“She lives in artistic torment,” said Winifred.

Really, for someone who did not come from an artistic family, Winifred had a good grasp of the matter. Or perhaps she was simply a good listener.

We carefully carried the egg flats and put them in the back of the truck with the milk cans. Then we ran to the potato field to get the boys. Wilfred had a bag of seed potatoes and was working diligently alongside Old Tom planting. Zebediah was running up and down the rows with his arms outstretched going bzzzzzz with his lips.

“Zebediah, stop being a plane. Come on, it’s time to go,” called Winifred.

“You’d think he’d rather be called just Will,” I said in low tones to Winifred, thinking Wilfred wouldn’t hear me.

But he did. He put down his hoe and said, “You can call me Will.”

“What do you want to be called, boy?” asked Old Tom. “Don’t let those girls railroad you.”

“I don’t really care,” said Wilfred.

“That’s the spirit,” said Old Tom. “It never matters what people call you. Hoe your own row. Run your own race. Stay in your own lane.” He nodded his head decidedly and went back to planting.

“I wouldn’t railroad him,” I called over my shoulder to Old Tom as we raced to the truck.

“I know that,” Old Tom called back.

But it was now clear to me that it was too late to impose nicknames on these three. I would have to content myself with the splendid nicknames of their parents.

“Bzzzzz,” said Zebediah with his arms still outstretched, jumping over the fence that surrounded the potato field. “Bzzzzzz.”

“He’s obsessed with flying,” said Winifred.

The boys were splotched with dirt from the field, but that didn’t seem to bother them.

We found seats in the back of the truck on benches Old Tom had put there.

“Mind the eggs and don’t sit on any,” said Winifred.

Then Sina came out of the house and jumped into the driver’s seat dressed in her going-to-Brookman’s best. She always wore a dress and her good hat. You never knew who you were going to see at Brookman’s.

Once we got there we took the eggs and milk around to the back to give them to Mrs. Brookman; then we went around again and came in the front door. Mrs. Brookman paid Sina, and out of that Sina gave us each a nickel for a chocolate bar. This involved a long, careful survey of available options while on the other side of the room Sina and the six ladies who were there gossiped and drank coffee as the radio played in the background. All of a sudden Sina shrieked, reached over, and turned up the dial. It was the local news and the announcer was saying, “A fast-flying blue light was seen by Victorians in last night’s sky. And the Canadian Space Institute has asked anyone who saw last night’s blue light to call them immediately. The Canadian Space Institute says they believe it to have been a meteor.”