“The beds are all made—you saw them—and there must be towels in the cupboards. Soap we can buy, if we have to. Let’s go see Mrs. Reddy.”

We found the Emil Weber place without difficulty. The house and small barn were newly painted and the fields were freshly mowed. In the drive was a station wagon with tools and ladders in it, seemingly indicating that Emil Weber was some sort of handyman rather than a farmer. A small boy on a dappled pony came up to greet us, then dismounted and ran to tell of our arrival.

Mrs. Reddy and her daughter came out and invited us into the house. We sat in a pleasant, sunny living room, furnished in Early American style, and Mrs. Weber served lemonade and cookies.

Mrs. Reddy was plump and jolly, like a little old Mrs. Santa Claus in a starched housedress. I took her to be in her mid seventies, while Rose Weber, blonde and equally plump, was perhaps a little more than half that age.

“So you’ve come to live in the family home,” said Mrs. Reddy.

“To visit it,” I said.

“That house needs to be lived in. It needs children in it. It was an old folks’ home too long.”

“That’s right,” Mrs. Weber agreed. “It’s a good farm and it’s a shame to see it deserted.”

“We’re not farmers,” I said.

“You could get help to work it. There’s plenty of young fellows looking for work around here.” Mrs. Reddy poured more lemonade and passed the cookies again.

“But no one willing to rent the place?” Jack said.

“That’s something different. That takes cash and there’s a shortage of that nowadays.”

“The kitchen seems to have been modernized,” Jack said—to change the subject, I hoped.

“Your aunt spent a packet of money on that. And my son-­in-­law, Emil, installed the dishwasher and the rest of it. He put in that new shower upstairs too. If you need any other work done, just let us know. Emil is very familiar with that house.”

“We’re planning on going back to New York tomorrow,” I said.

“Oh, that’s not fair—not to the house or your aunt,” Mrs. Reddy protested. “I don’t mean to interfere in your affairs, but your aunt always hoped you folks would come and stay in the house after she was gone. Of course, if you’ve got pressing business elsewhere . . .”

“It’s not that,” I said. “It’s just that our home is in the East.”

“On the other hand we’ve been considering selling that,” Duff said. While eating cookies he had been staring as though fascinated by Mrs. Reddy. She in turn was watching him and smiling and nodding in grandmotherly fashion.