ishead.Ihaveseenhimbefore.Theyattackasone,wtogether,thisonectheboyshroat,aakingoutthelegs,athirdpinningtheboysarmsbehindhisback.Frombeyondthecloseddoor,amansvoice:"Wasistlos?"Athumpingknodthedoorswingsopehresholdframesalargemanwitheouswhiskers."Gustav?"Thefathercriesoutasseveralhobgoblinsrushtorestrainhimwhiletheotherstakehisson."Icherkennedich!DuwillstnurmeinenSohn!"

    Icouldstillfeeltheaheireyes,thepassionoftheirattack.Whereismyfather?Avoicepiercesthedream,calling"Henry,Henry,"andIawakentoadamppillowcaseandtwistedsheets.Stiflingayawn,IyelleddownstairsthatIwastiredandthatthishadbetterbegood.Mymothershoutedbackthroughthedoorthattherewasatelephonecallandthatshewasnotmysecretary.Ithrewonmybathrobeandheadeddownstairs.

    "ThisisHenryDay,"Igruothereceiver.

    Shelaughed."Hi,Henry.ThisisTessWodehouse.Isawyououtinthewoods."

    Shecouldnotimagihereasonsformyawkwardsilence.

    "Whenwefoundtheboy.Thefirstone.Iwaswiththeambulance."

    &quht,theess,Tess,howareyou?"

    "JimmyCummingssaidtogiveyouacall.Wouldyouliketomeetsomewherelater?"

    Wearraomeetafterhershift,andshehadmewritedowionstoherhouse.Atthebottomofthepage,Idoodledthename:Gustav.

    Sheahedoorandsteppedstraightouttotheporch,theafternoonsunlightstipplingacrossherfadyellowsundress.Outoftheshadows,shedazzled.Allatoseemsirospect,sherevealedwhatIgrewtoadore:theasymmetricalmottlingofthecolorsinheririses,abluevein