the realm of imagination the realm of imagination

April 2008 Volume 35 Number 8 CRICKET STAFF Marianne Carus Editor-in-Chief Alice Letvin Editorial Director Lonnie Plecha Editor Karen Kohn Senior Art Director Kristen Scribner Designer Carolyn Digby Conahan Staff Artist Deborah Vetter Senior Contributing Editor Julie Peterson Copyeditor Karen Dauck Director of Purchasing and Fulfillment Mary Ann Hocking Rights and Permissions Manager

CRICKET EDITORIAL BOARD Kieran Egan Professor of Education, Simon Fraser University, Vancouver Betsy Hearne Professor, University of Illinois, Champaign; Critic, Author Sybille Jagusch Children’s Literature Specialist Joanna Rudge Long Children’s Literature Specialist, Reviewer, Lecturer Linda Sue Park Author Katherine Paterson Author Barbara Scharioth Director of the PHOTO BY TAMARA MCELROY TAMARA BY PHOTO International Youth Library in Munich, Germany COVER AND BORDER Anita Silvey Author, Critic Sandra Stotsky Research Scholar at by Stephen Costanza Northeastern University, Boston Roger Sutton Editor-in-Chief of “Bon Voyage” The Horn Book Magazine, Critic acrylic Ann Thwaite Author, Critic

Stephen Costanza studied music theory and composition at Syracuse University before attending the Philadelphia College of Art to pursue a career in the visual arts. He has worked as both a graphic designer and an illustrator Educational Press Association of America Freedoms Foundation at Valley Forge in a career that has encompassed silk screening, graphic Golden Lamp Award Honor Certificate for Outstanding design, and book illustration. He has always maintained Distinguished Achievement Award Achievement International Reading Association a strong interest in music; from 1980 to 1992 he played Paul A. Witty Short Story Award the piano professionally in a ragtime/classical music 1988–1993, 1997, 2003, 2004, 2006, 2007 ensemble, performing alongside a violinist. In addition to magazines like Cricket and Spider, his illustrations have appeared in newspapers, advertise- National Magazine Award Society of Midland Authors ments, and textbooks. His work has been featured in finalist in the category of Award for Excellence in association with the Boston Ballet, Four Seasons Hotel, General Excellence Children’s Literature and Boston Lyric Opera. It has also been exhibited at the 2000 Children’s Book Fair in Bologna, Italy, and the Original Art Show in New York in 2003. His first picture book, Noodle : The Pasta André Carus, CEO and Publisher; Jason Patenaude, President and COO. April 2008, Volume 35, Number 8, © 2008, Carus Publishing Company. All rights reserved, including Superhero, written by April Pulley Sayre, was published right of reproduction in whole or in part, in any form. Address manuscripts and other in March 2002. He has combined his love of Mozart, editorial contributions to Submissions Editor, 70 East Lake Street, Suite 300, Chicago, IL 60601. Unused contributions will only be returned if accompanied by sufficient music, and painting into his next picture book, Mozart first-class postage. Not responsible for unsolicited manuscripts or other material. All Finds a Melody, the first book he has both written and letters and competition entries are assumed for publication and become the property of Carus Publishing Company. For information regarding our privacy policy and compli - illustrated. He is currently at work on a book about ance with the Children’s Online Privacy Protection Act, please visit our Web site at or write to us at Cricket/COPPA, 70 East Lake Street, Suite 300, Antonio Vivaldi. His art can be viewed online at Chicago, IL 60601. GRATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENT is given to the following publishers and copyright owners for permission to reprint selections from their publications. All possible care has been taken to trace ownership and secure permission for each selection. Barbara Remington for illustrations accompanying “Opposites,” art © 1990 by Barbara Remington. Is it time to renew? Ryan Wiesbrock for illustrations accompanying “Up . . . Up . . . and Away!” art © 2001 by Ryan Wiesbrock. Richard Wilbur for “Opposites,” text © 1990 by Richard Wilbur. 1-800-821-0115 continued on page 47 5 The Star Shard by Frederic S. Durbin 1 4 Opposites by Richard Wilbur 16 Taking Sides by Kate Scott Wilson 21 The Wolf by Georgia Roberts Durston 22 The Call of the Wolves by Jim Murphy 27 Cricket Readers Recommend 82 Melodious by Linda Lee Sand 31 Spring and the Winter Goblin by Raven Howell 32 Flying Balloons by Joseph Taylor 38 Up . . . Up . . . and Away! 3 9 One Horse, One Bird, Two Brothers adapted by Deborah Gee Zigenis

