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Miller gave Bea a strange look. He seemed about to say something, then thought better of it.
    â€œThat’s enough questions for now,” said Granny Delphine at her shoulder.
    Bea heard her mother’s voice from the darkness behind. “I have a few questions of my own,” she muttered, “and there had better be some answers.”

Lifetime
    T he Millers’ house was perched among the spreading branches of a massive plane tree. It looked like a collection of boxes wedged into the tree wherever they would fit, topped with slanted roofs that jutted out in all directions. A broad verandah stretched along the front of the house, overlooking the small clearing that separated it from the path. The verandah was about fifteen feet from the ground and was bathed in the warm light of a couple of lamps dangling from the overhanging roof. Bea could see no obvious way of reaching it.
    Mr. Miller stepped through a gap in the encircling bushes and looked up at the house. “Ladder,” he said quietly. Nothing happened. He put his lantern down carefully at his feet and placed his hands on his hips. “Ladder,” he said again. The end of a ladder inched outfrom the verandah and stopped. “Come on!” said Mr. Miller impatiently, and Bea wondered if whoever was pushing it minded being spoken to so abruptly. The ladder inched out farther, then tipped and unfolded suddenly in a series of hinged sections. The last section thumped to the ground at Mr. Miller’s feet. “Follow me,” he said over his shoulder, and began to climb.
    He led them from the verandah into an odd-shaped living room with a large table in the middle. The table was spread with a white cloth, on which a teapot and a stack of plates stood.
    Mrs. Miller bustled in from the kitchen at that moment with a dish in each hand and another perched precariously on her head. She had a long neck and fine narrow features like bone china. She smiled when she saw Bea and Phoebe. “Well, well, how nice to have company. I’m Mrs. Miller, but you can call me Gladys. You must be worn out. Here’s your mother now. Hello, dear, I’m Gladys; welcome to our house. I’m sorry it’s a bit of a pigsty; we’re never sure whose turn it will be. This must be your husband. It’s a pleasure to meet you. What a magnificent beard, if you don’t mind my saying so…” Mrs. Miller produced a constant stream of words without seeming to take a breath, all the whiledealing out dishes and cutlery like an expert cardplayer, and scurrying in and out of the kitchen with plates of cooked meats and fruit and biscuits and steaming vegetables. She straightened pictures and cushions and replaced books on their shelves as she swept past them. When her hands were already full things seemed to straighten themselves at a mere nod from Mrs. Miller.
    â€œSit, everyone, please,” she said as she swept back in, ducking slightly to avoid a thick branch that passed through one corner of the room. The Flint family seated themselves around the table. Mr. Miller came in from the verandah dusting his hands.
    A puzzled look came over Mrs. Miller’s porcelain face. “Let me see,” she said, “one, two, three, four, five, six, Captain Bontoc, how are you? Mr. Miller and myself, of course, that’s nine. Now, who are we missing?”
    â€œBoygone,” said Clockwork Gabby, and this time everyone heard her. There was a stunned silence.
    â€œShe spoke,” said Pa.
    â€œIs that unusual?” asked Mrs. Miller politely.
    â€œHasn’t said a word in years,” said Pa, running his hand over his scalp with a puzzled expression.
    Mr. Miller put his hand on his wife’s arm and said something quietly in her ear. Mrs. Miller’s eyes openedwide. “On the crossing?” she said. She looked at Ma sympathetically, and for a second even she was lost for words. “I’m sure he’ll be