'Wait a minute,' he said, snapping his fingers. 'I've got it.' He stood abruptly, leafed back to the second blueprint and inserted the proper adjective, the Sheltering Hills. Admiring his handiwork, he said: 'It's been gnawing at me throughout our discussion. Sheltering sounds so inviting that I might want to apply.' Everyone agreed it was an excellent name.

When he reached the fifth blueprint, the one showing in detail the parking areas, he took one look, grabbed a bold black marker and defaced the paper with a huge X: 'Useless. Miss Clements, bring in that study of complaints from the field, seven copies,' and when she complied the visitors saw the heading: 'Complaints from our Ninety-one Directors.'

Andy interrupted: 'I thought it was eighty-seven,' and Taggart said without missing a beat: 'But that was last year,' and he continued with his message, which stood out as if typed in big, boldface letters. It was clear and concise: 'Insufficient parking 77, Monotonous food 43, Inadequate health services 27.'

Striking the report with his fist, Taggart growled: 'They don't give a damn about their own health, but they erupt in fury over a convenient parking space for their car.' Jabbing at the areas indicated on the blueprint, he said: 'Triple them.'

'You mean that much?' Mr. Bingham said. 'Look at the scale of that drawing. Those are big spaces.'

'Quadruple them, and this time two years from now you'll tell me: "You were a genius, Taggart." But do not open shop with only those few parking spaces, or you begin with trouble, big trouble.'

Here Zorn interrupted, 'We might have big trouble on another point, and I want to clear the air about it right now. Am I going to appear on your masthead as director or resident physician of Sheltering Hills?' and Taggart said: 'Before you decide, you men who are putting up the money had better be informed about a problem you might face with a man named Clarence Hasslebrook.'

Mr. Bingham interrupted: 'Now, that's a curious name. Fellow with that name applied last week for one of our smaller accommodations.'

'That SOB,' Taggart growled. 'How could he have known about your project?' and when the Chattanooga men explained that an article had appeared prematurely in their local paper, Taggart explained who Hasslebrook was and how he had the power to make trouble for any retirement facility that did not kowtow to his rigid interpretations of moral behavior.

'You mean, he threatened to label each of your facilities Murder Mansion if you didn't fire Dr. Zorn?' Bingham asked, and after that truth was ventilated, the group spent nearly an hour dissecting the basic relationships between a retirement area, the local medical services, the general public, and residents who had signed properly witnessed living wills that permitted and even encouraged the cessation of radical medical steps to keep them alive when they were technically dead.

When Hasslebrook's stubborn behavior was fully described and understood, one of the Chattanooga team asked: 'Are we to suppose that he's enrolling in our place to monitor us, and perhaps Dr. Zorn in particular?' and Cawthorn reasoned: 'How could he? We didn't know we were offering Zorn the job until yesterday.'

Taggart said: 'His crowd has spies everywhere. They may have alerted him to the fact that Andy's father-in-law was interested in a retirement-home investment. And remember, Hasslebrook is like a weasel, sneaking around everywhere.' He paused, liked the analogy but felt it could be improved: 'More like a skunk, leaving a stench wherever he moves. You can smell him across seven states.'

Mr. Gilman, the financier, did not approve of that ad hominem attack: 'We may dislike the man and disapprove of his behavior, but life is sacred and he has a right to defend helpless people who might not be able to protect themselves. Let's oppose him but not abuse him.'

Now Dr. Zembright, a medical man nearing honorable retirement, took over: 'The time's come when we must face up to these moral tyrants who want to dictate how the rest of us shall live and die. Especially when you're my age and have heard so many totally exhausted or brain-damaged patients beg you to help them end their agonies, you thank God for the public wisdom of the living will. I've signed one and I hope that the rest of you have, too, because I know what dying means. It can be a noble conclusion to a life well spent, or a travesty of what the word life really means. A birth, a period of work and contribution, and a logical termination.'

There was a brief silence after his impassioned remarks. Then Zembright sounded the battle cry: 'Gentlemen, we have the funds to withstand a siege from this enemy. And we have the knowledge of what a respectable retirement area should be. We'll construct our facility in the most humane way possible, safeguarding every resident's rights. And then we'll welcome battle with this Hasslebrook. Better yet, we'll invite him to the fray.'

