Val joined them again, breathless from the chase. Ethan had paused absent-mindedly near the corner of the wooden L, where the weather-boarding was hanging loose. It wasn't in the best taste, Val felt, that he should stare so at that strip of rotten wood, that refused any longer to hold the rusty nails. She longed to touch his arm, to rouse him.
"All this needs renewing," admitted John Gano, as though in answer to a verbal observation.
"A—yes," said Ethan, and they went on.
It was odd how the unsparing sunshine and a new pair of eyes in the party revealed the wide-spread dilapidation of the place to its old inhabitants. Val had hardly noticed it before.
John Gano picked up a blackened, weather-worn shingle off the grass.
"The equinox brought down a fresh crop of these," he said, tossing the old shingle into the wood-shed.
"Comes off the L, I suppose," said Ethan.
"No, the main roof."
"Doesn't it leak, then?"
"A little," answered his uncle, cheerfully.