2 Letterbox 4 Cricket Country by Carolyn Digby Conahan 44 Ugly Bird’s Crossbird Puzzle by Dennis Harris 45 Cricket League 46 Cricket and Ladybug by Carolyn Digby Conahan 84 Old Cricket Says Dear Pussywillow, a vegetarian. I’d also like to respond to a few when I grow up. I am going to write about all sorts You’re my favorite kitten OF COURSE people. In response to Micaela L. (August of things. An author also reads. I would like to character in the gang! Where THEY LOVE 2007), I just started reading Nancy Drew suggest the Warriors series by Erin Hunter. Erin did Ladybug find you? How YOU. WHAT’S and I love it! I also dance ballet, but I’m not Hunter is actually three different people writing old are you? How did you get NOT TO LOVE? dancing on my toes yet. I don’t think I ever the books. your name? will; dancing is just one of my hobbies. To Gillian E., age 10 My favorite thing to do MEW! Simran Mayadas (September 2007), I love Louisiana is play soccer. My favorite acting and am taking a class on how to color is baby blue. My favorite make a movie! It’s an awesome class, and I Dear Cricket, books are the Fairy Realm and have a lot of fun. Your magazine rocks! My eyes light with joy Emily Windsnap series, books about Josephine G. when I see your magazine in the mail. horses, and books by Geronimo Stilton. via e-mail Does anybody love turtles? I do. My friends say I love to read Cricket magazine, too! My teacher I am obsessed. I personally wouldn’t go that far. has a bunny named Raisin. She is a rex Hi, Everybuggy, One of my favorite things in Cricket maga- brown bunny and she was our class pet. I love your mag! It is so cool! I would, how- zine is the continued stories. I liked “Long Meg” Maybe you could have an issue about fishing. ever, like more fantasy stories. Like about uni- (April–July 2007). It was very enjoyable. Another My dad is a fishing guide. Do you like fish? I do! corns, fairies, dragons, and more! In response to one I look forward to reading is Tales from the Maggie M., age 8 Erin Stone (November 2007), I loooooove opera! Homeplace: Adventures of a Texas Farm Girl (“The Lake Anna, Virginia It is one of my favorite things in the world. My Panther,” July 2007, and “Sydney,” September– favorite opera singer is Marlis Petersen, and October 2007). I really like all of the Dear Maggie, my favorite opera is Die Fledermaus by Johann cover art. There is a lot of variety. I found Pussywillow at the edge of the Grassy Strauss. I also think that there should be more I wish Cricket would have more YES! MORE Field one April day. She slipped off a pussy wil- opera stories in Cricket. Are there any other myths, tall tales, and legends. It STORIES ABOUT low bush and magically came to life. She’s just opera fans out there? would also be cool to have more CREATURES a baby and she’ll never grow any older, so I’m Julia W., age 10 turtle stories. WITH answering for her. She sends you a very special Chicago, Illinois Emma Waldron, age 11 SHELLS. purrrrrrry-hi! South Thomaston, Maine Love, Dear Everybuggy, Ladybug I love your magazine! I really like that it has Emma, we have a tall tale stories and poems instead of articles about for you this month, “Melodious,” Hi, Everybuggy! things. I really liked the serial “Barn Gravity” beginning on page 28. I’m just writing in to tell you how awesome (August–September 2007). I also like the bugs The Editors your mag is. (I know you get at least five letters on the sides of the page commenting on the like this in each “Letterbox.”) My sister loves this story or explaining words. I am also a pretty big Dear Cricket, mag so much she pays for the subscription her- puppy fan, so I would like a story about a puppy. I was reading some old magazines and in self, even though she is a cheapskate. Since she I want to respond to Simran Mayadas one I saw a letter from Calla W. (February 2007). pays for it, I have to sneak it to my room to read it. (September 2007). I didn’t know bunnies could That letter may as well have been from me! I, Are there any geeks out there? I do bark! Mine doesn’t, but my bunny is really big! too, am homeschooled and I really love reading, not meet many people who like it anymore. Keep She has a bunny leash, but she hates writing, acting, sewing, and wolves! I love Harry up the good work, Cricket. it. Once she got away and was Potter and my favorite characters are Fred Allen F. living under one neighbor’s A WRITER and George. I have been learning Latin via e-mail shed while living off another AND A READER… for about four years. Weird, huh? I, like neighbor’s garden. We finally I PREDICT Calla, play the piano! Dear Everybuggy, caught her while she was GREAT THINGS! I have a dog named Tiger Lily and I love your magazine! My favorite characters eating. a cat named Oscar. I have six siblings. I are Ladybug and Pussywillow. I like to write stories. I have a cute bunny named Carmel Sam. Are there any vegetarians out there? I am would like to be an author He is trained to stay in my yard.

