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"If I find some on the roses can I kill 'em all?"

Puzzling the way Bart needed to kill all insects. Once I'd caught him pulling off a spider's legs one by one before he squashed it between his thumb and forefinger. Then the black blood held his interest. "Do bugs feel pain?"

"Yeah," I said, "but don't let it worry you. Sooner or later you'll feel pain too. So don't cry. It was only a fuzzy worm, not a fairy king or queen. Let's go home now." I was feeling sorry for him because I knew he was sensitive about not being able to feel pain like I did, though gosh knows he should be glad.

"NO! Don't wanna go home! Want to see inside that house next door."

Just then Emma came out to ring her dinner bell, making us scamper home quickly.

Next day we were right back on the wall. The movers had finished up after we'd gone to bed. No more trucks coming and going. I'd spent most of my morning and early afternoon in Mom's ballet class, while Bart stayed home and played alone. And summer days were long. He smiled, happy to have me with him again. "Ready?" I asked.

"Ready!" he agreed. Having decided on our course of action earlier, we slipped over the wall and down to the other side by climbing down a sapling tree. It was ground we'd been forbidden to step on, but rightly or wrongly it was ground we considered ours,

for it had belonged to us first. Like two shadows freed, we slithered along. Bart looked at the shrubs that had been trimmed into shapes of animals! How weird. A strutting rooster beside a fat hen on a nest. Neat, really neat. Who would have guessed that old Mexican man was so clever with those snippers?

"Don't like shrubs that look like animals," complained Bart. "Don't like green eyes. Green eyes are mean eyes. Jory--they're watchin us!"

"Sssh, don't whisper. Watch where you put your feet. Step only where I step." I glanced over my shoulder to see that the sky had changed to a dark plum color streaked with crimson that looked like freshly spilled blood. Soon night would descend, and the moon wasn't always a friendly face.

"Jory," came Bart's whisper as he tugged on my shirttail, "didn't Momma tell us to be home by dark?"

"It's not dark yet." But almost. The creamy white of the mansion in daylight was bluish white in the dusk and scary looking.

"Don't like bony-lookin ole house made to look like new."

Bart and his ideas.

"Sure must be time to be gettin home now."

I resisted his tugs. Since we'd come this far we might as well go all the way. I put my finger to my lips, whispered "Stay where you are," and by myself stole to the only window that was bright in a huge house of many windows.

Instead of staying where I'd told him to, Bart followed at my heels. Again I cautioned him, then I climbed a small oak tree just strong enough to bear my weight. I climbed high enough to peek into the house. At first I couldn't see anything but a huge dim room cluttered with cartons as yet unpacked. A tall and fat lamp blocked my view, and I had to lean away from the tree to see around it. Fuzzily I could make out a black-robed figure seated in a hard wooden rocker that looked very uncomfortable, after the soft, luxurious couches and chairs I'd seen carried inside. Was that a woman under the black veil?--the same one I'd seen outside?

Arab men wore dresses, so that could be the feeble butler, but then I saw a pale, slim hand with many sparkling rings and I knew it was the mistress of this manor. Shifting my weight, I sought a better viewing position, and, as I did, the branch supporting my weight cracked. The woman inside lifted her head and stared my way.

Her eyes were wide and frightened looking. I told myself that people in a bright room couldn't look out into darkness and see. My heart throbbed in triple time as I held my breath. Little winged night insects buzzed around my head and began to nibble on my skin.

Below me Bart was growing impatient. He shook my frail tree. I tried to hang on and at the same time signal to Bart to stop. Fortunately, at that moment a maid opened the door and came in with a large silver tray laden with many covered dishes

"Hurry up!" grouched scaredy-cat. "I want to go home!"

What was he afraid of? 1 was the one about to fall from the tree. The clatter of the dishes and silverware being taken from the tray and placed on a small table covered the noise Bart was making. No sooner was that maid out of the room than the veiled woman lifted her hands to take off the veil.

She began to eat. All alone, she picked at her food. Just when I felt sure she hadn't heard any noise to warn her someone was spying--the weak branch of my tree made a splitting sound.

She turned her head. Now was my chance to see her without the black veil. I saw her. Really saw her! But I didn't really see her nose, her lips, her eyes; I saw only the jagged rows of scars on each side of her face. Had a cat scratched her and made those scars? I felt suddenly sorry for an old woman who had to sit alone at a table without enough appetite to enjoy anything. It didn't seem fair to live such a lonely, unloved life. Not fair either for fate to show me how age could steal the beauty of someone who might have been just as lovely as my mother--once.

"Jory . . ?"

"Sssh . . ."

She kept on staring, then quickly lowered the veil over her face. "Who's out there?" she called. "Go away, whoever you are! If you don't, I'll call the police!"

That did it. I jumped to the ground, seized Bart by his hand and took off. He stumbed and fell, holding me back as usual. I jerked him upright and ran on, forcing him to run faster than he could have without my help. He gasped, "Jory! Not so fast! What did you see? Quick, tell me--was it a ghost?"

Worse than that. I'd seen how my mother might look thirty years from now, if she lived long enough to be ravaged by time.

"Where've you two been?" Mom blocked our way as we tried to slip into the bathroom to wash up before she had a chance to notice our disheveled clothes.