"It's kind of a tight squeeze," Stirling laughed, folding his long legs inside the old treehouse. "How on earth did we ever fit?"

"We were a lot smaller then," Kit pointed out. "Don't go looking at me - I'm not the one that shot up to seven feet tall."

"I'll have you know I'm nowhere near seven feet tall - I'm a perfectly reasonable six-foot-two. Oof," Stirling grunted, shifting into a more comfortable position. "Then again, there were three of us."

"Ruthie's at Wellesley," Kit said, not quite managing to keep a small note of envy from her voice.

"Do you write to each other?"

"Sometimes," Kit said offhandedly. It didn't seem necessary to explain to Kit that the girls had somewhat grown apart as they'd aged. "This old treehouse has held up pretty well, hasn't it? Of course we mostly use it for storage, now. I keep thinking one of these days Dad and I'll take it apart for the lumber, but… somehow I haven't the heart to do it."

"Storage, huh?" Stirling looked around at the boxes draped with oilcloth. "You got anything interesting in here?"

"You might like this," Kit said, digging out a sheaf of papers. "'The Hard Times News' - I managed to save some of them."

"Look at this!" Stirling exclaimed. "Wow, we were so serious back then. I can't believe you even kept any of this stuff."

"Sure," Kit said bashfully. "I guess I just figured when you're a famous artist, it would be nice to have proof that I knew you, way back when."

"I'd say I'm well on my way with the Hitler Chicken," Stirling agreed in mock seriousness. "Hey, what's this? 'The Disappointed Princess,'" he read aloud.

Kit flushed. "Oh, that… that's nothing. Please?"

Stirling ignored her outstretched hand, turning towards the fading light in the treehouse's doorway to read the neatly typed pages. "This is really sweet, Kit. When did you write this? It must have been after I left."

Kit sighed. "Ruthie's sweet sixteen," she said finally. "It was my birthday gift to her." Kit's cheeks burned in remembered embarrassment: Ruthie's party had been an exercise in not fitting in, as far as Kit was concerned. She felt so shabby and second-rate next to all of Ruthie's new friends, all of whom had probably never picked tomatoes or fed Aunt Millie's chickens or worn a feedsack dress. And she'd been so proud of her gift, an original princess story written especially for Ruthie. She'd worked on it for weeks, using up sheets and sheets of her precious typing paper, only to have it look sadly homemade and second-rate next to the other gifts. Ruthie, of course, was cordial on receiving her gift but somehow, it got tossed aside. And at the end of the night, as Kit was leaving, she spied her story in the pile of waste paper bound for the dustbin. Kit never could decide if it was accidental or not. She'd hastily retrieved it and walked home quickly, willing the tears to hold back until she was safely ensconced in her attic bedroom.

"She must have loved it," Stirling was saying.

"Hm." Kit was noncommittal. "Like I was saying, it's just a bunch of old junk out here. We really should tear this place down before it falls down on its own."

"I'm glad I got to see it again, first," Stirling said. "Weren't we just a bunch of cut-ups back in the day? I can't believe we actually ended up in jail. In Kentucky, at that."

"I can't believe your mother didn't drop dead from shock when we told her," Kit agreed.

"I think those were some of the best years of my life," Stirling mused. "Living here - I mean, in the house, not out here. Everything was so strange, after my father left, and…"

"Did he ever turn up? I'm so sorry," she added hastily, "that's none of my business."

"He never did." Stirling's tone was noncommittal. "I honestly don't even know if he's alive or dead. You know, I spent so many years wondering, thinking what I would say to him when he came back - if he came back - and one day I realized it didn't matter. I became the man of the house the day he left. Everything we've done since then, we've done without his help."

"I like to think," Kit said solemnly, "that he'd be proud of you."

Stirling's smile flashed over his face like quicksilver, and suddenly the mood lifted. "Because of the Hitler Chicken."

Kit leaned back against the rough boards of the treehouse's wall and drew a deep breath. "Hey Stirling, there's something I should tell you."

Stirling fixed his gray eyes on her face. "What's that?"

"I'm engaged to be married."

If he was surprised, he hid it well. "I don't see a ring," Stirling remarked, inspecting her naked left hand.

Kit retrieved the chain from her blouse. "I never got used to wearing it on my hand," she admitted. The diamond chip glinted in the fading light.

"Congratulations, or is it best wishes? I never can remember what you're supposed to say to the bride." Stirling seemed perfectly genuine. "Who's the lucky guy?"

This was the moment Kit had been dreading. "Roger Fulton," she said quietly.

"Turkeypants?" Stirling spluttered. "You're marrying Turkeypants?"

"I know, I know," Kit said quickly. "I know he was… rather unpleasant when we were kids. But really - he's changed. He's a perfectly nice young man now."

"Is he?" Stirling's voice was ice.

"He is. People can change, Stirling, you know they can. We worked on the school paper together, and… and it just sort of grew from there. He joined the Navy the week after Pearl Harbor. Before he shipped out, he asked me if I'd marry him."

"I see."

"And I said yes, of course," Kit finished lamely.

"If you're happy," Stirling said finally, "then I'm happy for you. Truly I am. When's the happy occasion?"

"I told Roger I couldn't possibly think of being married until the war ends," Kit explained, "whenever that may be. My work at the paper is far too interesting for me to settle into domesticity a moment sooner than I must."

Something like hope crossed Stirling's face, but only for a second. "Then I hope, for your sake, that the war ends soon."

"For all our sakes," Kit corrected.

"It's getting dark, I'd better go." Stirling began uncoiling his lanky body. "Thanks so much for inviting me - I've missed your mother's cooking."

"You should come again sometime," Kit said automatically. "Mother's right - you're way too skinny. We need to fatten you up."

"I might just do that." Stirling paused in the doorway of the treehouse, and looked at her as if seeing her through new eyes. "Don't be a stranger, Kit Kittredge."