“Anyway,” Sally said, getting to her feet, “we’ll learn a lot, that’s sure. I think it’s going to be fun. It’s been great fun to meet you, Mr. Fifield. You’ve given us a memorable afternoon.”

“Bent your ears back,” Eben said cheerfully, “but I have to try to believe that’s what you came for.”

He led the way, turning on lights in the hall and at the front door. “The nights are closing in—that’s the worst of it. Won’t begin to get better till after Christmas.”

“I wish we could stay,” Sally called back just before getting into the car. “We’re leaving tomorrow, till spring.”

“And then the hibernating bears will come out to welcome you. So long!”

Eben watched the tail lights disappear over the crest of the hill, then turned the lights off and went back to his study.

“Made a fool of myself,” he thought. “Old men should listen, but the fact is they almost never do. Unlicked cubs, those two, but charming—charming. She especially. He’s a bit of a stuffed shirt.”

He poured himself a drink and sat down again. This was still the hard time of day—the time when dark closed in and he missed Olive.

“Did I talk too much?” he asked the elusive face in the portrait over the mantel. Then, suddenly impatient, he called out, “Where’s the old man’s supper, Mrs. Goodnow?”

He was not going to let himself go down the long, dangerous, winding path of memory tonight.

CHRISTINA’S JOURNAL—November 9