“I want to give my grandchildren something to hold onto,” Jem said with quiet passion. “I want them to see what we have back of us—a firm foundation.”

Miss Tuttle laid a gentle hand on his sleeve. “Of course, Jem.”

“I’d like to say something, if I may.” Tim Webster looked to Jem for his assent. “It is something to hold onto, it seems to me, that here in all these towns from the turn of the century on, a kind of rich exchange took place between urban and rural people, between the so-called summer people and the so-called natives. It worked. It was to everyone’s advantage, it seems to me. If I may speak for us, Sally and me, we feel immeasurably enriched by what we have learned here since we bought our house. Our children feel the same way. Willard has become home.”

“Well”—and Jem coughed his nervous cough—“all this is very interesting, and I’m sure you will all make a great effort. I need not ask Miss Plummer to speak. We know she will have excellent material in the history of the library and especially a sketch of Erica Portland, one of the eminent women of Willard … or,” he caught himself up, “would her story really be in Christina Chapman’s domain?” But he did not wait for an answer, as he was clearly now very anxious to get back to his own thoughts.

The hour, which had seemed interminable already, stretched into almost two while Jem explained in detail his various projects to do with genealogies, the tracking down of all stones in the cemetery and, if possible, the houses, or cellar holes, or sites of all the houses where the dead had lived.

“I am having signboards made with the names and dates printed clearly on them, and one of these days I’ll be around to tack them up.”

Everyone present was too exhausted by now to raise questions or objections, although it did occur to Christina that not every person in this secretive place might wish to have his name advertised, or that of the former owners of his house. But this time she held her peace. Miss Tuttle had begun to look withered (there was no other word), and every now and then her head nodded.

“Jem, I’m sorry, but can you excuse us? I promised Hannah to get Jane Tuttle home by five and it’s now half past. You know what a tyrant Hannah is.”

So at last they were freed from bondage. Ellen ran home to get supper for Nick; the others, too, were eager to be off. And suddenly Jem and Jim Heald were left alone in the dusk to gather the pads and pencils together, just as Old Pete came back to put out the fire and lock up.