Part 2

"Just seems that way sometimes," George said, going out. Their job could even make stones feel something, he thought.

He ran down to Rosy in the kitchen. She had consented to having servants only because of her social position, but she still insisted on personally running the kitchen her own way.

George pulled her into the hallway and put his arms around her and kissed her.

"What on earth?" she said.

"You must be very brave, darling." He fixed her with his eyes. "Rosy, this is _it_."

"It?"

"E-Day."

E for Escape.

"We can't talk now," he said. "Vernher is at the controls."

"Can I change?"

"No time. Are the suitcases packed?"

"They're in the garage, behind the beer barrels."

"Go get Timmy," George said. "I'll drive the station wagon round to the back door."

At the gate to the grounds they stopped and took a last look at the chateau. They could see Vernher standing in the control window. He seemed to be enjoying the spectacle in the town below.

Rosy gripped George's arm. "Look!"

A snooker had strayed off its orbit and was hissing in toward the chateau. It came fast over the grounds, heading straight for the control window.

Vernher never saw it coming. Probably he did not even hear the glass crashing as the sharp slivers shot into the room.

* * * * *

By the end of May George was still chopping a small clearing in the Montana woods. George and Charlie's old campsite. It was harder work than he'd expected. But it was a good site and the tent would be replaced by a heavy log cabin before winter set in. Sometimes they'd climb one of the peaks on the Flathead Range and sit gazing at Hungry Horse Reservoir in the distance.

The trees were stubborn here, blunting the ax. But they'd make it all right. George sat down to rest.

Rosy waved to him from the potato patch. A strand of smoke rose peacefully from the stone oven. He waved back and grinned.

Timmy worked his way up bravely to where George sat. He'd gotten used to his bark shoes and had quite forgotten that he had ever worn any other kind.

"Can I help you, Daddy?"

Education too, George thought. The _real_ kind. "No, thanks, son," he said. "You'd better help your mother plant the potatoes."

That evening at supper, as they sat enjoying sundown and the quiet of woods and mountains, they heard a motor far away. The wind took it away and then it sounded much nearer, grinding in low gear. George stood up as a jeep came round the mountain. In it sat a man and a woman.

The jeep came into the clearing, swaying over stones and roots.

"Charlie!"

"Hi," Charlie said. He helped Beth down.

George yanked Timmy to his feet. "Stand up, son. This is the President of the United States."

"I got a present for you, George," Charlie said.

"Not another pressure cooker!" Rosy said.

"A peace pipe," Charlie said.

Timmy's big round eyes took him in. "Are _you_ the President?" he asked in a small, awed voice.

"Not any more," Charlie said.

George stared at him. "You didn't give up the White House?"

"What else could I do?" Charlie said. "I gave it back to the Indians."