“I really don’t want to interrupt you,” insisted Lucy. “I’ll come back another day.”

“Nonsense,” said Miss Tilley in her old library voice. “Just sit down in that rocker, Lucy, and I’ll freshen up the teapot.”

Lucy smiled apologetically at Mrs. Miller and did as she was told. Miss Tilley always had that effect on her; she did on everybody. Lucy didn’t understand how she did it. Everyone in town knew her name was Julia Ward Howe Tilley, but Lucy had never heard anyone call her Julie, or Julia, or anything except Miss Tilley.

“Julia is so forceful,” Mrs. Miller said, smiling.

Lucy’s eyes widened, and she smiled politely at the old woman.

“I am awfully glad you stopped in. We have tea together quite often, and it’s nice to have someone new to talk with.”

Miss Tilley appeared in the doorway, carrying a loaded tea tray. Lucy watched as she stepped across a minefield of small, frayed antique rags, but the older woman never missed a step. She sat down gracefully on a straight chair and, lifting a teacup in her left hand, poured a steady stream of steaming tea from the Royal Doulton pot she held in her right hand. She was seeing a perfect demonstration of a lost art, Lucy realized, feeling that she was taking part in some ancient ritual.

“Sugar?” asked Miss Tilley.

“No, thank you.”

“Cream or lemon?”

“Lemon.” Lucy leaned forward to receive the teacup and saucer and settled back in her chair, holding the fragile porcelain carefully. She still felt a bit shaky and was wondering how she could break the tranquil atmosphere with her rather awkward question.

“Lucy, you said you had something you wanted to ask me,” said Miss Tilley, handing a cup to Mrs. Miller.

“I do.” Lucy took a sip of tea. “I was wondering about a man named Harold Higham.”

“However did you hear about him?” wondered Mrs. Miller. “He’s not wandering around town, is he?”

“No. I, uh, I encountered him on Bump’s River Road today.”

“Whatever were you doing down there, Lucy?” demanded Miss Tilley.

Wondering how she had become the questioned instead of the questioner so quickly, Lucy replied, “I was just taking some outgrown clothes to a woman I know there.”

“I thought playing Lady Bountiful had gone out of style years ago,” Miss Tilley observed tartly.

Mrs. Miller cackled at her old friend’s comment.

“You can’t just forget those people,” Lucy defended herself. “There’s terrible poverty down there. If I can do something to help, what’s the matter with that?”

“Well, from the look of you, I’d say your charitable impulses were resisted.” Mrs. Miller chuckled.

“More than resisted, I’d say,” hooted Miss Tilley. “They must have put up quite a fight.”