And at the same moment, albeit on Prince Edward Island, Nova Scotia, in 2038, she noticed something twinkle in the grass at her feet, just yards from the old First Nations' totem pole which still stood guard, a brooding sentinel over the People's Sacred Burial Ground; probably just a fragment of potsherd pushed up by the peat beneath her feet, yet for some instinctive reason, she squatted down and dug her fingers through the grass and pulled it up; just a bit of old bottle-glass, but then she saw the thing over which the glass had been superjacent, and it was much better: a gold coin, still bright from the Mint, oojah-cum-spiff this one! she turned it over and over in her hand, trying to read the inscription, but it was in a difficult language, of which she was ignorant, then the date! she half stood, staggered backwards and came down on a tuffet, every bit as comfortable as any Eastern potentate's gaddi and looked again; no, it was still the same, still impossible! in recognizable numerals: 2084 which she reckoned was something like 46 years in the future; she heard a cry, of irritation, not pain, and then saw the grass and soil where she had reached for the coin ripple and move just as it had when her own fingers had sought it; she could visualise the unseen hand, the invisible fingers, and one even dug deeper and pulled a small sod free, flinging it away to the right, as a voice from nowhere cried out, tattle or rebuff, she couldn't tell: "but it was here, I saw it, someone's stolen it!" rejoined by another, from further off, calling the first speaker away and then the voices seemed to walk seaward and vanish, fading in the sough of the wind, but she got to her feet and ran past the totem pole and pell-mell towards her home, howling, for she had recognised the voice as her own, a lot older, but still hers and the other voice had even used her name, Peggy!