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"
Don
’
t
swear
.
Tomorrow
’
s
Easter
.
"
"
That
reminds
me
,
press
your
prettiest
.
We
’
re
going
to
Baker
’
s
at
four
o
’
clock
.
"
"
At
their
house
?
"
"
Yes
,
for
tea
.
"
"
I
’
ll
have
to
wear
my
Easter
church
outfit
.
"
"
Good
stuff
,
fern
tip
.
"
"
You
’
re
not
mad
about
Margie
?
"
"
I
love
you
,
"
I
said
.
And
I
do
.
I
really
do
.
And
I
remember
thinking
what
a
hell
of
a
man
a
man
could
become
.
When
I
walked
up
Elm
Street
and
turned
in
at
the
walk
of
buried
ballast
stones
,
I
stopped
and
looked
at
the
old
place
.
It
felt
different
.
It
felt
mine
.
Not
Mary
’
s
,
not
Father
’
s
,
not
old
Cap
’
n
’
s
,
but
mine
.
I
could
sell
it
or
burn
it
or
keep
it
.
I
’
d
taken
only
two
of
the
back
steps
when
the
screen
door
whapped
open
and
Allen
boiled
out
yelling
,
"
Where
’
s
the
Peeks
?
Didn
’
t
you
bring
me
the
Peeks
?
"
