I was touched to learn how many people go in regularly to call on him. Even Reggie Planter, who must be near ninety, had thumbed a ride the twenty miles in with a paper bag of fruit and a pencil and pad for Old Pete. It is in times like this that the village is at its best, and my guess is that it has always been so. People leave each other alone until there is a real crisis. Then the ranks close and help is forthcoming.

Old Pete is worried for fear someone will break into his shack and steal his treasures, and I promised to go and be sure that the lock has not been broken. Must remember to do it tomorrow.

Now I must quickly write a word to Marianne and tell her that Cathy really seems happy and is doing well at school as far as we know. So far she has not wanted to bring anyone home, but we are not pushing that. I think she doesn’t want her friends to know about us. She is very sensitive about our being rich, talks about it as a wall, or, as she said once, a membrane. She wants to be taken for granted as herself. Cornelius teases her gently about this. “I can’t see any special virtue in being poor,” he said the other night, “or in being rich for that matter.”

“You don’t even know how different you are from other people, Gramp,” she said tenderly. But when Cornelius tried to get her to tell him what she meant, she clammed up and retreated to her attic. And when he pressed me to try to tell him whatever she was talking about, I couldn’t seem to.

High time I went downstairs and put that casserole in the oven. Cathy talks about learning to cook, but I notice that she doesn’t show up very often when I am in the kitchen! Perhaps a woman needs to be in love to want to learn to cook—and even then! … Now and then I’m tired of thinking about food!

Chapter 3

CHAPTER 3