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inside you with every breath you drew.
They circled around the edge of the fields and then went along the fringe of the woods. Birrel asked the
names of the trees that were unfamiliar to him, and Vinson told him.
"Just scrub stuff, not good for much of anything, he said. Can't clear it away and farm it, for the creek
backs up through here at high water."
He added, a little farther along, This is where the line goes through woods on this side are yours. That
old path leads to a pretty good fishing-place on the creek."
It grew hotter, and Birrel mopped his brow, as they went on along the rustling, green fringe of woods.
Birds flashed away in front of them, and once Vinson pointed up at a slowly circling speck in the blue sky
and said that it was a hawk. They passed a small stream, a delightful thing with a series of tiny waterfalls
and little curves of pebbly beach under miniature rock ledges covered with a feathery green growth that
he learned were ferns.
Walking back across the fields toward the house, Vinson swept his arm this way and that to emphasize
his points.
"All this should be turned over this fall and the sod left to rot down. In the spring I can really start getting
it into shape."
That's fine, Birrel thought. But where will I be when my fields are in good shape again? And what
will you and the rest of Orville be thinking of me? You may be out here sowing my fields with salt
instead of tenderly caring for them.
Aloud he said, That sounds good. Of course, I don't know the first thing about it."
"You'll learn, Vinson said.
Birrel suddenly stopped as they approached the house. A car was pulling up in front of it. Then he saw a
woman getting out of it. She was a tall, bony woman of middle age, who proceeded to help a very old
woman out of the car.
"Oh, Lord, said Vinson. That's old Mrs. Sawyer. Good old soul, but she'll talk your leg off. He
added, with a grin, I'm deserting, I've heard her too many times. See you later."
He strode off hastily in the direction of his own home. Birrel went forward a bit uncertainly, as Lyllin
came out of the house. The old woman was now, in a shrill voice, superintending the removal from the
car of what appeared to be a bundle of big, thick and clumsy-looking books.
The bony woman took the books to the porch and then smiled at Birrel and Lyllin and held out her hand.
"I'm Netta Sawyer, she said. Mother simply had to come and see you. I hope it's not an inconvenient
time."
Birrel, noting her anxious look, assured her that it was not. The old woman came toward them, making a
great show of fussing and tottering. She said, You look like one of the Birrels. You've got the same ugly
chin. She turned and peered at Lyllin. And you're his wife? I hope he doesn't beat you like Nicholas
did."
"Mother began the younger woman unhappily, but was completely ignored.
"Nicholas? said Birrel.
"Nicholas Birrel, said the old woman. They always said he beat his wife. I was only a child then, but I
remember the talk. Why don't we go inside where a person can sit down?"
Birrel started to lead the way to the door, but was stopped by a sharp command from the old woman.
"Pick up those albums and bring them. Why do you think I came here?"
Birrel was wondering that, but resignedly picked up the bulky, old books. When they were seated in the
living room, the daughter explained anxiously, Mother has all the old, family pictures your family and
thought you would like to see them."
"Why ... that's very nice, said Birrel. Then it was your family, too, I take it?"
"Not mine. Not a drop of Birrel blood in me, said the old woman, as though triumphantly refuting an
accusation. But Sawyer's mother was a Birrel, and I've always saved his old, family pictures, though I
don't know why I did it. They were all a cross-grained lot."
She turned and said to Lyllin, with a sort of deeply sympathetic understanding, I expect you've had your
troubles with this one. I know what they're like, Sawyer took after his mother."
"It hasn't really been so bad, Lyllin murmured, without a trace of a smile, but was ignored as the bright,
old eyes turned back on Birrel.
"Yes, you've got that sulky, Birrel look. They all had it. Here, I'll show you."
She had disposed herself in the center of the sofa and she now proceeded to hold a small court there,
turning the leaves of the old albums and uttering her sharp comments while Birrel and Lyllin sat
uncomfortably on either side of her and stretched their necks to see. From the absolute seriousness of
Lyllin's face, Birrel knew that she was rather enjoying his entrapment, and he steamed.
"Here's Nicholas, said the old woman. I don't remember him too well myself, but I don't doubt that he
did beat his wife, as people said. Here's his father. Let's see, that was John Birrel no, James "
The commentary continued, and the time-yellowed photographs flipped past, entirely meaningless to
Birrel until one name drew him out of his polite inattention.
"-Cleve Birrel, that went off to Sirius or somewhere. That would be your great-grandfather "
Birrel was a little startled that the picture was of a young man, not an old one, though he realized that his
surprise was quite illogical. In fact, the Cleve Birrel who had gone off to the stars had been a good bit
younger than he himself was now. It was a good, young face. distinguished only by an eager quality in the
eves.
"You look a good bit like him, said Mrs. Sawyer, as though it was no compliment.
Birrel saw no resemblance, though he did not say so. But to his surprise, Lyllin agreed with the statement.
"Yes, there's something in the expression."
The old woman nodded satisfiedly. Just what I said. The same ugly chin."
It was an hour later before she suddenly got to her feet and announced that she had no more time to give
them and must go. Now all her tottering and fussing had disappeared and she went briskly out to the car,
disdainfully refusing support from her daughter and Birrel.
"I'm leaving the albums with you, but only as a loan, she said severely to Birrel. I've saved those
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