And he proposed that the Chattanooga team prepare a news release identifying Hasslebrook as someone who had already signed up for a condominium in the Sheltering Hills, and what his agenda was. He proposed that the owners state forthrightly that they revered human life and would take every step to prolong and make it tolerable. They were vigorously opposed to suicide, but because sensible people nationwide seemed to want the safeguards of a living will, the Sheltering Hills would honor such wills, providing they were legally drawn and that the subject understood what each of the terms meant: 'We'll step forth as the real protectors of mankind and will welcome the strictest supervision from the misguided Clarence Hasslebrooks of the country who are determined to dictate the way other people live and die.' Then, choosing his words carefully, he turned to Gilman to seek a kind of peace with him: 'The trouble, Charles, is that if we allow the wrong people to preempt the right words and give them false meanings, later we'll have to fight to win back the words and restore them to their cleanliness.'

When others wondered if taking Hasslebrook on in such a bold public step was advisable, Zembright rejected their fears: 'I'll sign the release.' When this, too, was questioned, Zembright said: 'I've built a respectable reputation in eastern Tennessee, and there's no better use to put it to.'

'You mean you're willing to take him on? Frontally?' Taggart asked, and the white-haired veteran said very quietly: 'I've fought medical battles all my life. Some of you remember when I opened my offices in Chattanooga right out of medical school and concluded, after a few months on the job, that the public would be better served if I formed a clinic of six or seven doctors like myself, each a specialist in his own field. One patient, one office, with all the consultations required. The established doctors vilified me, called me a Communist, and even you, Desmond, damn you, refused to sell me that corner lot for our offices, and three years later you were one of our best customers and advised all your friends to join our clinic. You even gave an interview in the paper: "Zembright's group is the wave of the future." And when we admitted blacks right into our waiting room, sitting beside you, there was another fierce stink. I've been through battles and I smell this as just the next in line. Yes, we'll take on Hasslebrook and his attempt to dictate how we shall practice medicine,' and he convinced his partners that they must stand together and inform the citizens of southeastern Tennessee that a war of principle was being waged in their backyard, one that could reverberate throughout the nation.

Now Andy felt that it was obligatory for him to explain to the partners what demands would have to be met before he accepted the position: 'Gentlemen, I think we'd all better take a deep breath. You've been free and easy making decisions about my position in your Sheltering Hills. A great name, Mr. Taggart. Thank you. But you haven't asked me under what conditions I might accept the job. So here goes. First, I will not be your manager. We'll hire a day-to-day administrator to keep the residents happy. Second, I will insist on being the medical director, offering full on-site care for as long as each resident lives. I am determined to be a full-fledged doctor again, and nothing less. Third, I will want Nora Varney as my health assistant. Fourth, I will rely upon my wife, Betsy, a shrewd young woman, as my in-house counselor. And fifth, I shall revoke Mr. Hasslebrook's rental of quarters in our establishment. I believe in the sacredness of life, but I don't want him around poisoning the atmosphere. Refund his payment. If you can accept those limitations, I think that Betsy and I could make this the preeminent retirement area, all things considered, on the East Coast.'

Each of the four men who had invested substantial money in this project had supposed that Andy would be the manager, and each brought forth serious questions as to the practicality of what he now proposed.

'Can you become fully licensed in Tennessee?'

Dr. Zembright answered: 'I served on our licensing board for years. It's safe to bet Andy's eligible to be our resident physician.'

Another asked: 'What are we going to do about this man Hasslebrook?' and Andy said with considerable vigor: 'Mr. Taggart showed me how to handle him. Throw him out of our establishment right now. Deny his application.'

When two of the businessmen objected to such treatment: 'He could sue us. We have to consider civil rights and laws ensuring that anyone can live anywhere.' Andy said: 'I think the time's ripe for you to know exactly what this man has been threatening to do,' and he explained Hasslebrook's charges against him and his plan to hound Zorn and destroy him. The two men who had objected to throwing the agitator out of Sheltering Hills changed their minds: 'Any court would agree that it would be suicidal to allow him to live right in the heart of the institution he is determined to ruin. We agree with you, Andy, throw the bum out and dare him to sue.'

The financiers were not as pleased with Andy's desire to have Betsy as his general assistant: 'Sounds as if we'd have another Hillary Clinton on our hands.'

'We both voted for her husband,' Betsy confessed, and the partners groaned.

'Did you think when you cast your ballot,' Mr. Gilman, the financier, asked, 'that you were also voting for Hillary to serve as co-president?'

