Kneeknock Rise by Natalie Babbitt Page B

was a skinny little girl with red hair strained back into one long pigtail and she was covered with scratches. She was cuddling something in her arms and he saw as he came up that it was a large, rust-colored cat.
    “You’re Egan,” the little girl informed him.
    “I know,” he said.
    “Say hello to Sweetheart,” she commanded, and she thrust the cat forward. It was a very well-fed cat, battle-scarred and insolent, and it stared at Egan coldly out of narrowed yellow eyes, the tip of its tail switching slowly back and forth. Then suddenly it reached out a claw and scratched him across the cheek.
    “Ow!” yelled Egan. “Quit that!”
    The cat hissed at him, twisted neatly out of the small hands that held it, and lounged off down the road.
    “For goodness’ sake,” said Egan, touching his wound tenderly. “What a terrible cat!”
    “Sweetheart is the loveliest cat in the world,” said the little girl firmly. “He just doesn’t like you. I don’t like you, either. I’m Ada and I guess we’re cousins.”

     

     
    “I guess so,” said Egan. He looked at Ada with despair.
    “You certainly are a mess,” said Ada contemptuously. “How come you’re all covered with straw?” Then she grabbed his arm with her sharp little fingers and pointed. “Look there! You never saw that before, did you? I see it every day. It practically belongs to me. Uncle Ott ran off up there and the Megrimum ate him.” She smiled rapturously and pointed again.
    Egan looked up just as the sun dropped down behind the mountains. A long shadow fell across the house and yard from beyond the wall, where the green and purple face of the rocky hillside rose into the evening sky. It was huge and silent and cold as a gravestone. As he stared, the mist at the top went blood-red in the sunset.
    “I guess you’re pretty scared,” suggested Ada hopefully.
    “Don’t be silly,” said Egan. “I’m not afraid of anything.” But he shuddered just the same.

    “Here’s Egan, Mother,” said Ada when she had pulled him into the house. “Here he is at last. Isn’t he a mess? Sweetheart scratched him.” She giggled and put the end of her pigtail into her mouth.
    Aunt Gertrude put aside a bit of sewing and came forward. She was as thin as her daughter and her narrow face was fringed with pale yellow hair. “Welcome to Instep, Egan,” she said. “Dear me! You look exactly like your father! I never could understand how my own sister could marry such a man. So big and cheerful and noisy. I do hope you won’t be noisy. You’re awfully large for your age, aren’t you? Dear me! You really do look just like him. And aren’t you dusty! Heavens, look at that scratch. Whatever shall we do about Sweetheart? Such a disagreeable cat!” Still talking, she led him away to a small room at the back of the house.
    Egan felt better when he saw the room. There was a cot against one wall, with pillows and a pile of worn and comfortable quilts. The corners of the room were cluttered with little heaps of books and papers, and on a large table, besides the usual pitcher and bowl, there were quills and ink and an old pipe. The cloth on the table was stained with blots and pen scratches. It was all very untidy and interesting.
    “This will be your room, Egan,” said his aunt. “You’d better wash yourself. I do hope you’re not feeling too bad after your trip?”
    “I’m feeling fine, Aunt Gertrude.”
    “What a brave, good boy!” she exclaimed. “Of course you’re feeling wretched and exhausted. Why don’t you lie down? No, you’d better wash first. This is Ott’s room, you know—did you know he’s disappeared again?”
    “My mother told me,” said Egan.
    “Well, I’m sure I don’t know what to do,” said Aunt Gertrude, sitting down on the cot and wringing her hands. “Ott’s been away for three days, and just before the Fair, too. Not that it isn’t easier without him, you know, but he’s a good man in his way, a gentle man, and