Winslowe

Stories that no one, not even Winslowe, would pass on to him.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

He chuckled inwardly, thinking how, in listening to Winslowe, he had grown to be an expert in the judging of artistic wood.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

But there was one thing the aliens could not provide-the human contacts he'd maintained through Winslowe and the mail.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

He rose and walked to the desk and picked up the statuette Winslowe had carved of him.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

He set the statuette back on the desk and remembered that he had not given Winslowe the piece of wood the Thuban traveler had brought.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

Winslowe interrupted him, gasping in his eagerness to tell all his information.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

"You get a lot of stuff," said Winslowe, "but hardly ever letters."

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

That was all of Earth he had, old Winslowe and the shadow people and the homestead acres that lay outside the house-but not the house itself, for the house was alien now.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

Winslowe took a slow step closer, his gaze riveted on the glow of the shielded Talisman.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963

Winslowe, he knew, must have wondered many times where the wood came from and how his friend could have gotten it.

Way Station Simak, Clifford D., 1904- 1963