Spiderweb for Two - A Melendy Maze by Elizabeth Enright Page B

” said Dave. Balanced on the wobbly structure he reached up, cut the twig from which the nest depended and dropped it down to Oliver.
    â€œYou’re certainly acting queer,” said Daphne. “All excited about nymps and old bird nests and walking around all day like this. What’s the matter with you, anyway?”
    Oliver hardly heard her; he was searching the nest, and at the bottom of it, sure enough, he found the fifth clue wrapped in a piece of wax paper.
    â€œWhat is it? What have you found?” demanded Daphne, but Oliver could not tell her. “Later on I will, though, honest. Gee, thanks an awful lot, you kids, I never could have done it by myself.”
    â€œWell, I certainly think it’s all terribly queer,” said Daphne, somewhat crossly. She liked to be on the receiving end of secrets, and who doesn’t? But Dave clapped Oliver on the back and said, “You’ll do the same for us someday; help us along the path to fame and fortune.” He and Oliver moved the furniture back into the house where they could hear Daphne questioning her mother: “What’s a nymp, Mama? Why was I named for one?”
    It was really late, now, really dark. Oliver jogtrotted down the hill clutching the oriole’s nest; he was singing a song called “The British Grenadiers,” and the black woods beside the road seemed friendly, not mysterious and threatening as they sometimes do at night.
    In Miss Bishop’s little house the window lights glimmered through a filigree of plant leaves; there was a smell of woodsmoke. It made Oliver happy to think that he had found a new friend as well as a clue.
    When, at last, he burst open the front door of home, he felt that he had been away for days. Willy Sloper, on his way out with a bucket of paint merely said “Hi,” and Oliver was surprised that Isaac—who had returned in his own good time, as usual—did not spring up to greet him; he only rolled an eye at him and moved his tail slightly, not even a real wag. John Doe did not even do that; he was in the kitchen, glaring at Cuffy who was basting a roast; from time to time he whimpered with greed, and drooled on the linoleum. As for Cuffy, she merely clanked the oven door shut and smiled at Oliver.
    â€œMy soul! Go take a bath! Guess you had a good time all right, didn’t you?”
    â€œYup, I did,” said Oliver, feeling slightly nettled at so much indifference toward a returned adventurer. “Where’s Randy?”
    â€œUpstairs in bed where she belongs. I don’t want you going near her till we know if she’s catching.”
    But that was too much. Allowing Cuffy to assume that he was on his way to take a bath, Oliver sneaked up to Randy’s room. Nothing indifferent about her, at least.
    â€œTell me! Tell me!” she croaked, bouncing in bed, wild with impatience.
    He held up the silvery, knitted nest.
    â€œThe pocketful of gold! Hooray! But who was the nymph?” she said.
    â€œDaphne Addison, no kidding.”
    â€œDaphne! Oh, Daphne! Of course, of course. Gosh. I knew there was a nymph named Daphne. I knew there was an emperor named Titus. I knew those things, but I didn’t connect them. Oh, it’s just a waste of money to try and educate me. I ought to tell Father—”
    â€œHere, read the clue,” said Oliver. “Read it out loud.”
    â€œI’ll have to whisper it. Come here. Listen:
    â€˜I guard a secret or a prayer
    Â Â Â Â  With equal silence. I am old.
    Peace is the jewel that I wear.
    Â Â Â Â  Compassion is the wand I hold.
    Land of the dragon and the cloud
    Â Â Â Â  Gave birth to me; I left that soil
    And came away, serene and proud,
    Â Â Â Â  To watch a good man at his toil.’”
    â€œThey get fancier, too,” said Oliver. “Whoever it is, it’s nobody in our family. We haven’t any poetry writers.”
    â€œPoets. Don’t