Judy arrived atthe park on time and shortly afterwards saw the petit Carol walking along thepath towards her. For a few moments she just stood there, ready to turn onher heels and walk away and probably would have if Carol had not called out, "Kate?" Judylooked around, but no one else turned their heads. "Kate," Carolcalled again. There was no escape now. Carol gave her a hug. "I guessedit was you from your description and the way you looked startled and frightenedwhen I called," Carol went on, "Look, its not a very nice day tosit and talk outside, let's go to Molly's Tea Room and grab a coffee. We cantalk there." For a while they talked of inconsequential things, just getting to know eachother but soon their conversation was interrupted by an influx of customerstwo of whom were girls she knew from school. "Hi Judy, may we join you?" Emmaasked, "Haven't seen you in here before. Who's your friend?" Blushing,Judy introduced Carol as a penfriend she'd just met, which wasn't far fromthe. It was a tough read for a twelve-year-old, even one that was a little precocious, but it was clear to her early on that the Walden Pond of the 1840s had little to do with the Walden Pond of 1970. She was sad about it, in a way, but wasn't sure why.She read the book again when she was fifteen; read it carefully, more comprehending, now. Several times in the summer of her fifteenth year, she rode her bicycle over to Walden Pond, not to go swimming, though that was what she told her mother, but to walk where Thoreau had walked, sit where he sat, and try to feel what he must have felt, but the best she could manage was a sickness at thinking what Thoreau would have thought if he were to rouse from his grave of over a century. Old Henry wouldn't be very happy, she realized; things had changed a lot, and changed for the worse, and from that realization came a determination to try and do something about it.Her father's prophecy didn't come true until the spring of her twenty-first year, when.
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