2 NAMESTE, I love this mag! I am always UPASNA! Nameste, Everybuggy! LINES FROM CRICKET’S LETTERBOX eager to get it. I think you WE LIKE STORIES I bet you’re wondering what Nameste should put more medieval ABOUT FRIENDS, means. I’m from India, and Nameste means Anybody out there been to the Mormon Miracle stories in you mag. Adios. TOO. hello! Now you have a new vocabulary word. Pageant in Manti, Utah? I act in it every summer. Elizabeth A. Depew, I want to make a few comments on Richard C. age 12 Cricket. First of all, could you please include via e-mail Grove City, more stories about friendship? Most of your Pennsylvania stories have only one main character. It’s I was looking at the picture on the cover of the nothing personal, but I like stories with friends October 2007 magazine. I can’t find out where in them. the sky starts and the ground ends, but I’ll keep Hey, Everybuggy, Secondly, I’d like to respond to Amanda working on it. This letter is mostly in response to some R. (October 2007). I’m definitely coming to Natalia K. letters in the April 2007 “Letterbox.” To Morgen Delaware! I love to shop (mostly for books) and Moab, Utah D., it is totally sweet that you live in Germany. would definitely take tax-free shopping. My family has friends there, and I have taken the I agree with Maxime L. (October 2007) that I am a girl and have blond hair. I hate it when language in school. Furthermore, I will be traveling we should call soccer “football” and football people try to excuse “off” days by saying I’m blond. to Germany this summer. I will be staying in the “handball.” I’d also like to tell Gretchen O. (October Your hair color does not make you unintelligent! Bavarian town of Landsberg for three weeks. I also 2007) that my friend Kelsey and I love the Warriors Etienne Wasson, age 13 take Spanish and plan on taking Russian next year. series by Erin Hunter. People who love animals Fort Myers, Florida To Lily O., I Scottish dance and whenever I tell (especially cats) and fantasy should really check people that, they almost always ask if it is any- those books out. There are not nearly enough ferret owners thing like Irish dancing! I was wondering why so many people like math in the world. My little ferret is so cute. He loves To the mag: I appreciated “A Night of so much. Personally, writing is my favorite subject. sleeping in my blanket. He also has a weird habit of Questions” (April 2007). Though I am not Jewish, It’s so cool! You can get your emotions out and stashing water bottles under my bed or the sink. my main group of school friends all are. They had you’re in control when you write. Teachers and my Taylor L., age 13 been talking about the Seder at school, and now parents say I’m really good at it, too. Ohio I know more about it. Plus, I can empathize with I hope my friends are getting Cricket (I think the character Michael. I have fainted three times, they are!) and I’d just like to say hi to my best I think astronomy is totally awesome and I and it is not fun at all. friends Michael L. and Jeffrey D. Hope you’re hav- have seen the northern lights. They’re so beautiful! Emily Foster ing a good life! Mariel R. Salem, Oregon Upasna S. Oak Lawn, Illinois p.s Deutsch ist sehr toll! via e-mail I take Spanish and Mandarin Chinese. I also Hi, Cricket, Hey, Cricket! know a form of gibberish. I’m a big fish nut. Or nerd. Or geek. Or what- I love this mag even though I am almost fif- Nia N. ever you want to call it. I’m especially into deep-sea teen. I’ve gotten it since I was ten or eleven. For via e-mail fish, in particular the marine hatchetfish. Maybe next year I also ordered Cicada. Though I haven’t you could do an article on those amazing little gotten an issue yet, I’m sure it’ll be great. I live I have a horse, and my first ever ribbon guys, complete with front, top, side, and bottom in the tiny town of Johnson City on the point of with Chief (my horse) was blue. He is a nervous views of ’em. Also, I’m into Homestar Runner. Tennessee. I used to live in an even Arabian-style miniature horse and is One time I caught a cicada or something and smaller town near it called Erwin, in training for cart driving. instead of taking him home I let him go back where where there are too many cows A MINIATURE Angel M., age 10 he belonged. That was when I was in Cub Scouts. for my taste. I like cities better HORSE LEARNING Brownsville, Oregon I had a Cricket tape from the seventies and I than the country. TO DRIVE A CART? really loved those “Opposites” poems by Richard A lot of people tell you to Cricket, maybe for a Wilbur. I also liked the one about the hike in New add more stories about “this” NO, NO, NO… change, you could put some York by Sam Levenson. Pretty cool. I have the or “that,” but I’m not going to BUT WHAT A horse, cow, or other animal story in a book, and other people should probably do that. I just wanted to say to GREAT STORY stories in your mag! read it. I also kinda like John Ciardi. “And on Some keep doing what you’re doing, IDEA! Rachel Dorsky, age 12 Days I Might Take Less” is pretty funny, too! because your magazine is great! Appleton, Maine Alex H., age 12 It’s a wonderful blend of stories, art, via e-mail and poems. Although I am a busy freshman, I still take the time to admire the wonderful cover Send letters to Cricket’s Letterbox, Dear Alex, art. I am an artist and a writer, so your magazine P.O. Box 300, Peru, IL 61354. Please include We also loved “Opposites” and thought others really appeals to me. I also like photography, movie your complete name, age, and address. would, too. You will find the poem on page 14. watching, animals, cooking, and reading. I plan to Letters may be edited for length. You can even create your own poem about oppo- be a veterinarian when I grow up. So thank you for sites for this month’s contest. producing a very special magazine that I truly love. Check out our Web site: Love, Andrea M., age 14 or Cricket Johnson City, Tennessee e-mail us at [email protected].

