One of my daily walks took me past an old barn. The door was usually open, summer and winter, and there was a workbench inside where an elderly gentleman in overalls was working with hand tools rather than power tools. This in itself was wonderfully old- fashioned, and I always wondered what he was doing there, busy every day. I should have walked up to the barn and asked, but I was embarrassed to do it because he seemed so absorbed in his task, and I left it too late. One day he was gone, and the barn stood empty, or so I thought.