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The other day Roy Price went“home”to his sister’s house．It’s her home now; and it’s also the house he was born in, Pat, his sister, kissed him and said, “You haven’t changed much, Roy．Let me see, now–when did we meet last?”
“Thirty years ago,”he answered．“I came here for a week, do you remember?And I was right thirty then．”He added, “You’ve changed very little．”But it wasn’t true．Pat looked like an old lady．
The next morning Roy walked through the small town alone．The place looked very different．There were lots of traffic signs beside the roads．There was a new car park, a new post office, a new…．He remembered suddenly that the bus used to stop anywhere：you just put up your hand and it stopped．One surprise followed another．But Roy’s biggest surprise was the people．He didn’t recognize(認(rèn)識(shí)) anybody at all．He thought perhaps everyone here seemed old．He went into the post office and bought some stamps．“Where are all the children and young people?”he asked the postmaster．The old fellow looked up and answered, “Children?They’re in school, of course．”
At lunch Pat said, “The town looks nice, doesn’t it?”
“It’s all different, Pat．It used to be an exciting place, but now it’s full of old people．I don’t understand…”
“There are a few newcomers, but the ones we knew are still here．You’re not young yourself, Roy, are you?”
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