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join the board?” Not a problem we faced. In fact, children were rarely seen within the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society, which was just as well, given the delicate nature of our collections. I shuddered at the thought of sticky little fingers on old documents, and games of tag among the shelving.
    “We don’t require it exactly, but it’s strongly supported, and most board members are in complete agreement with the idea. In fact, when we are working on recruiting a new member, we typically ask them to come during the day or on a weekend along with their children, so they can get the full flavor of the place. Not many have been able to resist joining us after that experience.”
    “Lucky you. I’m guessing the average age of your board members is about half that of ours.”
    “Now, let me show you . . .”
    As we strolled through the still-incomplete exhibit, Arabella identified the individual characters scattered around the room, each within its own little stage set. After a while I realized that the building had quieted. No more babbling of young voices or shrieks of glee from downstairs. I checked my watch: yes, it was close to six. I supposed you would get used to the noise if you worked in a place like this, but I had to admit I preferred the tranquility of our library. And our walls, while roughly the same age, were at least twice as thick, and muffled what little noise there was.
    We’d completed the circuit of the room, which didn’t take long because the room was geared to children’s short legs, and Arabella asked, “Well, what do you think?”
    She looked so eager that even if I’d had anything negative to say, which I didn’t, I wouldn’t have had the heart. “It’s marvelous. I can see why children will love it.”
    Arabella gave a start. “Ooh, you haven’t even seen it in action! Have you got another minute?”
    “Sure,” I said, mystified.
    “Jason?” Arabella called out. “Can you switch on the circuit for the active displays?”
    “No problem, Mrs. H.” One of the painters—the one who’d waved—made his way through the animals and opened a concealed wall panel I hadn’t even noticed. I could hear the click of a breaker.
    After a few seconds, Arabella called out, “Jason, dear? Nothing is happening.” She turned to me. “Harriet’s eyes are supposed to light up when the power is on. And then when you pat her, her ears swivel forward, to show that she likes you.”
    I stared at Harriet, who remained resolutely still. I wondered what hedgehogs really did to show any kind of emotion. The only thing I could recall about them was that they curled up in a ball when they were frightened, leaving their spines facing out to deter their enemies. I kind of envied them: there were days when I would like to do something like that.
    Jason was still flipping switches, but nothing was happening. “Maybe the problem is on this end? Could you come take a look?” Arabella asked. “I really want Nell to see what Harriet does.”
    “Sure thing.” Jason ambled toward us. Up close he turned out to be a nice-looking young man—well, young by my standards, which put him in his early twenties. He was wearing stained painter’s coveralls, clearly several sizes too big.
    “Jason, this is Nell Pratt, from the Pennsylvania Antiquarian Society. Nell, Jason is my daughter Caitlin’s boyfriend. He’s helping us out here with some of the last-minute things.”
    Jason nodded to me and said shyly, “Hi.” Then he turned his full attention to Harriet, sitting obstinately dark and mute.
    Jason got down on his knees to see if the concealed wires were connected. Apparently they were, so he moved on up to Harriet’s head, which grinned silently, her ears unmoving. He reached out and patted Harriet’s shiny black nose. Nothing happened. Jason looked confused, and Arabella looked crestfallen. I felt sorry for her: she had been so excited about showing off her charming new toy to me, and it appeared to be