Short Story THE VISITORS by ROWLEY HABIB They came to the door in the afternoon when the children's brother Paul was out on the farm fixing a part of the fence. They were all dressed in black and the woman had a black handkerchief tied over her hair and when her eyes lighted on the children her face drooped and she turned her head to one side and said, “Oh, don't they look so like William.” “This is your Auntie and Uncle,” their Uncle Ben said. “We've just come to look the old place over.” He was smiling with his hands clasped in front of him and standing very straight. Then he moved a little to one side and said to the woman: “Joyce, this is the little girl I was telling you about. William called her after you, you know. She's the one I think looks very like William.” The woman came across the room and looked down at the little girl. “Oh, yes,” she said. “Those eyes are just like William's. I think he did write and tell me about her.” She bent over and kissed the girl and her lips were warm and dry and soft. “The poor things,” she said looking at the heads of the children after she had kissed them all. “It's a shame to be left without a mother and father.” “Yes,” the children's Uncle Ben said. “I know you would like to help them Joyce, but there isn't much we can do about it you know.” Then to the children: “Your Auntie and Uncle were just passing through and we thought we'd come down and see the old place. I used to stay here once myself, you know.” The girl Joyce said, “Paul is over fixing the farm fence. We could go and get him if you want.” “No, it will be alright,” her Uncle Ben put in quickly. “I think I know the old place well enough to look around.” The last part was said with a chuckle looking at the other two. They looked down at the floor and then up and the other man rubbed his nose with his finger and they chuckled a little too. The visitors went into the passageway and they moved slowly down towards the sitting room looking about at the walls and up at the ceiling. They were talking in lowered tones and the children's Uncle Ben kept leaning sideways and talking into the sides of the others faces. The other two kept nodding their heads all the while he spoke, not looking at him but straight ahead. The woman was big and the black fur coat she wore made her look bigger and bulky. She had a deep liquid voice and a habit of turning her head on one side when she spoke laying it on her shoulder and then raising her eyebrows. Her face was strong and her eyes wide and beautiful and the handkerchief around her head bulged with the mass of black hair beneath it. The children stood in the kitchen a little awed, huddled in a group around the stove. They were very quiet, looking at one another and then watching about at the wal's up at the ceiling. They hear their relations moving about in the passageway and looking into the rooms, talking in lowered tones. “Our father and I put this in,” they heard their