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her Franklins and Jim Farleys & the like

  "They talk like avenging angels," Polly commented

as she dished out salmon salad onto paper plates," but I can't see that they are any different from any other politicians - same personal ambitions to be served, same apple-polishing, ^same collusion and all the rest of the armamentarium of power politics."

   "Oh no, Polly, it isn't as bad as all that.

It's just that if we weren't a little shrewd, shall we say, we wouldn't stay in power and therefore couldn't do any good."*

   "Well, you don't fool us.  B.Z, here's your

coffee - I'll put it here beside the log where you can reach it." Later, B.Z sangcrossed out: songs to us, old French or German songs, as the sun went down behind Islesboro and the Camden Hills.

   Whenever I have come across songbooks on

some neglected shelf, I have leafed through them hoping to find again the songs which were so beautiful in B.Z's contralto, as the glow faded from the sky and ^from the cold waters of Penobscot Bay