'Let's put it this way,' she said blithely. 'You might as well accept the conditions Andy has laid down. I'm well aware that my father will probably leave me his shares of the partnership, and voil, I'm automatically an equal shareholder.'

Mr. Desmond said: 'Not if I can buy his shares from him,' and the group appreciated that the recent exchanges had not been idle banter.

The corporate jet flew back to Chattanooga, where Betsy bade farewell to her father, thanking him for the gallant moves he had made in gathering this group of financial supporters: 'They'll be proud of what Andy and I accomplish. We'll set new standards for the industry.' She also bade a warm farewell to Dr. Zembright: 'Andy taught me to walk again, but your surgery made it possible for me to survive,' and she kissed the old warrior.

One night after twelve, as she had promised she would, Helen Quade walked along the silent corridors of Gateways until she came to the apartment of Ambassador St. Pres. There she stopped, knelt and slipped under the door a slim parcel containing the typed manuscript of three chapters of her forthcoming book on male-female relationships, Likewise the Mistress, Too. Having done this, she retraced her path, trusting that she would encounter no one at this late hour who might misconstrue her purpose.

In the morning when St. Pres reached down for his paper, he found the package, was more than casually interested in how Reverend Quade might have explained her conclusions about men and women, and ate his breakfast of fruit juice and a tasty mix of orange slices, bananas and raisins. As he did so, he scanned Helen's essays and saw that the first two covered much of what she had said when they had argued in the tertulia, and he noted the skill and grace with which she wrote. But the third chapter broke new ground, at least for him, and he had barely reached the second page when a diagram captivated him. It showed two extremely elongated triangles parallel to the foot of the page. The base of the top one was two inches wide at the extreme left of the page and withered away to a dot at the extreme right. The bottom one was a mirror image, two inches at the right, a dot at the left. The first was labeled FEMININE TRAITS, the bottom MALE TRAITS, and each showed graduated numbers, 100 at the base, 0 at the apex.

It was what the minister said to accompany the diagrams that caught St. Pres's attention: We can conclude from the accumulation of scientific evidence cited above that most human beings are neither all male nor all female. In fact, I think there is good reason to accept the theory that humans who function with the greatest efficiency in all fields have a proper mix of both male and female characteristics, and that those unfortunates who are one hundred percent either male or female are destined for psychological or social dysfunction.

The man who is 100 percent masculine, with no ameliorating grace of a few feminine traits, is doomed to be what Edgar Spencer characterized as 'a complete macho and a total bore,' while the poor female who is 100 percent female with no stiffening attributes of the male is apt to become a nymphomaniac, unable to control her sexual urges. People of judgment find either of the two extremes distasteful.

On the other hand, the unfortunate person who stands at the midpoint, the 50 percent marker, of both the male and the female measure is almost doomed to a life of confusion and even tragedy. The optimum mix would seem to be 80 percent of the dominant characteristic, 20 percent of the opposite. In women this proportion can produce a creature of great beauty but also of strong will, and in the male it seems to produce men of powerful character able to make decisions but softened by a love of the arts, an appreciation of beauty and a concern for social justice.

Any educational system geared to produce 100 percent females or 100 percent males is not serving its nation well, and either men or women who drive themselves to function at or excel at the 100 percent level of their sex cheat themselves and do a disservice to society.

He was so taken by this reasoning and so impressed by the diagram that made her argument visible-she had the 100 percent area in each pyramid a heavy black, with a progressively lighter screen, until the area approaching the pointed apex showed an almost clear white.

'Damned effective, that visual,' he said as he galloped through the remainder of the chapter, discovering at each point some insight that pleased him. When he reached the last page he telephoned the Reverend: 'Helen? Richard here. Would you be free to take a short stroll with me? I've finished your Chapter Three and find a wealth of points I'd like to discuss. Rough gear if you will. We might be heading into the savanna.'

It was about ten when they left Gateways, each with a stout walking stick and she with a pair of binoculars. He remembered to bring scraps for the birds, and when the screaming gulls had broadcast the news that here came food, they walked past Judge Noble's old spot with egrets and herons and pelicans in attendance, but soon they were in rougher parts of the savanna.

When they reached the Emerald Pool, St. Pres suggested that they rest on a hummock overlooking the green water and from this vantage point, which gave them a view of the savanna south and east, the channel to the west and the towers of the Palms to the north, he opened the subject that he wished to discuss: 'Your diagram of the range of characteristics that a woman can have, and the same for a man, hit me very hard because I discovered that truth, for myself, when I was eighteen or nineteen. My parents could afford to have me attend an expensive private school that had a superjock as coach, Bully Sykes, a lineman when Fordham had their famous Blocks of Granite. Boy, was he tough!'

