He was standing by the fence that separates our property from Norton's and looking down our driveway. The driveway runs a quarter of a mile to a camp road which, in its turn, runs about three-quarters of mile to a stretch of two-lane blacktop, called Kansas Road. From Kansas Road you can go anywhere you want, as long as it's Bridgton.

I saw what Billy was looking at and my heart went cold.

«Don't go any closer, champ. Right there is close enough.»

Billy didn't argue.

The morning was bright and as clear as a bell. The sky, which had been a mushy, hazy color during the heat wave, had regained a deep, crisp blue that was nearly autumnal. There was a light breeze, making cheerful sun-dapples move back and forth in the driveway. Not far from where Billy was standing there was a steady hissing noise, and in the grass there was what you might at first have taken for a writhing bundle of snakes. The power lines leading to our house had fallen in an untidy tangle about twenty feet away and lay in a burned patch of grass. They were twisting lazily and spitting. If the trees and grass hadn't been so completely damped down by the torrential rains, the house might have gone up. As it was, there was only that black patch where the wires had touched directly.

«Could that lectercute a person, Daddy?»

«Yeah. It could.»

«What are we going to do about it?»

«Nothing. Wait for the CMP.»

«When will they come?»

«I don't know.» Five-year-olds have as many questions as Hallmark has cards. «I imagine they're pretty busy this morning. Want to take a walk up to the end of the driveway with me?»

He started to come and then stopped, eyeing the wires nervously. One of them humped up and turned over lazily, as if beckoning.

«Daddy, can lectricity shoot through the ground?»

A fair question. «Yes, but don't worry. Electricity wants the ground, not you, Billy. You'll be all right if you stay away from the wires.»