White Horse Talisman by Andrea Spalding Page A

did,” said both boys, pointing at each other.
    Chantel stifled a giggle as the boys turned to glare at her.
    She took the broken talisman from under the blanket and of–fered it to Holly. “Why don’t you show it to Mr. Smythe this evening? You’re the only one who hasn’t kept it for a while.”
    She smiled. “The doctors say I can come home tomorrow morning. You can tell me what happens then.”
    â€œYou’re coming home!” Holly shrieked with delight.
    Owen double-slapped Chantel’s hands.
    Adam’s smile hid his smoldering anger.
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    It was early evening and still light out as Holly led the way through the gates of the Big House and up the broad sweep of gravel drive.
    â€œMr. Smythe must be rich,” Adam said as he took in the enormous lawn and the impressive terrace and columns along the front of the house.
    â€œHe doesn’t act rich,” said Owen. “The house has been in his family forever, but he kind of lives in the kitchen and doesn’t use the other rooms, except for special occasions.”
    They ignored the steps up to the imposing front door, skirted a flowerbed and started down a narrow flag path that ran along the side of the house.
    â€œWait,” said Holly in an odd voice. She pointed. At the far side of the lawn, five magpies strutted under the boughs of an old oak tree. The three kids watched in awe as the magpies poked around in the grass. “Five for silver,” they whispered together.
    They stood for several minutes, but the magpies ignored them and nothing happened.
    The back of the house was more ordinary than the front but still imposing. The children clattered across a flagstoned yard and arrived at a small green door with a brass lion’s-head knocker in the middle. Holly gave a loud rat-a-tat.
    â€œCome in, come in. Nice to have young people visit–ing.” Mr. Smythe waved them through the door and along a passage hung with coats and strewn with rubber boots and shoes. They stepped into a huge kitchen.
    Despite his reluctance about the visit, Adam’s eyes widened with pleasure. The room was like something in a museum, old fashioned and full of amazing junk. A large wooden table stood in the middle of the stone floor. At one end was a clear space where Mr. Smythe ate his meals.
    The rest of the table was covered with towers of books and magazines, bulging boxes, and, best of all, the sort of objects Adam wished his mom would let him keep.
    A stuffed owl perched on a log anchored one pile of books; a glass case containing an old-fashioned collection of bird eggs topped another pile. A tray covered with a lineup of bones was balanced on top of several boxes. Stone Age axe heads and hammers held down sheets of paper covered with notes. A shallow plastic bowl full of sand held a small round urn partly glued together; the pieces still to be fitted rested on the sand’s surface.
    More books lined the shelves of an old dresser. They spilled over and marched in rows along the floor. Cracked jugs and strange iron objects hung from hooks in the ceiling. Stacks of old newspapers sat on every chair. Old photos, several showing aerial views of the White Horse, plastered the walls. A map acted as a window blind. The old-fashioned cookstove and much newer fridge looked out of place. This room was now an office, not a kitchen. In pride of place near the clear end of the table was a large white plastic skull with red glass eyes and a hole in the top, stuffed with pens and pencils.
    â€œI gave him that last Christmas,” whispered Owen when he saw Adam eyeing it. “It glows in the dark.”
    Mr. Smythe rubbed his hands together. “Brought some–thing new to show me, did you?” His eyes twinkled at Owen and Adam. “An old talisman, I think you said?”
    To Adam’s relief Mr. Smythe made no mention of the fight.
    â€œActually, sir, I’ve got it.” Holly handed over the piece