'And he gave you a bad time?'

'Not at all. I was about as tall as I am now, slimmer, but good at playing end and receiving passes. I was-you might call it-Bull's pet. The way he treated me proved he could also handle the straight-A student. He didn't like me, I wasn't his type, but he accepted me, especially since I won several games for him with my diving catches. I could really stretch out.'

'So what happened?' she asked as she kicked pebbles with her hiking boot into a rather large hole in the bank by the pool. 'You have a big bust-up with him?'

'Oh no! But when he gave his totally asinine pep talks I used to think: This is pretty stupid, and a couple of times he caught me looking at the ceiling when he came to his bit about the glory of the school and the forthcoming test of our manhood. I was thinking: There's also the approach of Mr. Strang. He doesn't have to employ such nonsense. Strang taught English.

'I remember thinking in the middle of the Lawrenceville game, our win-all-lose-all battle, that I did not want to be like Coach Sykes or Master Strang, the first was too masculine, the second wasn't masculine enough. And I do believe that in the middle of that crucial game I realized that I was no more than eighty percent of what Coach Sykes advocated. And what was the other twenty percent? I was not able then to define that other component of myself, but I knew it had something to do with Thomas Hardy, Wordsworth and that marvelous befuddled Russian clerk in Gogol's The Greatcoat. Now I can see that it was the aesthetic element, and in later years that strain developed rather strongly.'

He looked at her handsome face marked with a few wrinkles. 'Was your experience somewhat similar? How old were you when you deduced what you wrote in the chapter?'

'I think I knew from childhood. With a boy you don't get the macho indoctrination till you encounter someone like Bully Sykes in your late teens. With us girls, our hundred percent femininity is drilled into us from birth. "Pink is for girls. It's important that girls take care of their hair. Girls should never sit with the knees far apart." I was hammered at, but one elderly woman in China gave me a good tip: "When the camera looks at you, never stand with your feet side by side. Always place one foot well ahead of the other and close in." So when I see the photographs from the missions, there I am looking like a million dollars, and the other poor girls, my classmates, with feet planted together looking like country clods just off the farm.'

St. Pres, not reluctant to let Helen know how much he admired her for her sharp wit, asked: 'How did you learn so much. Helen?' and she replied: 'Constant reading-and picking the brains of brilliant men like you.'

'In college, too?'

'When you're the child of an American missionary family your daily life is a university education. People are constantly amazed at how accomplished the children of missionaries are. Henry Luce, Pearl Buck, John Hersey, a half dozen college presidents. A major part of the explanation is that the missionary father has a wife who is also a missionary, just as well educated as he is. The children cannot escape being intelligent, and because the family is so poor, the children have to be clever about money. What a combination, guaranteed to produce greatness.'

'Your diagram representing the life experience of human beings and their mix of gender characteristics-that was brilliant. It put me right on the nose-eighty-twenty and content to be that way. How do you place yourself on the scale?'

She enjoyed discussions like this, so although she realized he had asked a somewhat improper question, she responded: 'I'm closer to seventy-five-twenty-five. I have a very strong masculine-type underpinning. I think it was the only thing that allowed me to stick it out in the battles I had to fight.'

'But the public sees you as so feminine-so exactly right.'

When she heard this praise, delivered for no logical reason that she could discern, she suddenly thought: Good heavens! I wonder if he's mustering his courage to propose, and she became as fluttery as she had been in the early days at the China mission station when she'd done everything within the bounds of decency to win the love of that young man new to China. For most of this year she had placed herself where the ambassador could see her, had praised his views when they participated in discussions, and had made much of his brilliance when she was invited to the tertulia. Jimenez is a polished gentleman, she had told herself. Senator Raborn has a mastery of political and social knowledge, and President Armitage is a world-class brain. But Richard is all those things. And now she surmised he was preparing to ask her to marry him, he seventy-nine, she seventy-five.

During the long pauses that followed, with him praising her attributes, she was able to think clearly: Yes, if we lived in some small town, I in my little cottage and he in the big house near the golf links. And I was retired from the church on a meager pension. And I lacked companionship. Yes, it would make sense. But here in the Palms, where I have nearly two hundred friends, and good conversation, and a secure life, and a job as de facto chaplain to the place, and access to so many exciting adventures, I don't need a husband. And she realized, at the conclusion of her silent monologue, that the Palms provided a life so acceptable and of such a superior quality that it made it reasonable for her to think of herself as already married to the ambassador.

