And after Jem had tacked the sign up on the maple and had stood back to admire it, Cathy accepted a lift, almost glad that Joel had not come back after all. But she waited a while, sitting in the front seat, while Mr. Grindell and Ellen talked and talked in the doorway.

“I don’t know as I can do it, Jem. Bit off more’n I could chew,” she was saying. But Jem would have none of this, and finally she agreed to let him read whatever she could muster of the essay on education by the end of the week. By that time Joel and Nick were walking in from the road and Cathy felt caught.

She pulled down the window and called out, “Mr. Grindell’s driving me up. I have homework, Joel.”

“Well, Mr. Smith, a good afternoon to you,” Jem said. “Have you enjoyed your stay in the village? Made yourself useful, anyway. Off to the wars, are you?”

“So they tell me,” Joel said glumly.

“Good luck!” Jem waved as he got into the driver’s seat, turned the car with jerky, erratic motions, and they were off.

Cathy didn’t look back, but she knew Joel was standing there, watching her go, and she felt miserable—too miserable to go up to the attic alone. So, instead, she offered to make tea so Gram could talk with Mr. Grindell. It was good to have something practical to do.

When Cathy came in with the tea, they were “deep in Willard,” as she put it to herself, and she was happy to sit down on the bear rug and listen. It felt like a reprieve—like all she had known of peace and contentment before Joel.

“I think you had a fine idea, Jem, about the signs,” Cornelius was saying. “Make people aware of all that went on here two hundred years ago. Going to mark the mill sites, I presume?”

“And where the blacksmith shop was, right there below Ellen’s,” Christina broke in before Jem had time to answer.

“And the general store.” Cornelius took up the refrain.

“And the gristmill over by Lovelands’.”

“Well,”—Jem scratched his head—“I had been thinking more in terms of the cemetery, so people could find out where everyone lived, who they were, and so on.” He looked momentarily unhappy, but added, “We have had to choose, Cornelius. Couldn’t do everything. It has fallen mostly on me and—thank you, a little sugar, no milk”—he interrupted himself to take the proffered cup—“I’ve worked hard to complete the record. Don’t know of a town around here where the cemetery has been so completely mapped.”