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had difficulty understanding why they needed their own postage stamps, either.
But apparently they insisted on maintaining certain ancient folkways even
though the world had passed beyond the epoch of independent and rival nations.
The two girls had finished growing up, too. Miss, who by all reports had
become strikingly beautiful, had married and moved to Southern California, and
then she had married again and moved to South America, and then had come word
of still another marriage and a new home in Australia. But now Miss was living
in New York City and had become a poet, and nothing was said about any further
new husbands. Andrew suspected that Miss's life had not turned out to be as
happy or rewarding as it should have been, and he regretted that. Still, he
reminded himself, he had no very clear understanding of what humans meant by
"happiness." Perhaps Miss had lived exactly the kind of life that she had
wanted to live. He hoped so, anyway.
As for Little Miss, she was now a slender, fine-boned woman with high
cheekbones and a look of great delicacy backed by extraordinary resilience.
Andrew had never heard anyone speak of her unusual beauty in his presence--
Miss was always said to be the beautiful sister, and Little Miss was praised
more for her forceful character than for her looks. To Andrew's taste golden-
haired Little Miss had always seemed far more beautiful than the soft and
overly curvy older sister; but his taste was only a robot's taste, after all,
and he never ventured to discuss matters of human appearance with anyone. It
was hardly an appropriate thing for a robot to do. In fact he had no right
even to an opinion in such areas, as he very well knew.
Little Miss had married a year or so after finishing college, and was living
not far away, just up the coast from the family estate. Her husband, Lloyd
Charney, was an architect who had grown up in the East but who was delighted
to make his home along the wild Northern California coast that his wife loved
so deeply.
Little Miss had also made it clear to her husband that she wanted to remain
close to her father's robot, Andrew, who had been her guardian and mentor
since the early years of her childhood. Perhaps Lloyd Charney was a little
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taken aback by that, but he raised no objection, and Little Miss remained a
frequent visitor at the imposing Martin mansion, which now was occupied only
by the aging Sir and the faithful Andrew.
In the fourth year of her marriage Little Miss gave birth to a boy who was
named George. He had sandy-looking reddish hair and huge solemn eyes.
Andrew called him Little Sir. When Little Miss brought the baby to visit his
grandfather, she would sometimes allow Andrew to hold him, to give him his
bottle, to pat him after he had eaten.
That was another source of great pleasure to Andrew, these visits from
Little Miss and Little Sir, and the occasions when he was permitted to care
for the child. Andrew was, after all, basically a household robot of the NDR
series, however gifted at woodworking he might be or how profitable his
business enterprise had become. Caring for children was one of the things he
had been particularly designed to do.
With the birth of a grandson who lived nearby, Andrew felt that Sir had
someone now to replace those who had gone. He had meant for a long while now
to approach Sir with an unusual request, but he had hesitated to do it until
this time. It was Little Miss--who had known for quite a while what it was
that Andrew had in mind--who urged him finally to speak out.
Sir was sitting by the fire in his massive high-winged chair, holding a
ponderous old book in his hands but all too obviously not reading it, when
Andrew appeared at the arched doorway of the great room.
"May I come in, Sir?"
"You know you don't need to ask that. This is your house as well as mine,
Andrew."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir."
The robot took a few steps forward. His metal treads made a quiet clicking
sound against the dark shining wood of the floor. Then he halted and waited,
silent. This was going to be very difficult, he knew. Sir had always been
something of a short-tempered man, but in his old age he had grown especially
volatile in his reactions.
And there were even certain First Law considerations that had to be taken into
account. Because what Andrew was planning to ask might very well upset Sir to
the point that it would cause harm to the old man.
"Well?" Sir demanded, after a while. "Don't just stand there, Andrew.
You've got a look on your face that tells me that you want to talk to me about
something."
"The look on my face does not ever change, Sir."
"Well, then, it's the way you're standing. You know what I mean.
Something's up. What is it, Andrew?"
Andrew said, "What I wish to say is--is--" He hesitated. Then he swung into
the speech he had prepared. "--Sir, you have never attempted to interfere in
any manner whatever with my way of handling the money I have earned. You have
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