“A drinking man don’t feel right when he’s not drinking,” Grandma stated. “That’s why Wally never felt good.”

“Where is Uncle Wally?” asked Marcia.

“Went back to his daughter in Elmville after the fire,” Grandma said. “Slept in the barn there, and when he didn’t show up for meals for a couple of days they went out and found him lying there in the hay, dead as you please. Martha said the horses wouldn’t touch the hay for days.”

Marcia thought of poor old Uncle Wally all still and cold in the haymow, nobody missing him for days. That was what people did to old men, maybe old ladies too, only women were stronger.

“Well, we all got to go sometime,” Grandma added comfortably.

Lena was singing “Wrap Me in a Bundle, Dear, and Take Me Home with You,” with the orchestra next door. She and Marcia danced to it, counting carefully. Florrie sat on a stool in the kitchen, greasing pans for Mrs. Carmel. Florrie loved helping, but her stepmother wouldn’t let her. She wanted to pick up some hairpins scattered over the floor, but Grandma said no, that if she needed a hairpin she knew right where they were, one under the counter, one under the big rocker, and one under the sink. Once you started putting things where they belonged you never knew where anything was.

Mr. Hartwell said Grandma had more common sense in her little finger than most women had in their whole body. He applauded the two girls’ dancing and nudged Papa.

“I’ll take your daughter in for this dance,” he said. “How about it, Lena?”

“But it’s not free,” Lena protested.

“Nothing’s free,” Mr. Hartwell merrily answered. Marcia watched, in an anguish of jealousy while Mr. Hartwell took Lena across the hall to the Odd Fellows’ Dance. It was some consolation to think of how mad it would make Her when She found it out. Marcia went out to stand in the hall, watching. She saw Bonnie Purdy dancing with a tall man from out of town. You could always tell people from out of town because they looked better and had a mysterious swagger. Maybe everybody looked better out of town. Mr. Hartwell was holding Lena off proudly as if she was a little doll, and Lena was tossing her head and pointing her toes carefully, pretending not to notice Marcia watching.

When the dance was over Mr. Hartwell didn’t bring Lena back but stood in the middle of the floor tapping his foot and clapping his hands for an encore. Marcia went back to Grandma’s. Papa was sitting on a stool by Grandma, holding her hand. They both looked very weepy.

“No, sir, Harry, there’ll never be anybody like Daisy,” Grandma said. “I remember when I sat up with her over the third baby. When she came to I said, ‘Well, Daisy, that makes three.’ And she said—she was always teasing me—‘All right, Mom, isn’t it about time you told me the facts of life?’ ”