“All boarded up and locked, I see!” Caldwell commented. “Something special housed inside?”

“Why, no, sir!” Ronnie answered. He didn’t feel like giving an explanation of something so personal that even Grandfather didn’t like to talk about it.

Caldwell didn’t press his question. “I certainly am impressed by how well preserved some of the buildings are,” he said instead.

“That’s because Grandfather didn’t want to see the village fall to pieces,” Ronnie answered. “Before he came down with his gout he spent days working down here, every time he could get away from the farm. He told me for a while he even milled his own lumber from the wood lot so’s he could afford to do it.”

“Your grandfather must have a real love for this place,” the man said sincerely.

“I reckon it’s just about the biggest thing in his life.” Ronnie was going to add “and mine too,” but he didn’t because Caldwell had turned away and had started down the path toward the cobbled road.

14 “Grandpa even replaced some of these stones in the old roadbed,” Ronnie added as the three headed back toward Mr. Caldwell’s car.

14

He handed each of the boys a quarter. “You’ve been real fine guides,” he said. “Thank you for taking me around.”

“You don’t need to pay us, mister,” Ronnie said, handing the money back. “Bill and I—we would have hung around here anyway.”

“Keep it, please,” the man insisted. “Who knows—I may want you to help me more, and then I wouldn’t feel right asking you, would I?”

“All right,” Ronnie agreed. Bill had already pocketed his quarter. “Say, Mr. Caldwell,” Ronnie had an idea, “do you suppose other people would pay money to have us show them around?”

Mr. Caldwell thought about the question. “I’m sure you could attract quite a few interested people—if they knew about it.” He opened the door to his car. “Say, son, I wonder if I could come to see your parents tomorrow and your grandfather, too.”

“I haven’t got any mother. She died when I was born. But you can sure come to see Dad and Grandfather. Something you want, maybe?”

“Well, perhaps. You see, I’m writing a book about early American glassware, and an idea just struck me that might prove 

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