by Catherine Maven   Miss Clara Jane Ferguson buttoned her white woolen sweater as she waited for the taxi-cab on the front step of the two-story white clapboard house that had been in her family for three generations.  She noticed that the paint around the windows was starting to crack, and made a mental note to telephone Mr. Jenkins, the village handyman.  Clara was proud her memory was still as sharp as ever.  She never needed to write anything down to remember such details. “Where to, ma’am?” asked the taxi-cab driver after he had helped her into the car. “Ancaster.  John Lloyd Stationers on Wilson Street East,” she replied primly.  It had been a while since she’d visited Ancaster, the nearest town to the village of Lynden where she lived, but she remembered quite clearly that the stationers carried Olivetti ribbons. The taxi driver couldn’t find it; Clara didn’t know the exact street address, but for goodness’ sake, there were only a d...