These stories are told in the words of Calliope Marsh. Wherever I have
myself intruded a word, it is with apology to her. I chronicle her
stories as faithfully as I am able, faults and all, and, through her,
the affairs of the village, reflecting in its small pool the people and
the stars.
And always I hear most clearly as her conclusion:
"Life is something other than that which we believe it to be."