She knew that in decency she ought to intercept his proposal before it was made, to protect his ego if for no other reason, but as a woman who had had to fight men in her battle to obtain recognition in her Church, and for understandable considerations of personal vanity despite her age, she did want to hear his words. So, while doing nothing to encourage his declaration of affection, she also did nothing to halt it.

'Helen, I've been so touched by your humanity, your genuine acceptance of people of all types-I've been proud to think of you as my newfound friend.'

'Those are words of high praise, Richard.'

'And your performance as the unofficial chaplain of the Palms, it's been exceptional. You're a spiritual consolation to all of us, an invaluable asset.'

'I'm a New Testament Christian. It's as simple as that.'

'But you do it so wonderfully-you're an exemplar.' A long pause: 'And I've been wondering if perhaps ... since we work together so well in the tertulia discussions ... I wonder if there's a possibility that we could work together in a more settled structure.' Longer pause. 'Could we find increased happiness ... and stability ... if you would consent to marry me?'

'Richard! What a gallant suggestion! It's quite overwhelming-at our ages. It's the loveliest idea ever, and I'm profoundly honored.'

'There need be no changes in our patterns of life, no radical alterations in our financial arrangements. It could be said to be a marriage of two like minds, clean and mutually productive.'

Reverend Quade was taken aback. This had developed far more quickly than she had anticipated. His reasoning was far more advanced than she could have expected, and she was not sure how she could reject such a sensible proposal, but since she had firmly decided not to marry before the conversation veered in that direction, she now knew that she must make her position clear. To do otherwise would be unfair.

'Richard, we haven't many years, you and I. We've organized our lives in rewarding patterns and I don't think we should disrupt them by an action which might have been eminently sensible sixty-even twenty-years ago but which would lack any real justification now. Mentally, in our attitudes toward society, in our behavior toward our associates, we're already married. I think we should let it go at that.'

'But you sidestep the fact that I've grown to love you, that I need your companionship. The fact that I'm nearly eighty makes my desire to get my life properly organized even more pressing. I would dearly love to spend with you what years remain.'

'And so you shall. Right here where we are. We can dine together any evening you wish. We can take walks like this any day. We can pass into our eighties as dear, close friends. I see no pressing need for change.'

Not trying to hide his dejection, he asked almost pleadingly: 'Are you saying No?' and she clasped his hands, smiled warmly and said: 'I am, and I know I'll regret it many times. But no. I think that for us to marry would be wrong and unnecessary.'

He sighed, rose, moved away from the Emerald Pool and said: 'You'd have been the ideal wife for an ambassador in a beleaguered African nation. So much to do, so many lives to shape.'

'I'm still striving to achieve those same worthy ends, and so are you, but in these autumnal days we spend our efforts with those who are leaving life, not entering it,' and she caught his hand, used it to pull herself to her feet, and embraced him.

On their slow walk back to Gateways St. Pres said: 'There are times when it's not entirely advantageous to stand eightytwenty in your diagram. If I were ninety-five-five I'd not have talked so much. I'd have stated my position, knocked you on the head with my club, and dragged you back to my cave.'

When she laughed at this alternative he said seriously: 'And if you'd been ninetyten, you'd have accepted me on the sensible grounds that every woman should have a husband-as proof of her ability to capture one.'

She reflected on this, then said: 'You may be right, Richard. I was certainly so motivated when I chased my young missionary, and landed him. But today ...' She was going to say she had grown more mature, but instead she said: 'No matter how old we get, we never quite understand the basic drives that help determine our behavior.'

When he delivered her to her quarters and saw everything not only in place but conveniently located, he said ruefully: 'No need for you to change, Helen. Modern society has rendered the husband superfluous,' and as she ushered him to the door she said: 'But not the fellowship of a man I adore.'

'The standard escape clause: "Let's be friends." The threnody of modern courtship,' he said, and she kissed him good-bye.

