The Boggart and the Monster by Susan Cooper Page A

which made a resounding
ping
and woke up the sleeping cat. The cat stretched, purring. It was completely black, from its nose to its tail.
    â€œMy mother was an Urquhart,”
Mr. Maconochie said.
    â€œI didn’t know that,”
said Emily. She looked with interest at the old lady, whom she was beginning to suspect of being a friendly witch.
“How did
you
know that?”
    â€œNot many names begin with the letter U in this country,”
said the old lady mildly.
“And besides, I am Miss Mary Urquhart. How do you do?”
    She held out a small strong hand, and first Emily and then Mr. Maconochie shook it, politely.
“How do you do?”
they said in turn.
    There was an eruption of noise through the open door of the greenhouse, and the black cat jumped down to the ground. Tommy and Jessup came in, their arms full of paper bags.
“We bought a lot!”
Jessup said with satisfaction.
“Sodas too. And if you want it, there’s a touristy talk at the castle in ten minutes’ time.”
    â€œThis is Miss Urquhart,”
Emily said.
“Miss Mary Urquhart.”
    Suddenly still, the boys stared at the old lady. She smiled at them, untroubled.
    â€œWow!”
Jessup said.
“Do you own Urquhart Castle?”
    â€œIt belongs these days to the National Trust for Scotland,”
Miss Urquhart said.
“But you could say that by blood I am still part of it, and so is your Mr. Maconochie, from his mother’s side. Just as you and your sister are still part of Castle Keep.”
    Jessup’s eyes went from Miss Urquhart’s face to Emily’s and back again, curious. They were saying to Emily:
Who is this person, and how does she know about us?
    â€œSo Mr. Maconochie is one of the links between both castles, now that he has bought your own,”
Miss Urquhart added.
    Tommy said,
“
One
of the links?”
There was a challenge in his voice, and like Jessup, he was watching her cautiously. The two of them reminded Emily of young dogs meeting a stranger; sniffing warily, unsure whether to wag their tails or bark.
    â€œMiss Urquhart is a link herself,”
said Mr. Maconochie.
“She used to know old Mr. MacDevon.”
    The old lady smiled at Tommy, and closed Mr. Maconochie’s check inside her cash register with a smart
ping
.
“You must be Tommy Cameron,”
she said.
“He was very fond of you.”
    Tommy flushed a little, looking pleased, and she rose briskly to her feet. Reaching for a cardboard sign reading OPEN, which was hanging inside the greenhouse’s front windowpane, she turned it around to read CLOSED.
“Now that I’ve made this excellent sale,”
she said,
“I think I shall shut up shop for the day. And if you would care for it, I will cross the street with you and tellyou a few things about the castle far more interesting than those that the tourists would hear.”
    â€œGreat!”
said Jessup.
    â€œThat would be very kind,”
Mr. Maconochie said, picking up his box of heather pots.
“And I hope you will share our picnic lunch.”
    â€œWhat will you tell us about?”
said Emily, as they filed out of the greenhouse.
    Miss Urquhart turned a large rusty key in the lock, and put it in her jeans pocket.
“Well, for one thing, of course,”
she said,
“boggarts.”

EIGHT
    T HEY SAT ON THE GRASS with their backs to one of the ruined walls of Castle Urquhart, eating ham sandwiches. The castle’s other visitors had all drifted away to examine the tower, the only part of the castle that remained at least partly intact.
    â€œI remember when I was a girl hearing a vague old tale that a boggart used to live in this castle before it was blown up,”
Miss Urquhart said.
“A family trickster, an invisible creature. But that was so long ago that I never gave the story much thought — I mean, the castle’s been a ruin for more than three hundred years. It was only when I went to