

I know more about this town, the real history of it, than any of them in there, Old Pete thought as he sat out in the sun on the fence. Well, might as well find Flicker and go down to the store and leave them to it. Too deef to hear what’s going on from here. Jem will be at it for hours, with nothing to say.

And with this comforting thought Old Pete wandered off.

Jem had never been short-winded, and with the years, and now his sense of responsibility, it took him a half hour to get anywhere near his point—which appeared to be, when one could untangle it from the endless digressions, that he wished each of the members of the Bicentennial Committee to lay before the meeting any ideas he or she might have. Christina had not been listening. As always at this sort of meeting, she felt terribly sleepy even before it got well started. She felt cramped and caught, her nature being to act rather than to explore possible avenues of action. Occasionally she and Ellen, sitting at opposite sides of the table, exchanged an amused or impatient glance. The Websters, imperturbably polite, as always, listened judiciously. Jane Tuttle doodled, and several times sighed deeply. Only Jim Heald managed to wear an alert expression. Miss Plummer appeared to have fallen asleep, her chin on her hand, her eyes closed.