The Old Willis Place

but he called the police and reported it, just the same.
If they dare to come back, I'll sic MacDuff on them. He'll give them a bite they won't forget!
Oh, Dee Dee—I wish you were real and could write back to me and tell me what you think. I feel like Tm talking to myself, going on and on, writing letters nobody will ever read.
Well, that's all for now. I guess I'll take MacDuff for a walk. And keep my eyes peeled, as people say—which is a very weird expression when you think about it. Eyes peeled like grapes. Ugh.
Seeya later—
Your friend, Lissa

Chapter 4
    The next morning Georgie and I made ourselves comfortable in our favorite tree, and I began reading Lassie Come-Home to him. Nero climbed to a high branch and stretched himself along its length like a panther surveying his kingdom. He dozed lightly, as cats do, swinging his tail from time to time to show he was keeping an eye on us.
    The first thing I noticed about Lissa's book was that the pictures were exactly the same as I remembered. There was Lassie, sitting at the gate, waiting for her boy, Joe. And the words were the same, too. "'Everyone in Greenall Bridge knew Sam Carraclough's Lassie,'" I read. "'In fact, you might say that she was the best-known dog in the village—and for three reasons.'"
    I leaned against the tree's rough bark and smiled at Georgie. "Isn't that a great beginning?"
    "Go on," Georgie said. "What happens next? What are the three reasons?"
    I read the first three chapters. I'd meant to stop after one, to make the book last longer, but Georgie insisted I keep going. Like me, he was furious when Sam Carraclough sold Lassie and even more furious when the dog was mistreated by Hynes, the evil kennel man. He finally agreed to let me stop for the day when it seemed Lassie was about to escape from the kennel and meet Joe at school as she always did.
    "Now Joe will get to keep Lassie," Georgie said with confidence. "The duke will see that Lassie loves Joe too much to take her away from him. And he'll fire Hynes."
    Of course, Georgie was wrong. It wouldn't be much of a story if everyone got to be happy right away.

    I hid Lissa's book in a special hole in the tree trunk where we kept other things—the TV remote, plus a jackknife and a ball of string we'd also borrowed from Mr. Potter, and a cigarette lighter and a flashlight we'd borrowed from Mr. Allesandro. I suppose that sounds bad, but they were all things we thought we might need someday. It wasn't as if we had a choice. What are people to do if they have no money?
    With Nero at our heels, as faithful as a dog, we made our way through the fields and woods to the trailer. Even Georgie couldn't stay away.
    Lissa was sitting on the steps. MacDuff lay by her side, panting in the fall heat. Mr. Morrison was inside, writing. Every now and then, I heard him swear. Georgie giggled at the language the man chose to express himself, but Lissa paid no attention to her father. I guessed she was used to his way of talking.
    Georgie poked my side. "Do you think Mr. Morrison puts words like that in his book?"
    "I hope not."
    "I could borrow a few pages," Georgie offered. "And you could read them to me."
    I shook my head impatiently. "It's a book for adults," I said. "And probably boring—even with cussing in it."
    Georgie caught a grasshopper, something practice had made him good at, and then let it go. "Lissa writes, too," he said, "in a little book."
    "Her diary, probably," I guessed.
    "I bet she writes about us—the spies and thieves in the woods," Georgie said. "Wouldn't you love to read what she thinks of us? It would be easy to borrow it."
    Even though I would have loved to know Lissa's thoughts, I shook my head. "Diaries are secret books. You put your deepest thoughts and most private feelings in them, things you don't want anyone else to know."
    I glanced at Lissa. The sun shone on her dark hair. "I used to have a diary, but I filled it up a long time ago. It had a lock," I told Georgie. "I kept the key on a chain around my neck."
    "That flimsy lock didn't stop me." Georgie edged away, ready to run. "I know all about Stephen Jenkins and the dimple in his chin and how he asked you to be his girlfriend. And you let him kiss you at the sixth-grade picnic."
    Forgetting about Lissa, I jumped up to chase Georgie, but he was gone like a flash. The two of us made so much noise Lissa got to her feet and stared across her yard at the woods.
    "Thieves," she called. "You'd better bring my stuff back!