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"
That
’
s
Pilgrim
talk
again
.
"
"
I
bet
you
anything
we
’
re
related
.
She
’
s
got
pirate
blood
.
"
"
Oh
!
You
’
re
just
silly
again
.
Here
’
s
your
list
.
"
She
tucked
it
in
his
breast
pocket
.
"
Seems
like
a
lot
.
But
it
’
s
Easter
weekend
,
don
’
t
forget
—
and
two
dozen
eggs
,
don
’
t
forget
.
You
’
re
going
to
be
late
.
"
"
I
know
.
Might
miss
a
two
-
bit
sale
for
Marullo
.
Why
two
dozen
?
"
"
For
dyeing
.
Allen
and
Mary
Ellen
asked
specially
.
You
better
go
.
"
"
Okay
,
bugflower
—
but
can
’
t
I
just
go
up
and
beat
the
hell
out
of
Allen
and
Mary
Ellen
?
"
"
You
spoil
them
rotten
,
Eth
.
You
know
you
do
.
"
"
Farewell
,
O
ship
of
state
,
"
he
said
,
and
slammed
the
screen
door
after
him
and
went
out
into
the
green
-
gold
morning
.
He
looked
back
at
the
fine
old
house
,
his
father
’
s
house
and
his
great
-
grandfather
’
s
,
white
-
painted
shiplap
with
a
fanlight
over
the
front
door
,
and
Adam
decorations
and
a
widow
’
s
walk
on
the
roof
.
It
was
deep
-
set
in
the
greening
garden
among
lilacs
a
hundred
years
old
,
thick
as
your
waist
,
and
swelling
with
buds
.
The
elms
of
Elm
Street
joined
their
tops
and
yellowed
out
in
new
-
coming
leaf
.
The
sun
had
just
cleared
the
bank
building
and
flashed
on
the
silvery
gas
tower
,
starting
the
kelp
and
salt
smell
from
the
old
harbor
.
Only
one
person
in
early
Elm
Street
,
Mr
.
Baker
’
s
red
setter
,
the
banker
’
s
dog
,
Red
Baker
,
who
moved
with
slow
dignity
,
pausing
occasionally
to
sniff
the
passenger
list
on
the
elm
trunks
.
