But in the back of his mind--even as Bowen began speaking again--Joe felt the beginnings of an idea, a decision that formed and grew and flooded into his whole being with the exhilaration of a drug! Even as Bowen began speaking, Joe knew what he was going to do--what he _had_ to do-- * * * * * The yellow convertible swung up over a shoulder and down the winding dirt road into a narrow valley. Ahead lay a small lake. "Your summer cabin's on the south shore, you say?" Joe asked, tooling the big car down into the cool, tree-shaded lowland. Bowen nodded, beside him. "I still think you ought to let me put my oxygen torch to that thing." Joe grinned and slowed the car, whipping it off the road into a small clearing. A small, weatherbeaten cabin stood back among the pines. Beyond the clearing was the sandy shore and the lake. "There's our cabin," Barbara acknowledged, as Joe headed the car toward it. He parked under the trees and they got out. He carried the bright globe under his arm. "Well," Bowen said, facing him, "We're here, now. What is it you plan to do, Joe?" Joe nodded toward the clearing. "I think I'd better do it out there," he said. "It's wonderful up here on weekends," Barbara remarked, matching stride with them as they started toward the clearing. She was wearing brief shorts and a sweater, with a bright kerchief tied around her head. "There's swimming and fishing and no one to bother us. Father's always wished he could build a home up here--" Joe stopped, turning to her father. "Have you?" Bowen nodded, frowning. "Always wanted a quiet, little place for the day I retire--" "Just a minute, then!" Joe faced back toward the cabin and steadied the robot. Deftly, he began typing: SMALL HOUSE FROM CABIN FOR MR. BOWEN, ALL CONVENIENCES, FURNISHED. There was the blue glow and faint click from the globe--then, a thunderous crash from the trees! A strong gust of wind whipped waves across the mirror-surface of the lake. It was a small, white stucco house, with a low, rock wall extending around a garden in front. Bright flowers bloomed in the garden, vines climbed the trellises at the little windows. The roof was bright red tile. Bowen stared back at it, his face tight, his gray eyes misting. "There," Joe said kindly. "That should fix you up." "I--I didn't ask for it!" Bowen protested stubbornly. "I didn't earn it!" "Oh, but you will!" Joe grinned brightly. "You're going to earn it by not telling anyone about what I'm going to do out here!" Chuckling softly, he turned and trudged on out toward the clearing. Barbara caught up with him and tugged at his arm. "Joe," she pleaded. "Please, Joe! Don't do anything you'll be sorry for--" Then they stopped at the clearing's edge. Joe cradled the robot on his arm, touched his fingers to the keyboard--and paused, silent for a moment. "I'll never be sorry for doing this!" he said, finally, and began typing. * * * * *