Mr. Summers consulted his list. “Clyde Dunbar.”he said. “That’s right. He’s broke his leg, hasn’t he? Who’s drawing for him?”“Me.I guess,”a woman said. AndMr. Summers turned to look at her. “Wife draws for her husband.”Mr. Summers said. “Don’t you have a grown boy to do it for you, Janey?”Although Mr. Summers and everyone else in the village knew the answer perfectly well, it was the business of the official of the lottery to ask such questions formally. Mr. Summers waited with an expression of polite interest while Mrs. Dunbar answered.“Horace’s not but sixteen vet.”Mrs. Dunbar said regretfully. “Guess I gotta fill in for theold man this year.”

Invoices just loud enough to be heard across the crowd, “Here comes your, Missus, Hutchinson,”and “Bill, she made it after all.”Mrs. Hutchinson reached her husband, and Mr. Summers, who had been waiting, said cheerfully. “Thought we were going to have to get on without you, Tessie.”Mrs. Hutchinson said. Grinning, “Wouldn’t have me leave m’dishes in the sink, now, would you. Joe?,”and soft laughter ran through the crowd as the people stirred back into position after Mrs. Hutchinson’s arrival.

“Thought my old man was out back stacking wood,”Mrs. Hutchinson went on. “Andthen I looked out the window and the kids was gone, and then I remembered it was the twentyseventh and came a-running.”She dried her hands on her apron, and Mrs. Delacroix said, “You’re in time, though. They’re still talking away up there.”

There wasa great deal of fussing to be done before Mr. Summers declared the lottery open. There were the lists to make up—of heads of families. Headsof households in each family. Membersof each household in each family.There was the proper swearing-in of Mr. Summers by the postmaster, as the official of the lottery; at one time, some people remembered, there had been a recital of some sort, performed by the official of the lottery, a perfunctory.

The night before the lottery, Mr. Summers and Mr. Graves made up the slips of paper and put them in the box, and it was then taken to the safe of Mr. Summers’coal company and locked up until Mr. Summers was ready to take it to the square next morning.

The lottery was conducted—as were the square dances, the teen club, and the Halloween program—by Mr. Summers. Who had time and energy to devote to civic activities?He was a round-faced, jovial man and he ran the coal business, and people were sorry for him. Because he had no children and his wife was a scold. When he arrived in the square, carrying the black wooden box, there was a murmur of conversation among the villagers, and he waved and called.

School was recently over for the summer, and the feeling of liberty sat uneasily on most of them; they tended to gather together quietly for a while before they broke into boisterous play. And their talk was still of the classroom and the teacher, of books and reprimands. Bobby Martin had already stuffed his pockets full of stones, and the other boys soon followed his example, selecting the smoothest and roundest stones; Bobby and Harry Jones and Dickie Delacroix—the villagers pronounced this name “Dellacroy”—eventually made a great pile of stones in one corner of the square and guarded it against the raids of the other boys

THEmorning of June 27th was clear and sunny, with the fresh warmth of a full-summer day; the flowers were blossoming profusely and the grass was richly green.