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suddenness of it, I guess.”
    “By the dead tree?” Will started across the cemetery.
    I was grateful to him for pretending to take my foolishness seriously, but I was oddly reluctant to have him search that area.
    “Will, don’t bother. There isn’t anything; it must have been a spot in front of my eyes. Please don’t…Let’s go.”
    “I’d better have a look.” Will didn’t stop walking. “This is private property, after all. Ran doesn’t mind hikers or nature lovers, but there are some queer specimens wandering around these days. A graveyard might attract some of the real nuts.”
    It was a rational argument, and it almost convinced me. If a man had been standing there in the shadows, his surreptitious movements could be explained by a theory such as that. All the same, as I went after Will, I was very reluctant to approach the spot. And it wasn’t because I was afraid of some harmless, and hypothetical, nut.
    The fallen tree was a distinctive landmark. Part of the bark had been stripped away, so that the trunk made a long white diagonal streak that cut across the perpendicular darkness of theother trees. Caught and supported by the lower branches of a big spruce, it seemed to be firmly held, though I wouldn’t have wanted to stand under it.
    Will was standing by the fence when I reached him, staring at the patch of ground just outside the fence. There was no sign of life or of unusual movement among the trees. There were no weeds or brambles in that spot. The ground was thickly covered with dry brown pine needles.
    “That stuff won’t take footprints,” I said. “If that’s what you’re looking for.”
    “I know. There’s something funny out there, though. Look—about three feet beyond the fence. It’s a squared-off corner of something—stone, by the look of it. Too regular to be a natural boulder.”
    “It is a stone,” I said, in a voice that sounded funny. Like an echo. “A gravestone.”
    “A grave, outside the fence. That’s absurd.”
    “Maybe. But that’s what it is.”
    “I’ll have a look.”
    “No, Will! Don’t—”
    He vaulted the fence. It was a darned impressive performance; the thing was breast-high, even for him. But he went over it, long legs and all, in a single neat movement. Hands still on the fence, he looked at me.
    “Come on.”

    “How?”
    I didn’t want—I most definitely did not want—to cross the barrier and stand in that small, curiously open space.
    Will examined the terrain.
    “Stand on that stone. I’ll lift you over.”
    “On a tombstone?”
    “You aren’t superstitious, are you?”
    “I didn’t used to think so….”
    But I did as directed. From the stone I could step onto the top of the fence, and then Will lifted me down. His big hands were as strong as they looked. I was ashamed of my vapors by then, and went without protest to help him dig out the stone.
    It wasn’t as hard as I had expected. The accumulation of needles was inches thick, but it was soft; we could scoop the stuff out with our hands. The object was, as I had known (how?) a tombstone. The upper side was blank. We had to turn it over before we could read the inscription. I rubbed at the encrusted dirt with my hand and then with a stick Will handed me. The inscription had not been deeply cut.
    “Miss Smith,” I read aloud, not believing it myself. “1846.”
    Will gave a short, startled bark of laughter.
    “It’s a joke. Some kid…Probably burying his math teacher by proxy.”

    “Then why the date?” I frowned, trying to recapture an elusive memory. “I read somewhere about a case, a governess or housekeeper…When she died the family realized that nobody knew her first name or anything about her. She was just a piece of furniture, barely human, as servants were in those days. So they buried her under the only name they knew, Miss—whatever it was. Not Smith. I don’t recall.”
    “It’s possible, I guess.” Will let go of the stone. It fell to the ground