The Penderwicks at Point Mouette by Jeanne Birdsall

tugged.
    “I’m all right,” she said, taking her arm back. “It’sjust that no matter what anyone says, I know that people wouldn’t be getting hurt if Rosalind were here. And I can’t believe I’m talking to you.”
    “Woof.”
    “Right.”
    She was glad she’d stayed behind. When she got hungry, she could have a sandwich, and until then she’d read
Death by Black Hole
, and when it got dark enough, she could go outside with her binoculars to look at the stars. It would be a peaceful and intellectually satisfying evening, and the first time she’d had to herself since coming to Maine.
    But Skye never got to the sandwich, let alone the stars. She managed only to wander out to the sleeping porch and collapse onto her cot with
Death by Black Hole
. After two paragraphs about cosmic plasma, the book slipped from her hands, and Skye was gone, sleeping the sleep of an overtaxed OAP.

CHAPTER EIGHT
Moose
    S OMEONE WAS POKING AT S KYE , trying to wake her up. But because she was determined to stay lost in dreams unburdened with younger sisters, she jammed her fist in the general direction of the poking.
    “Ouch!”
    She opened her eyes and saw Jeffrey hovering next to her cot, rubbing his stomach.
    “What are you doing?” she asked. It was ridiculously early in the morning. “Is somebody else hurt?”
    “No, everyone’s fine.”
    “Then I’m going to continue sleeping.” Her eyes closed, but before she could escape back into slumber, Jeffrey was shaking her.
    “No, you have to get up, because I’m too happy to sleep and I want company.”
    He moved on to Jane and started poking her. It took a while, but finally Jane rolled over and muttered, “I do adore you, Gary.”
    “Who’s Gary?” Jeffrey asked Skye.
    “Probably one of Sabrina Starr’s boyfriends,” she answered, reluctantly sitting up. “You’d better leave Jane alone if she’s in that kind of mood—and go away so I can dress.”
    “You
are
dressed,” he said. “When we came home last night, you were out cold and Hound was standing guard over you.”
    Skye looked down and saw that she was indeed wearing the clothes she’d fallen asleep in.
Death by Black Hole
was beside her pillow, looking like it had been rolled on. Now she remembered—she’d gone to sleep and hadn’t woken up again.
    “Then who put Batty to bed?”
    Jane suddenly threw out an arm as though to catch at someone. “And I adore you, too, Herschel! Stay with me.”
    “She did,” said Jeffrey.
    “Jane?” Skye told herself that Jane was surely capable of putting Batty to bed without help. “Maybe I should just go look …”
    “I’ll meet you outside.”
    Skye swung out of bed and made her way through the dark to Batty’s room. In the pink glow of the night-light, she could see Batty’s dark head on thepillow, and next to her Hound, who thumped his tail twice, his way of saying a silent hello. Little green Ellie had tumbled out of bed—Skye picked her up and tucked her in next to Batty, who now stirred and murmured a few words that sounded like “bee” and “sharp.” This made no sense to Skye—and then she wondered if Rosalind had ever gone around at night listening to her sisters talking in their sleep. How strange. But Skye had nothing to worry about. She was certain that anything she herself said would be more interesting than boys’ names or bees.
    She slipped away and found Jeffrey waiting for her in front of Birches. It was that bewitching hour when night has gone but day hasn’t arrived, when there are no greens anywhere—not in the grass or in the leaves—but instead only grays and shadowy blues, and the birds are frenziedly singing, encouraging the sun to rise yet one more time. Skye shivered, because it was also chilly.
    “Come on,” said Jeffrey. “You’ll warm up when you start moving.”
    Skye thought that she would more easily warm up by going back to bed. Still, when Jeffrey took off toward Ocean Boulevard, she followed, sleepily