“It’s a good day for putting things back where they belong,” I said.

Sophie smiled and put the hammer back in the canvas bag.

“What about Dad’s old tackle box from the attic?” she asked.

“I brought it along,” I said.

“It’s on the back seat of the car.”

We went down the gravel path to the blue sedan.

I opened the back door and hoisted out Daniel’s heavy leather tackle box.

The brass corner brackets were dark with age, but the leather handle was still strong and whole.