The Old Willis Place

Georgie—"
    "But can't you eat your soup first?" Mr. Morrison asked. "Or bring Georgie back here for lunch? You look like you could use a nice hot meal."
    "No, thank you." I edged away. "I really can't stay. I'm sorry."
    "Some other time, then," Mr. Morrison said, his face as worried as Lissa's. "The soup's always on, and you're more than welcome to join us for a meal. You and your brother need to put some meat on your bones. You're so thin and pale, both of you."
    "Dad," Lissa began, obviously embarrassed by her father's words. He'd meant well, I supposed, so I interrupted her.
    "Thanks. That's very kind of you, Mr. Morrison." I opened the door and cold air rushed in. "But Georgie and I have all the food we need."
    Safe outside, away from their questions and concerns, I ran with the wind across the field. Being with real live people was just too hard.
    I found Georgie in the shed. With Alfie on one side and Nero on the other, he was leafing through Lassie, studying the pictures. A shaft of autumn sunlight lit his hair and face. He was pale, I realized. And thin. Surely he hadn't always looked so fragile.
    "Read some more, Diana." Georgie held the book up. "Here's where you left off."
    Grateful for something to do, I took the book and began chapter eleven, "The Fight for Existence." The picture showed Lassie, all bones and wet fur, running along with a dead rabbit in her mouth. I knew the dog had to eat, but I wished the artist hadn't shown her intended meal.
    Georgie huddled beside me, listening intently to Lassie's struggle to survive her long journey from Scotland to England. He held his breath when she fell sick; he was angry when she was falsely blamed for killing sheep and almost shot, scared when she was captured by dogcatchers, and glad when she escaped.
    At the end of chapter seventeen, "Lassie Comes over the Border," Georgie finally let me stop and rest my voice. Lassie was in England at last, safe for a while with a kindly old man and woman who planned to keep her forever.
    "They won't, though," Georgie said as I closed the book. "Lassie's not home yet."
    "No, she still has a way to go and a few more adventures before she's done."
    Georgie lay back on his blankets and gazed out the shed door. It was dark now, and the moon had risen above the trees. It floated there, as big as an orange, dimming the stars but lighting the earth.
    "How about us, Diana?" Georgie asked softly. "How far do we have to go before we're done?"
    "I don't know." I stared across the silvery field at the black line of trees on the other side. A wind blew up. Branches creaked and swayed. Dried weeds rattled. Nero uncoiled from Georgie's side and stretched, his back arched like a Halloween cat's. He went to the door and peered out, ears pricked.
    Georgie turned to me, his face fearful. "Nero hears something," he whispered.
    "A mouse," I whispered. "That's all."
    We both watched the cat. His body was tense; his tail lashed. He began a deep, vibrating growl.
    The wind blew harder. All around us, trees and weeds and tangles of underbrush rustled and sighed and moved. A dry grapevine tapped against the wall. The tin roof rattled as something struck it. The shed's old timbers creaked. Dark clouds raced across the sky, veiling the moon and altering the shadows.
    In the doorway, Nero hunkered down. His growl changed to a fierce song, its notes rising and falling along with the wind.
    "It's not a mouse." Georgie clung to me. "It's Miss Lilian, she's come for us."
    I shut my eyes and held him as tightly as I could. "No, it can't be her," I whispered into his hair. "It just can't."
    But in my heart I knew he was right. Miss Lilian was out there in the dark, searching for Georgie and me, eager to punish us for the pranks we'd played on her.

Chapter 14
    "Diana," a voice howled from the shadows, "Georgie, it's no use hiding. I'll find you wherever you are!"
    The moon shot out from behind a cloud, and there she was in the field, brandishing a cane, her white hair blowing in the wind. Georgie and I stumbled to our feet.
    I took my brother's hand. "Quick, out the back way!"
    We plunged through a small door in the rear of the shed. With Nero racing ahead, we fled through the woods, tripping over roots and ducking branches. Brambles caught our hair and tore our clothing. But nothing stopped us or even slowed us down. We ran like rabbits fleeing a fox, like deer fleeing a hunter, like mice fleeing an owl, leaping, dodging, practically flying through the