3 OOF!







4 by Frederic S. Durbin

CYMBRIL SANG. Her voice filled the Rake was a fortified city, full of work- the dining hall like a pure liquid, drifting shops and stables, houses, towers, gardens out through the narrow windows under the —even a rippling canal. But it also had rafters. In her thoughts she floated away wheels rimmed with steel, each one seven with the notes, riding the warm breeze over times as tall as a man, and it had arms made forests and fields; but in reality, she could go of gigantic tree trunks that slid back and nowhere. The huge wooden doors of the Rake forth, three along each side. Metal claws on were shut with her inside, a prisoner in the the ends crashed down and sank into the biggest of all cages. It was her duty to sing. earth each time an arm came forward. Like a To say that the Thunder Rake was a gargantuan living creature, the Thunder Rake wagon would be to call the sea a puddle, for crawled over hills and through valleys. The

Illustrated by Emily Fiegenschuh © 2008 by Frederick S. Durbin 5 folk of towns and cities could hear the Rake world was a market, said Rombol, Master of WHAT A coming with its axles squeaking, with rumbles the Rake: everything could be had for a price. MACHINE! I’D LOVE and booms, claw after claw. People flung wide What was the price of freedom, Cymbril TO SEE THE PLANS… their gates and flocked out to buy exotic cloth, wondered—or happiness? She finished her spices, glass, tools, and hundreds of other song and bowed to those who clapped with goods from the Rake’s merchants. All the greasy hands. Tomorrow another grand

6 circuit would begin, another journey of sell- that served as her stage, the table clearers ing. The merchants had been busy stockpiling padded along the trestles, silent as ghosts. and crafting. Many were already snoring, Cymbril moved to help them. their heads on the tables in the flickering, “That will do, Cymbril,” called Master oily light. As Cymbril lifted her hem and Rombol. Slouched in his carved chair, he carefully stepped down from the oaken chest licked his fingers and wiped them on his

