We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson Page A

downstairs and down the hall into the kitchen and he was sitting at the table in my chair.
    â€œI had three magic words,” I said, holding the sweater. “Their names were MELODY GLOUCESTER PEGASUS, and we were safe until they were said out loud.”
    â€œMerricat,” Constance said; she turned and looked at me, smiling. “It’s our cousin, our cousin Charles Blackwood. I knew him at once; he looks like Father.”
    â€œWell, Mary,” he said. He stood up; he was taller now that he was inside, bigger and bigger as he came closer to me. “Got a kiss for your cousin Charles?”
    Behind him the kitchen door was open wide; he was the first one who had ever gotten inside and Constance had let him in. Constance stood up; she knew better than to touch me but she said “Merricat, Merricat” gently and held out her arms to me. I was held tight, wound round with wire, I couldn’t breathe, and I had to run. I threw the sweater on the floor and went out the door and down to the creek where I always went. Jonas found me after a while and we lay there together, protected from the rain by the trees crowding overhead, dim and rich in the kind of knowing, possessive way trees have of pressing closer. I looked back at the trees and listened to the soft sound of the water. There was no cousin, no Charles Blackwood, no intruder inside. It was because the book had fallen from the tree; I had neglected to replace it at once and our wall of safety had cracked. Tomorrow I would find some powerful thing and nail it to the tree. I fell asleep listening to Jonas, just as the shadows were coming down. Sometime during the night Jonas left me to go hunting, and I woke a little when he came back, pressing against me to get warm. “Jonas,” I said, and he purred comfortably. When I woke up the early morning mists were wandering lightly along the creek, curling around my face and touching me. I lay there laughing, feeling the almost imaginary brush of the mist across my eyes, and looking up into the trees.

5
    When I came into the kitchen, still trailing mist from the creek, Constance was arranging Uncle Julian’s breakfast tray. Uncle Julian was clearly feeling well this morning, since Constance was giving him tea instead of hot milk; he must have awakened early and asked for tea. I went to her and put my arms around her and she turned and hugged me.
    â€œGood morning, my Merricat,” she said.
    â€œGood morning, my Constance. Is Uncle Julian better today?”
    â€œMuch, much better. And the sun is going to shine after yesterday’s rain. And I am going to make a chocolate mousse for your dinner, my Merricat.”
    â€œI love you, Constance.”
    â€œAnd I love you. Now what will you have for breakfast?”
    â€œPancakes. Little tiny hot ones. And two fried eggs. Today my winged horse is coming and I am carrying you off to the moon and on the moon we will eat rose petals.”
    â€œSome rose petals are poisonous.”
    â€œNot on the moon. Is it true that you can plant a leaf?”
    â€œSome leaves. Furred leaves. You can put them in water and they grow roots and then you plant them and they grow into a plant. The kind of a plant they were when they started, of course, not just any plant.”
    â€œI’m sorry about that. Good morning, Jonas. You are a furred leaf, I think.”
    â€œSilly Merricat.”
    â€œI like a leaf that grows into a different plant. All furry.”
    Constance was laughing. “Uncle Julian will never get his breakfast if I listen to you,” she said. She took up the tray and went into Uncle Julian’s room. “Hot tea coming,” she said.
    â€œConstance, my dear. A glorious morning, I think. A splendid day to work.”
    â€œAnd to sit in the sun.”
    Jonas sat in the sunlit doorway, washing his face. I was hungry; perhaps it would be kind to Uncle Julian today if I put a feather on the lawn at the spot