Keeper of the Doves by Betsy Byars Page A

so he lay on his side, motionless except for his eyes, which rolled around, taking in everything. Without lifting his head, he could keep watch on the whole world.
    I started over. “Chin . . . nose . . . eyebrow . . .”
    I paused to glance from one twin to the other. Eyebrows, too, were sometimes disputed.
    Neither twin answered. They were looking to the back of the house.
    â€œEar . . . neck . . . knee. . . . paw . . . toe . . . toenail.”
    I was just getting to “back,” which always caused Scout’s leg to jiggle with pleasure, when a low rumbling sound came from the dog.
    I drew my hand back in alarm.
    â€œHe’s growling at old man Tominski,” a Bella said. “He doesn’t like old man Tominski, and we don’t either.”
    â€œI don’t either,” I said quickly, even though this was the first time I had ever heard the name.
    â€œHe spies on us.”
    â€œHe wants to catch us, like that.” The Bella’s small hands curled into claws.
    â€œYes, like that.”
    Now the other Bella’s hands formed identical weapons. With four hands reaching for me, I knew the first real fear of my life. I stepped back
    â€œAnd let me tell you something,” she said, as if she were Aunt Pauline, who was always stern with us.
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œWhen Scout growls, you better run.”
    â€œWhen Scout growls at somebody, there’s something bad about that person.”
    â€œSomething really, really bad.”
    I looked toward the barn, but there was no one there. “I don’t see him,” I said.
    â€œYou never see him, but he’s there.”
    â€œYes, he’s there and he sees you!”
    â€œBut he’s all gone,” I said, hoping it was true.
    â€œFor now,” the Bellas said in unison. They often spoke the same thought at the same time, as if their minds were connected.
    Although I had not seen Mr. Tominski—and would not actually see him for several years—my dread of him had begun.

chapter three
    Children!
    â€œC hildren! Do not make faces behind my back!”
    Aunt Pauline said this to the twins. I stood with my mouth open in amazement. How did Aunt Pauline see what they were doing? Our maid, Frances, had said, “That woman has eyes in the back of her head,” but I had never been able to see them.
    â€œChildren, that’s better.” Aunt Pauline always said children as if the word itself was distasteful. Still she had not turned around.
    Aunt Pauline was my father’s sister who lived with us. She was officially in charge of the children. We had had nurses when we were infants, but as soon as we were considered girls, the kindly nurses disappeared and the unkindly Aunt Pauline took over.
    On this day I had followed Aunt Pauline quickly from the dining room. At lunch she had made a comment about Mr. Tominski, and I wanted to ask her what she had said.
    I had still never caught sight of the elusive Mr. Tominski, but he was always a dark shadow at the edge of my mind, just as he was at the edge of our lives.
    I broke in with, “What did you say about Mr. Tominski, Aunt Pauline?”
    â€œShe said he was lurking around Frederick’s memorial garden,” a Bella said.
    â€œWhat’s ‘lurking’?” I asked.
    â€œLike this.” The twins did a sinister turn around the room, hiding behind chairs and peering out.
    This caused Aunt Pauline’s frown to deepen. When she frowned, her nose got longer. Now it almost touched her lip.
    â€œI also said that your father didn’t need to visit the man every day and that Cook didn’t need to take him meals.”
    She took a deep breath and went back to the original topic. “If you make ugly faces, children, your face will freeze like that.”
    With the sudden insight of a four-year-old, I said, “Is that what happened to your face, Aunt Pauline?”
    There was a terrible silence, broken only by