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The home was an exception along the road. It was as old and grand as most of its neighbours, but almost all its character had been erased and it stuck out rather sadly.

    On the front porch were Tony and Great Uncle Gilbert, just returned from a short walk to the corner. Tony was trying to decide where to sit as he reached into his pocket, removed a letter, slid it from its envelope and began to unfold it. There was only one page.

    "Now for the news from Toronto," said Great Uncle Gilbert, settling into a deck chair, still struggling for breath after the short climb up the verandah steps. "Carry on," he gasped, "Give me what you've got." He was referring to the letter. "They'll have lunch soon and you don't want to miss that either." He paused once more for breath. "Not the way they run things around here. You don't get a second chance."

    Tony found a seat, turned the page from back to front, as if searching for the right place to begin.

    "It's not from Terry," he said.

    "No?"

    "No, it's from someone called Sarah Errant. You know anyone by that name?"

    "No, but don't let that stop you," said Uncle Gilbert.

    The verandah door swung open and out stepped a large Jamaican woman sheathed in a pink nurse's uniform and a red cardigan. This was Myrtle, the day nurse.

    "Ah, Mr. Wells," she said, "You got your nephew here to read for you again. How nice. There's none like family."

    "It's not lunch yet, is it?" said Uncle Gilbert.

    "No, no. They'll be late today anyway. Somebody shut the oven when they weren't supposed to."

    "Well good then. You can go ahead Tony."

    Myrtle smiled, turned and slowly walked to the far end of the verandah. Tony began.

    "Dear Mr. Wells: My name is Sarah Errant and you are probably wondering who I am that I should write to you out of the blue." Tony stopped and looked up from the page. "Sounds like a sales pitch to me," he said, then carried on. But Uncle Gilbert only half listened. He was still wheezing a little, his chest rising and falling as he worked to pull in enough air. He patted at his coat and out from a pocket came a handkerchief, which he used to wipe at his eyes.

    "I'm sorry, Tony. Can I have that last bit again?"

    Tony obliged him by returning almost to the beginning.

    "I am writing you today because I have just recently had great news and in a way it involves you."

    Gilbert was already drifting again. He stared out across the lawn. On the other side of the street was a funeral home, Meikle's. The building itself was an older brick house, with a steep roof and a square turret off to one end. It looked perhaps about as cheerful as any funeral home, scarcely, if at all. Out front a couple of workmen were busy packing the gravel round the base of a new flag pole. One of them walked behind a large machine which seemed to be doing most of the work; the other stood back and watched. Above the two, a flag struggled in the wind. Today it stood plainly at half-mast.

    "Huh," said Uncle Gilbert, quietly to himself, but it was just loud enough for Tony to hear.

    "Do you know the picture?" asked Tony.

    "What picture is that?"

    "I'll read it again," said Tony, and he shook his head and raised the page once more. "'My friend and I happened to get ourselves invited to tea at Ms. Enderly's and that was when I saw the picture of you in your uniform.' That picture," said Tony.

    Uncle Gilbert nodded. "Enderly," he said. "I know the picture. Go on."

    "She one of those cousins of yours?"

    "Never you mind. Just you go on, you."

    And Tony read on.

    "'I was so taken by the picture that I dared to ask if I might borrow it as reference for a painting. I hope you don't mind, but Ms. Enderly consented. To make a long story short, the painting was entered in a competition and won, and now I've just been approached to sell it as a book cover, but I thought I better see if it is all right with you first, because if it isn't okay I don't think I could go ahead.'" Tony stopped a moment, "Sounds a bit stiff, doesn't she?"

    Gilbert immediately glanced across the street. He nodded. His breathing almost back to normal. He looked down the verandah and saw Myrtle staring off towards the edge of the property. Gilbert leaned a little so he could see what she was looking at. It was a robin, foraging at the edge of the grass. At just that moment it picked up and flew across the street, over to the lawn of the funeral home, where it bent over, tugged at something in the grass and then, in a blur of motion, darted over the shimmering trees and was gone.

    "'Please write me at the address below and let me know what you think. If your answer is "No" I'll understand. However, if flattery will get me anywhere then let me add that Ms. Enderly let me see a more recent photograph of you as well, and I think you still look every bit as dashing.'" Tony looked up. "She's signed it. There's an address. She's in Toronto. Good looking, eh? There you go Uncle Gilbert. Seems you're still something of a lady killer. Happy?"

    Gilbert shook his head. "Well ...," he said, trailing off.

    "And she's right, you know," said Myrtle, piping up from the far end of the verandah. "You're still a good looking man."

    Gilbert looked across at her. "Been listening in, have you? Sneak."

    "Somebody had to," said Myrtle. "You certainly weren't. And your nephew doing all that reading."

    Tony grimaced.

    "And anyway," said Myrtle. "Doesn't change a thing. You're still every bit a good looking man."

    "Well ..."

    "Come on, Mr. Gilbert. Someone give you a compliment."

    "Well," said Uncle Gilbert. "I guess there's no point being ugly if you don't have to be."

    "There you go," said Myrtle, smiling, and she laughed and shook her head a little. "Out comes the truth, a wee lick of vanity." She clicked her tongue and stared out into the street. There was someone there. "Ah, and now who do we have here," she said.

    At the curb stood a man, a frail man, about the same age as Gilbert. The man wore a short, blue, spring jacket and a grey hat. After a moment he made his way across the grass and approached the verandah.

    "Looking for someone, dear?" called out Myrtle.

    "No, no. Not me," said the man, and he fixed his eyes on Gilbert. "Just came to see what the place looked like. Used to live here when I was, you know," and here the man held out a hand at about waist-level, "when I was just a boy," and he smiled to reveal a full set of dentures.

    "Well, look all you like," said Myrtle. "No harm in lookin. Take you inside if you like, but I warn you there's a couple with the flu just now ..."

    "No, but thank you. That's okay," said the man, holding up his hand. "Outside's good enough for me. Hardly recognize it. Hardly recognize it. Thanks just the same."

    "No problem, dear. No problem at all."

    The man stood a moment longer, appeared as if about to speak, then nodded good-bye. He turned and slowly walked away, up the street, with Gilbert watching him every step of the way.

    "Some people like that," said Myrtle. "They come back. They just want to see."

    It was then the bell rang for lunch.

    "To see what?" said Uncle Gilbert, and he leaned forward. "What's to see?"

    "Oh, who's to say. Maybe he just wanted to see how things turn out. Maybe see who ended up on his front porch."

    Gilbert's eyes involuntarily flicked across the street. "In that case there wasn"t much to see, was there?"

    "Come, come, Mr. Gilbert. Come, come. What happened to that lick of vanity?"

    "You forced it out of me."

    "Well," said Tony, clearing his throat, and he stood up. "Here's your letter." He slipped it onto the table. "Don't want to miss your lunch, I guess."

    "No."

    Tony nodded.

    "Well. See you Uncle Gilbert. See you. Bye-bye." With that he shrugged his shoulders, stuffed his hands in his pockets and skipped down the steps. Halfway across the lawn he turned mid-stride and waved just the once, after that he too was round the hedge and gone.

    Across the street work was stopped under the flag pole, the machine switched off, the workmen under a tree taking their lunch.

    "Well?"

    "Well what?"

    "Thought you said lunch would be late."

    "Some things you just never know when they gonna come."

    Great Uncle Gilbert said nothing.

    "Come on, now" said Myrtle. "Better move yourself inside."

    In a moment Gilbert began to shift himself slowly up from his chair.