The gentle hills of Massachusetts warm themselves in the eastern noon light, and the river winding its way through the town of Chedbury once again sheds its skin of ice, and the first robins are sunning themselves on the ancient iron cannon in the middle of Chedbury town square. Across the street, the churchgoers in their Easter best, are straggling from the big white building with the graceful steeple. As Edward Haslet lingers on the steps, his eyes go to a slab of grey granite which is set into the foundation of the building. He knows by heart the words inscribed there, from when it was placed thirty years earlier...