Three days after Christmas, as had been planned in April, the Ral Jimenez tertulia, lacking its leader, laid their hands on the polished plane and pushed it into position for takeoff, with almost the entire population of Gateways standing by with their cameras while two television crews waited with theirs. As he had done on his earlier midnight flight, pilot St. Pres carried out the traditional check of his craft and baffled some observers by dropping to his knees and opening the petcock to test the gasoline. A minute amount of condensation had occurred; he let it drain, smelled his fingers to be sure the remainder was gasoline, and all was ready. President Armitage and Senator Raborn helped him into the pilot's seat, Max Lewandowski made a final check of the propeller, and then everyone stepped back. The starter soon had the engine coughing, then catching and finally almost roaring in the ears of those close at hand.

Since the cockpit had no doors-they were optional and could be added later-St. Pres, proudly sitting up straight, was free to wave to the cheering crowd before turning to attend to his job. Obtaining takeoff clearance, he released the brakes, eased back on the wheel and started his plane down the runway. Pulling back the controls, he soared into the air as nearly two hundred residents and townspeople applauded. This time he did not fly out over the gulf but kept the plane in a confined area so that its progress could be followed both by those on the ground and by those watching excitedly from their Assisted Living windows at the Palms.

Then, as the plane circled in the sky, it alternated altitudes, sometimes flying close to the heads of the watchers, at other times climbing with a steepness that startled those who knew anything about flying, then leveling off through the cloudless winter sky.

As the plane demonstrated its capabilities-and they were awesome considering how it had been built-a collective consciousness of a mind-boggling phenomenon gripped the crowd. The average age of the five builders was 79.2 years, the probable average of the spectators from the Palms was seventy-four, but as the spectators saw the plane that they, in a sense, had built and realized that the pilot was one year short of eighty, a surge of enormous pride engulfed them. They had done it! These elderly men whom many outside the Palms would have deemed too old to accomplish much of anything, had built an airplane just as they said they would, and had flown it to celebrate the beginning of the new year.

This remarkable achievement buoyed up all the watchers. Look! He's buzzing the field to salute us! And a roar went up-a carefully modulated roar, since the voices were so old and many of them cracked-and the crowd edged forward to see how the ambassador would end this historic flight, but he confused them by flying far to the south, turning in a big circle, taking another complete circle and then activating an ingenious device that Maxim Lewandowski had contrived. When St. Pres released a catch, a long bundle trailed from the rear of the plane and unfolded in the wind to reveal a large white banner. As the plane dragged it overhead the spectators could read RAL Y FELICITA. This display brought no roar of approval, only the silent salute of the Jimenezes' friends to mark their passing.

His job done, St. Pres flew his aircraft to the far end of the field and checked the windsock, then landed it perfectly and taxied it back to the starting point while cheering people crowded forward to congratulate him. That evening when the tertulia, with Lewandowski as an honored guest, convened, the dominant question was: 'What do we do with the plane now?' and President Armitage had a ready answer: 'Let's give it to one of the industrial high schools. The sooner their mechanics learn about planes the better.' The men investigated various schools till they found a junior college with a shop foreman who already had his small-plane license. In the months to come, the Palms residents would occasionally see the plane in the skies above the palm trees, and some would think of Ambassador St. Pres and others of Ral Jimenez.

On his last day at the Palms, Andy rose early, walked through all the corridors of all the buildings bidding farewell to the workers who had supported him so energetically and who had seen the rooms filled to 96 percent occupancy. Together they had converted a marginal operation into a minor gold mine, and they were proud. He could see that although they restrained themselves they were sorry to see him go and angered by the reasons that had driven him away.

'Good luck in Tennessee!' some of the workers cried as he passed, and one or two gave him more sturdy encouragement: 'Don't let the bastards grind you down,' and at these words he reflected that this was the task of honorable men wherever they worked. There were adverse forces, some natural like hurricanes, some like Clarence Hasslebrook, whose job it was to oppose men and women of goodwill. No one escaped their pressure, but strong men and women found the courage to oppose them, no matter what the cost.

'If you run the new place the way you've run this,' one woman said, 'it'll be a shoo-in.'

'I want it to be,' Andy said as he left the building and walked outside into the crisp January air, and as he did, both his lungs and his spirit expanded, for now he was back in touch with nature. True, the savanna was badly scarred, but the new plantings along the proposed roads seemed to be doing nicely, and the four small lakes did have water in them, which moved from one to another by means of little streams that a child could jump over. The individual residential buildings that would complete the Palms and ensure its financial security were nearing completion, and they did not look entirely deplorable: 'With people in them and green grass sprouting, I suppose it'll be almost acceptable.' Then he laughed at himself: 'My successor will never have seen the savanna or known what a splendid part of nature it had been. He'll never miss it, but I'm glad that the Sheltering Hills will have trees and lakes and mountainsides that will last at least for our lifetimes. Thank you, God, for that national park and our thirteen hundred acres. If we mess that up we should be ashamed of ourselves.'

