She went out to a drugstore on Seventy-second Street and piled up change. The Nyack number rang a long time. He could be anywhere in the house, going through old trunks in the attic, reading in an upstairs room, then moving slowly, without much interest, to the phone. It might be work, he would think, although not likely at this time of year, and he needed the money. The little income left him by his father barely sufficed to repair the roof, pay the taxes. At last she heard his tentative light voice.

“It’s Annie, Uncle Greg.”

“Annie dear! I was only just thinking about you this morning! I was doing a little dusting and I came to the lion and the mouse. You remember? Is everything all right? Are you with your father?”

“He’s married again. He’s gone to live in New Mexico.”

“You’re alone, then? Are you alone?”

“Well, in a way. But I’m going to California with a lady. She’s driving out there. We’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I’ve never been to the western coast,” he said. “It’s new, you know, geologically speaking. Well…but does your father know where you’re going, Annie?”

She hesitated. “I guess—he will know.”

Uncle Greg coughed lightly. “Would you like to come here, Annie? I don’t like the thought of your being alone.”

“I’m really not, Uncle Greg. But I wanted to call, to see how you are…I’ll write. I know I haven’t. But I will.” And she meant to, she made a resolution to write to him, no matter what.

“I’m all right, Annie. You know. I go along. This is the quiet season for me. I’ve gotten very interested in George Washington. Have you ever read much about him? Well…I found some books I didn’t even know were in the house. I guess Father must have been interested in him too. Oh—I’m fine, really.”

“I’m glad.”

“The Hudson Valley is full of American history. I always said the Hudson was the most beautiful river, the noblest. You know, I’ve been on the Rhine and the Danube. But—Oh! such a terrible time in Germany! That awful common fellow. I hear him on the radio sometimes, those speeches. His is the voice of the cave, Annie. But—well, I have plans…a little history trip to Lake George in the spring, if I can manage it.”

He had friends; she remembered them all, the ladies from the church who made him birthday cakes, old Mrs. Gerow who’d left him her mahogany sleigh bed in her will, all the people who used to give them Sunday dinners.

“Uncle Greg, when I come back from California, I’ll come and stay awhile.”

“I’ll be glad of that,” he said. “I just don’t like to think of you so alone.”

“I’ll be fine.”