The Magic Meadow by Alexander Key Page B

other things whose use he could not even guess—and went on to the musical instruments. There were some that looked like flutes, and others with strings that were strange to him. As he studied them, he realized they had two things in common with all the other objects in the room. They’d been produced by highly skilled craftsmen, and they’d been made to be used.
    He could hear Nurse Jackson repeating her belief that this was part of a millionaire’s estate, but suddenly he knew she was wrong. The people who used this place came only twice a year—in the spring to plant the field out back, and in the fall to harvest it. How they got here or where they came from, he couldn’t guess; and far from being millionaires, he had a feeling they didn’t even use money. In fact, he couldn’t see a thing here that might have been bought with it. Even the dishes and utensils had a handmade look.
    So, in spite of the trees Nurse Jackson had pointed out, this couldn’t be in America, where money was so important. Where in America were people so smart they could draw power from the air, and so honest they didn’t use locks to keep strangers from entering?
    As Brick closed his eyes, he could almost see the people who came here. They loved to make things, and song and music poured out of them; they didn’t seem at all like the kind whose lives were bound up in newspapers. But wouldn’t they have books? Surely they would!
    Then where were they?
    His glance went swiftly around the room, and suddenly fastened on the big chest where the colorful blankets were stored. He went over and raised the top, and held his breath while he dug down under the remaining blankets.
    The books were there. The entire bottom seemed to be covered with them. He hauled one out and opened it, and stared blankly at the strange page of type. It was printed in an unknown language. Even the letters were unfamiliar.
    Frowning, he reached down again for another book. Instead, his hand touched what seemed to be a heavy roll of paper. He drew it out and slowly unrolled it. It took a minute or more of careful study before comprehension came.
    Suddenly he turned and shouted, “Hey! Look what I found!”

8
    EXPEDITION
    He brought the long piece of paper he had unrolled over to the table and tried to spread it out. It would not lie flat until he had placed the book at the upper edge and a pair of earthenware mugs at the lower corners. The others crowded around, and Nurse Jackson lifted Charlie Pill from the wheelchair so he could have a better view of it.
    â€œWhy, it’s a crazy map of some kind,” Charlie Pill muttered.
    â€œThere’s nothing crazy about it,” he told Charlie. “It’s just in a language you don’t understand. Latin or Greek, maybe.”
    â€œIt’s not Latin,” Nurse Jackson said. “No, and it’s not Greek either. I don’t recognize those characters. But I do know it’s an original drawing by a very fine artist. It’s a beautiful piece of work.”
    Princess said breathlessly, “It’s absolutely unspeakably gorgeous!”
    â€œSure is,” Diz Dobie agreed, and Lily Rose said, “If only we could read it!”
    â€œWe don’t have to,” Brick told them. “It’s a map of this part of the country. See, here we are right down here!”
    The map was about two feet wide and more than twice as long, and it was drawn in exquisite detail and tinted with watercolors. Birds, animals, and flowers decorated the open spaces, along with symbols placed near tiny squares indicating buildings. His pointing finger touched a square at the bottom. “This is the house,” he said. “And here’s the field. And there are the two springs coming together to make the stream. Yonder’s the turpentine still.”
    A stringed instrument drawn beside the square for the house showed that it was a place where people came for