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She
led
them
down
the
hall
to
the
library
.
"
Take
this
.
"
She
gave
Jane
the
dress
in
which
she
had
played
the
mandarin
’
s
daughter
at
fifteen
.
"
And
this
,
and
this
.
"
A
kaleidoscope
,
a
magnifying
glass
.
"
Pick
anything
you
want
,
"
said
Mrs
.
Bentley
.
"
Books
,
skates
,
dolls
,
everything
-
they
’
re
yours
.
"
"
Ours
?
"
"
Only
yours
.
And
will
you
help
me
with
a
little
work
in
the
next
hour
?
I
’
m
building
a
big
fire
in
my
back
yard
.
I
’
m
;
emptying
the
trunks
,
throwing
out
this
trash
for
the
trash
-
man
.
It
doesn
’
t
belong
to
me
.
Nothing
ever
belongs
to
anybody
.
"
"
We
’
ll
help
,
"
they
said
.
Mrs
.
Bentley
led
the
procession
to
the
back
yard
,
arms
full
,
a
box
of
matches
in
her
hand
.
So
the
rest
of
the
summer
you
could
see
the
two
little
girls
and
Tom
like
wrens
on
a
wire
,
on
Mrs
.
Bentley
’
s
front
porch
,
waiting
.
And
when
the
silvery
chimes
of
the
icicle
man
were
heard
,
the
front
door
opened
,
Mrs
.
Bentley
floated
out
with
her
hand
deep
down
the
gullet
of
her
silvermouthed
purse
,
and
for
half
an
hour
you
could
see
them
there
on
the
porch
,
the
children
and
the
old
lady
putting
coldness
into
warmness
,
eating
chocolate
icicles
,
laughing
.
At
last
they
were
good
friends
.
"
How
old
are
you
,
Mrs
.
Bentley
?
"
"
Seventy
-
two
.
"