His throat choked as he came to the ruins of Judge Noble's empty chair, rooted in concrete, and he sat on it awhile, visualizing the judge and his birds. Of course the gulls came, screaming abuse at him for not bringing food, and the white egrets and blue herons strutted by to check whether he intended fishing, then moved on in disgust. Pelicans dived in the channel, and to his delight, a late-arriving manatee moved lazily up the warm current to his regular haven.

'I had a good year here, thanks to the birds and manatees. My regards,' and he thought with regret: Farewell, old friends. None like you in Tennessee, and he wondered what he would find there. With those woods and mountains he was sure there would be wildlife he would find just as wonderful as the pelicans and manatees.

A short turn to the left brought him to the neglected Emerald Pool, which had so captivated him in his first days at the Palms, and here he stopped to rest on a grassy hummock overlooking the limpid water and prepared himself for the two difficult interviews he must conduct before making his departure. Feeling little hope that he could bring these matters to a successful conclusion, he rose, squared his shoulders and marched back to his office.

The first interview was with Helen Quade, and when this stately woman with a touch of grace in all she did joined him, he said pleadingly: 'Helen, I hope you've reconsidered your refusal to join our team in Tennessee.'

She smiled as if she were a teacher and he a pupil, then said with quiet firmness: 'No, Andy. I can't go with you.'

'Why not?' he begged, and she said: 'In these last few days since you proposed such a move, and with a salary attached, I've had to study what I believe in as a human being, not as a clergy woman, and I realize that I'm like all the others living here. I came here to organize a spiritually satisfying end to a life that has been mainly beautiful and which I shall fight like Berta Umlauf to keep that way. I trust I will have better luck than she did. But I'm like precious Ral Jimenez, gunned down by his perpetual enemies. Or like dear Muley Duggan, caring for his wife to the end. And I'm like all the wise widows who come here quietly to assuage their grief over the loss of their husbands. Andy, I'm one of this decent, self-respecting congregation, a vital part of it, and I doubt that I could find anything as meaningful in Tennessee.' She stopped, looked at him with tears in her eyes and said: 'I'm in my mid-seventies, Andy, and I don't have the energy to build a new congregation.' She waved her hands as if erasing the unworthy thought of giving up. 'Of course I have the energy. I'll have the energy till the day I die, but I've invested years of my life in building a haven here, and here I will remain among my friends as each day we grow older and each month some of us falter, and each year some of us die. That was the great adventure I entered into years ago and with which I am now content.'

She rose, said something about wishing him and Betsy well in their new home, then asked: 'Andy, would you allow me to say a prayer for both of us?'

'Please.'

'Dear God, Andy and I have been partners in striving to bring decency and order into this special place. We've had triumphs and disasters, moments of great joy and tragedy, but we have prospered. Please give us additional strength to continue to do Thy work in helping the lives of our friends wind down to a conclusion that Thou would approve of, he in his new obligation in Tennessee, I still in Florida.' As her final words passed like a whisper in the room, she took Andy's hands, drew him to her and gave him the kiss of Christian charity. Then she slapped him soundly on the shoulder and cried: 'Off with you. Your job here's been completed, handsomely,' and she started to leave, but at the door she turned and broke into a roguish chuckle: 'They tell me Clarence Hasslebrook has rented rooms in the village next to your new retirement center.' When Andy winced she added: 'He is a fool, but remember, he's also basically right. Life is sacred, and sometimes we need men like him to protect us old people.'

'But do they need to come in the likes of Hasslebrook?'

'God sometimes uses strange messengers to do His work. Tread softly,' and she raised her right hand to bestow blessings on Andy and his new ventures.

His next appointment was with Bedford Yancey, his genius rehabilitator, and when the lanky Georgian entered, Zorn went right to the point: 'Yancey, we need you in Tennessee. And you'll have so many advantages there. New buildings, a fine gymnasium, state-of-the-art exercise machines, and more money than you can make here. What do you say?'

'Like I said before, I can't do it, Dr. Zorn.'

'I still don't understand why,' Andy said, and he was shocked by the simplicity of the answer: 'Tennessee may be all you say, but it has one real fault.'

'What's that? Maybe we can correct it.'