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           Buttherewasalogonthesideofthepoolfarthestfromtheboreheaditself,wherethewaterwascooler.Itwastheseatprovidedforwinterbathersastheydriedtheirfeetandlegs.

           FatherRalphsatdownandMeggiesatsomewayfromhim,turnedsideontowatchhim.

           "What’sthematter,Father?"

           Itsoundedpeculiar,hisoft-askedquestionfromherlips,tohim.Hesmiled."I’vesoldyou,myMeggie,soldyouforthirteenmillionpiecesofsilver."

           "Soldme?"

           "Afigureofspeech.Itdoesn’tmatter.Come,sitclosertome.Theremaynotbethechanceforustotalktogetheragain."

           "Whilewe’reinmourningforAuntie,youmean?"Shewriggledupthelogandsatnexttohim."Whatdifferencewillbeinginmourningmake?"

           "Idon’tmeanthat,Meggie."

           "YoumeanbecauseI’mgrowingup,andpeoplemightgossipaboutus?"

           "Notexactly.ImeanI’mgoingaway."

           Thereitwas:themeetingoftroubleheadon,theacceptanceofanotherload.Nooutcry,noweeping,nostormofprotest.Justatinyshrinking,asiftheburdensataskew,wouldnotdistributeitselfsoshecouldbearitproperly.Andacaughtbreath,notquitelikeasigh.

           "When?"

           "Amatterofdays."

           "Oh,Father!ItwillbeharderthanFrank."

           "Andformeharderthananythinginmylife.Ihavenoconsolation.Youatleasthaveyourfamily."

           "YouhaveyourGod."

           "Wellsaid,Meggie!Youaregrowingup!"

           But,tenaciousfemale,hermindhadreturnedtothequestionshehadriddenthreemileswithoutachancetoask.