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“It’s the kind of trouble I like.” The boy twisted his nose at Clarey. “Sometime you can hide the reserved books for me.”

After the guests had gone, Clarey insisted on helping the women with the putting away. “Well, as long as Embelsira has a pair of brawny arms to help her,” the widow yawned, “I might as well be getting along to my pallet. I seem to get more and more tired these days—old age, I expect. One day I’ll be so tired I’ll never wake up and Embelsira’ll be alone and what’ll she do, poor thing? Who can live on a librarian’s salary? Now, on two librarians’ salaries—”

“Mother,” Embelsira interrupted furiously, “you go to bed!”

She did, hurriedly.

“Don’t worry, Embelsira,” Clarey said. “She will be weaving away for decades yet. Everybody says she’s the best weaver in the district,” he added, to change the subject.

“Yes,” Embelsira said as they gathered all the oddments the guests had left, “she’s been offered a lot of money to go work in Zrig. But she won’t leave Katund; she was born here, and so were her parents.”