She asked the amount, and Nathaniel told her, his emotions those of a poker player about to draw a hole card to fill a flush. Aunt Judith only cocked her head aside, asking if he and his brothers wanted more lemonade; if so, would he please pull that cord over there in the corner behind him. This he did.

“We do have a telegraph office here,” said Aunt Judith, as Arthurlene materialized out of the shadows to take the tray. “Why don’t you wire your father for the money?”

Eliot looked at Nathaniel, who said they could not do as she suggested.

“I can’t explain why, because we don’t know why. All he told us when we left was that the money he gave us—I didn’t tell you, it was thirty dollars—was supposed to last us and he wouldn’t send us any more.”

The maid came back with fresh lemonade, filled three glasses, and when Aunt Judith said she would have some, a fourth.

“That is outrageous, Nathaniel,” the old woman said. “Quite honestly, I find your situation outrageous. Do you mean to say that Elizabeth would not send the money, either?”

“Dad controls the purse strings, Mrs. Wilcox.”

“Aunt Judith, please.” She raised her glass with quaky hand. “Answer this for me, and answer on your oath. You boys aren’t in any sort of trouble, are you? You haven’t run away from home, have you?”

Finding it a relief to speak the truth, Nathaniel swore, his brothers seconding him.

Aunt Judith paused to gauge their honesty before saying what they desperately wanted to hear: Were she to lend them the money, would their father repay her? It seemed to her that any man with a thimbleful of honor would.

“I’m sure he would,” Nathaniel answered, feeling not altogether honorable himself. “But you don’t have to do that. I know we can earn—”

A palm, pallid and deeply fissured, was raised to stop his protest.

“I am fully aware I don’t have to, young man. I don’t have to do anything except breathe, eat, move my bowels, and die, which necessity is probably not very off. Kindly ring Arthurlene for me.”

Spiritlike, she appeared again, and was instructed to bring stationery, pen, and ink. When this was done, Aunt Judith began to rise, shakily supporting herself on her cane. The Braithwaites practically tripped over one another in their rush to help their benefactress to her feet, but she waved them off and stood on her own, and they were surprised at how short she was—barely taller than Drew. Going to the table on which Arthurlene had placed paper and pen, she began to write, crumpled up her first attempt, and began again.