cream. Blodwen, his wife, an immense jolly woman with a strong Welsh accent, served them. Though animals were
not usually allowed inside, she was charmed by the big black Labrador, who looked very meek and offered his paw.
Mrs. Evans lifted the edge of the tablecloth. "Ooh look you now, there's a lovely dog, he is. Sit him under the table
now. Indeed to goodness, who'd be keepin' a fine dog like him outside with no ice cream!"
As Ned tucked into his ice cream, which came on a tin plate, Ben tuned in to the dog's thoughts. "Delicious,
wonderful stuff. Just the thing after a hard morning's shopping!" Ben put his feet on the dog's back as he answered.
"You great furry fraud!"
Ben pulled aside the lace curtain. From where he was sitting he could see an ancient, rambling, one-story
building at the square's northwest corner. It was a jumble of wattle and daub, stonewalling and patches of worn brick,
with crumbling mortar, makeshift repairs against the ravages of time. The faded roof of thatch sat on it like a badly
fitted wig with a raggedy fringe. A large bump sticking up in the center of the roof gave it an odd, rather comical
aspect. The whole thing was fronted by an overgrown patch of greenery and a rickety fence, partially broken by
bushes growing through it. Sunlight shading through high hawthorns lent it an air of picturesque dilapidation. He
pointed with his spoon.
"Is that the place they call the almshouse?"
Alex looked up from his ice cream. "Yes, but you'd best stay away from it, Ben. The mad professor lives there!"
Ben laughed, as if the other boy was joking. "Haha, mad professor?"
Amy backed her brother's statement up. She whispered, "It's true, Ben, a mad professor does live in the
almshouse. He doesn't like people and he seldom comes out—even Wilf Smithers and the Grange Gang don't go near
there. They say he has a double-barreled shotgun and he's not afraid to use it. Alex is right, keep away from the
almshouse!"
From her side of the table Amy could see Mr. Mackay's office. "Look, Ben." She pointed. "There's Miz Winn
coming out of the lawyer's office. I wonder what she was doing in there?"
Even from a distance it was plain to see that the old lady's dander was up. Mr. Mackay, a small, dapper lawyer,
was standing between Mrs. Winn, Obadiah Smithers, and Maud Bowe, anxiously trying to prevent trouble. He was
not having much success. The old lady, her chin thrust forward pugnaciously, was wagging a finger at Smithers and
Bowe, evidently giving them a piece of her mind. Several times the pair tried to walk away, but she confronted them,
not giving up until she had said what she wanted. It was Mrs. Winn who finished the argument as well. She stamped
her foot and marched off, leaving her foes dumbfounded. Mr. Mackay scuttled back into his office, glad to have all
three away from his premises before they attracted too much notice.
Amy nodded admiringly. "Here she comes, good old Winnie. Oh, Ben. I wish there were more folk in
Chapelvale like her. She won't give up without a fight!"
The blue-eyed lad licked the last of his ice cream from the spoon. "Who knows, maybe there are, once they get
stirred up enough to do something about their problems."
Mrs. Winn's black-button boots clicked sharply on the floor as she marched into Evans Tea Shoppe. Her cheeks
were quite pink and she was obviously irate. She rapped twice on the counter. "A pot of Ceylon tea and a hot buttered
scone, if you please, Blodwen!"
Blodwen gave her a cheery nod. "Indeed to goodness, Winnie Winn, there's bothered you look. Sit you down,
dearie, I'll bring them right to you!"
Amy moved swiftly to make room as Mrs. Winn came to sit at the table. She blew out a long breath, took a
small mirror from her bag, and began primping the hair that wisped out either side of her navy blue straw boater hat.
Her order arrived swiftly; she poured a cup of tea, took three good sips, and tried to compose herself. Then she spoke.
"Well! The very nerve of that Smithers and that young snippet with the dreadful London accent!"
Ben felt like smiling at her indignation, but he put on a serious face. "Did they upset you, Miz Winn?"
She drew herself up and took another sip of tea. "Upset me? Certainly not! I wouldn't lower my standards and
allow myself to be upset by the likes of them. Do you know, they made me a cash offer for my home and the
almshouse? A piffling sum! When they saw I was not impressed, they doubled the offer. Hmph! I told them they
could quadruple their paltry money, it still wouldn't budge me an inch!
"Then Smithers said he had taken legal advice, he said that if I still refused their offer after his scheme was
under way, he could have me forcibly put out of my home and he could take possession of the almshouse without
further permission!"
Blodwen Evans had been lingering nearby, eavesdropping, as she usually did on any good village gossip. She
moved in to collect the empty ice cream dishes. "And what did Mackay have to say about that, Winnie?"
The old lady seemed to deflate, her voice dropped to a murmur. "He said Smithers and his friends had the law
on their side. That unless I can prove valid ownership and proper legal documents I haven't a leg to stand on."
Blodwen Evans gestured with a thumb to where her husband was at work in the back of the shop. "Aye,
Smithers made my Dai a miserable offer as well, but what can we do, we ain't got the money to fight him. My Dai
says we'll prob'ly have to take the offer for the teashop an' move back to Wales. Still, that may not be. I've talked to a
lot of folk. There's Pettigrew the newsagent, Riley the ironmonger, Mrs. White from the sweetshop, and Mr.
Stansfield the butcher. They say it can't happen, you know. Look you, even Smithers can't demolish a whole village
just for some old limestone!"
Ben interrupted her. "He can, Mrs. Evans, and he will, unless something is done to stop him."
Any further conversation was cut short by loud banging on the wall from the alley outside. A row of
willow-pattern plates standing on edge upon a shelf began to tremble and clatter under the pounding vibration from
the outside of the wall. Mr. Dai Evans came running out into the shop, wiping flour from his hands and untying his
baking apron.
As his wife hurried to steady the plates, she called to him. "It's that young Smithers an' his gang again, Dai!"
He dashed outside. Amy was about to rise when Ben stopped her. "Wait a moment, let's listen."
From outside Dai Evans could be heard shouting. "I know it's you, Wilf Smithers, no use leanin' against that
wall, lookin' as if butter wouldn't melt in your mouth. Go on, be off with the lot of you!"
Wilf Smithers's voice sounded out impudently. "It wasn't us! We've got as much right to lean against this wall
as anyone. Why blame us?"
Mr. Evans's voice shook with temper. "I know it was you lot. If you're not gone from here in two ticks, I'll call
the constable!" Dai walked back into the shop, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, shaking his head and
muttering. "I tell you, Blodwen. They'll have us out of here one way or the other. I'll be glad to get back to Wales,
look you!"
Blodwen set the last plate straight and was just moving back to the counter when the wall shook in time with the
chanting of the Grange Gang outside.
"Dai diddly eye dai.. . Dai Dai!"
She had to hurry to get back to her plates. Dai Evans grabbed a metal hooked pole he kept for pulling down the
shade blinds. "Right, that's it, boyo, I've 'ad enough!"