The Boggart by Susan Cooper Page A

knew was inaccurate.
    â€œListen,” said Emily. “I know you’re a genius, I know you understand lots of things I don’t, I know you only believe in facts and figures. But you’ve seen all this impossible stuff happening, right?”
    â€œRight,” said Jessup. He looked unhappily at her swollen eyes. “Are you okay, Em?”
    â€œI’m fine,” Emily said. She gave him a faint, grateful smile. “Listen,” she said again. “I was talking about it at the theater, to Dai Rees and Willie Walker.”
    â€œAh,” said Jessup with respect. Everyone connected with the Chervil company had a vague but powerful sense that there was something special about Dai and Willie, their two native-born Celts.
    â€œThey were different from anyone else,” Emily said. “They believed straight away that we had nothing to do with all this stuff. And they knew about it, they said it comes from a . . . from a sort of invisible creature, that likes playing tricks. Not a ghost. But not human.”
    â€œNot . . . human?”
    â€œNo.”
    Jessup said hopefully, “An alien?”
    â€œNo. From Scotland and Wales and old places like that. Very old. Magic.”
    â€œMagic,” Jessup said slowly, as if he were tasting the word.
    â€œIt likes to live with a family, and play jokes, Dai and Willie said. They said it might have come with us from Scotland. It’s called a boggart.”
    There was a brief, faint rustling sound from Emily’s bookshelf. Jessup glanced into the shadows. “What’s that?”
    â€œI dunno. A mouse. Jess, we have to go talk to Willie.”
    â€œYeah,” Jessup said.
    The Boggart was dancing on the edge of the bookshelf, delighted. He had been lying in a resentful half sleep, but when Emily had spoken his name he had shot up into the air, wide awake, filled with joy. They had recognized him! Finally, after all this time in this very strange place, they had realized that he was there! For the first time since the MacDevon had died, he could begin living with friends!
    Emily was explaining to Jessup, in as much detail as she could remember, everything that Willie and Dai had said about boggarts. “The amazing part was the way they recognized everything I was describing. Willie just said straight away, It’s a boggart . Like you turn on a faucet, and someone says, That’s water. ”
    â€œThere’s a lot of questions to ask,” Jessup said. He stood up — then paused suddenly, looking surprised. He touched his cheek.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” said Emily — and then paused, and put her hand up to her own face. She looked at Jessup with a strange expression that was a mixture of astonishment and total disbelief.
    Jessup said, bemused, “It was like someone stroked my cheek. Someone’s hand.”
    â€œThat’s right,” Emily said. “A very small hand.”
    They stared at each other.
    Somewhere in the room, faint, growing, there was a slow happy sound like the purring of a cat.
    â€œIs Polly in here?” said Jessup.
    Emily said shakily, “No.”
    A UNT J EN said brightly, “Well, I’m glad to see you, whatever the circumstances. And it’s always nice to have help on Dusting Day.”
    Emily said resentfully, “Mom only had to ask us to help — she knew we’d have come. But she has to turn it into this great huge punishment deal. You will spend Saturday working at the shop! As if we hadn’t been helping at the shop ever since we were little!”
    Aunt Jen gave her a comforting hug, and produced a handful of dusting cloths from the pocket of her voluminous jumper. Dusting Day came once a week at Old Stuff. It was a tedious process from which not only every piece of furniture but every small object, from roasting pan to thimble, had to emerge dust free and sparkling to attract the customers.
    â€œSilver cloth for Em, standard