How's your martini?" she asked. He nodded and brought the glass to his lips. The pale, near colorless liquid mirrored the hill across from the terrace. He drank the view. He could almost taste the spruce trees, the pond, the road down to the village as the whole prospect passed across his palate like a savory.

His wife had shrugged and sipped some wine and leaned forward to hug herself as if to give him more time in his reverie, but then, with a shift of feet, she returned to their conversation. "You have so much machinery already." Her voice was almost casual. "How did you know he wanted to sell it?"

"Little Sink called me. His father had asked him to call me. It's in first-class condition, you can be sure of that. After all it was Bink Card's own brush cutter, and he only used it to keep down the fence lines. And he serviced it himself. I really need it to keep down the brush from around these spruce trees." He gestured toward the hillside. "The slope is too steep for the tractor."