ation.Fromthetopoftheridge,wewatchedallhisroomslightupinsequeillthewindowsglowedlikerowsofjack-o-lanterns.Adogbegantoyowlmadlyinthemiddleofthevillage,aookthatasasigreathome.Thegroundchilledourbarefeet,but,exhilaratedasimps,weescapedourtreasures,laughinguhecoldstars.

    Atthetopoftheridgeline,Luchógstoppedtosmokeoneofhispurloinedcigarettes,andIlookedbaelasttimeattheorderedvillagewhereourhomeusedtobe.Thisistheplacewhereithadallhappened—areachforwildhoneyhighinatree,astretchofroadwaywherethecarstruckadeer,aclearingwhereIfirstopenedmyeyesandsawelevendarkchildren.Butsomeonehaderasedallthat,likeawordoraline,andinthatspacewroteanothersenteheneighborhoodofhousesappearedtohaveexistedinthisspacefes.Itmadeonedoubtonesownstory.

    "Thatmanbackthere,"Isaid,"thesleepingone.Heremindedmeofsomeone."

    "Theyalllookaliketome,"Luchógsaid."SomeoneIknow.Orknew."

    "Coulditbey-lostbrother?"

    "Ihaventone."

    "Perhapsamanwhowroteabookyoureadinthelibrary?"

    "Idonotknowwhattheylooklike."

    "Perhapsthemanwhowrotethatbookyoucarryfromplacetoplace?"

    "No,notMes.IdonotknowMes."

    "Amanfromamagazine?Aphotographintheneer?"

    "SomeoneIknew."

    "Coulditbethefireman?Themanyousawatthecreek?"Hepuffedonhiscigaretteandblewsmokelikeanoldsteamengine.

    "Ithoughtitmightbemyfather,butthattberight.Therewasthatstrangewomanan