7 MEWY-HI, MIWA! FEY MEANS STRANGE AND ENCHANTED. SIDHE IS PRONOUNCED: SHEE. thick, black beard. He pointed at Cymbril ankles, and she knelt to stroke its fur. “It’s with a chicken bone. “Go and rest your voice Highcircle tomorrow, Miwa,” Cymbril told the now. Tomorrow we roll into Highcircle, where cat. “You’ll have plenty of new mice to chase.” the crowds await with purses jingling.” Miwa purred, her eyes glowing with the blue- Several of the groggy merchants grinned. green fire of the Fey world. Cats could “Be in your blue dress at first light.” always see the land of the Faerie Rombol flipped the bone to Bale, the folk, or Sidhe, side by side hound at his feet, who caught and with the world of human- crunched it in his massive jaws. kind. Cymbril fingered Cymbril curtsied and the stone in her skirt’s hurried into the corridor, pocket. She had a thinking, If you’re worried little of the Sidhe’s about my voice, Master fire, too. Rombol, why do you The gears make me sing in the gnashed, the pipe smoke? At axles creaked, and least during the Rake clawed market jour- the ground: neys, she squeak-boom, could spend squeak-boom, her days in squeak-boom. fresh air, and The Thunder by evenings Rake rolled at she had no night; daylight voice left for was for buying the dining hall. and selling. Shutting the Corridors in the door behind her, wagon city had names, like she leaned against streets: Anvil, Longwander, Tinley, it and breathed in the coolness. This hallway Inbrace, Barrel Corner. . . . Cymbril took on the Rake’s uppermost level was a street the Ferny Way and ducked beneath a grape tonight, its ceiling drawn back. Cymbril arbor into a spiral staircase going down. peered up between high wooden walls at Straight to the lowest level she followed the stars—so many, even in the thin strip it, her leather slippers pattering. Some of sky—so blazingly bright, and so free. people said the colossal wagon had five One of the Rake’s cats rubbed against her stories, some said nine, and some said

8 thirteen, for several of the decks were hidden arm wouldn’t grow stronger than the other. within the walls or couched in balcony half- The Urrmsh were nearly always singing, some- levels. Despite her explorations, Cymbril times one by one, sometimes all together. The had not found a way into three of the inner words were in the Armfolk’s own language, galleries. But her favorite space lay here, at which sounded something like the gurgle the stairway’s bottom. She brushed through of rain through gutters, something like the a curtain of stringy brown vines into the purring of giant cats. “We sing our songs,” Pushpull Chamber. the Urrmsh had explained to Cymbril. “We Dark and drippy, warm with breath and tell our tales, and we push, and we pull. It is many bodies, it was the only place Cymbril a good life.” felt at peace. The Urrmsh occupied the long, One Strongarm she could always find narrow room, and of all the people on the was Urrt, because of his especially lumpy Thunder Rake, only the Urrmsh were content. head, his lopsided smile, and his great size. Even sitting on the rowing benches, they He was several hundred years old—not at were taller than Cymbril, and as big around as all old by Urrmsh standards. (None of the boulders. Dark green and warty, the Urrmsh Armfolk kept a very careful count of their rocked back and forth, pushing and pulling ages, though many of them remembered on the “oars”—wooden levers that turned the world from when it was quite different.) the gears that worked the tremendous claws Tonight Urrt was rowing on the right, at of the Rake, gouging the ground, drawing the very front. Cymbril threaded her way the mighty vessel forward. Their mouths and up the center aisle, stepping over the puddles round eyes were like those of frogs; they had that leaked from the canal above. The no ears, only nostril slits for noses, and short, Strongarms liked to be wet. They glistened thick legs. Most amazing were their muscular in the light from two rows of lanterns on arms, so long they could reach to the floor, strings. with hands that could crush a rock to powder. There were just over three hundred of the Humans, who generally had trouble trilling the Armfolk in the Pushpull Chamber, half on r in “Urrmsh,” also called them the Armfolk or each side, two on each bench; the room itself the Strongarms. lay in the center of the Rake’s belly. Cymbril They smiled wide smiles as Cymbril passed marveled that even this many rowers could between them, some pausing in their song to move the Rake. It was a matter of levers, Urrt call her name or tap a fingertip on her head. had told her: with a lever long enough, you She beamed and waved back, but she didn’t could topple a mountain. try saying their names. Whenever she thought Cymbril settled in the dry front corner she’d learned them, the Armfolk changed against a bulkhead, Urrt towering like a cliff places, rowing on different sides so that one above her. Pulling up her knees, she wedged

9 her toes against the edge of his foot, its toe- Cymbril held the hairpin between her nails cracked and yellow with age. He said fingers. The tiny jewel at its top absorbed nothing, but his gentle eyes watched her each and magnified whatever light was present— time he rocked forward, his fingers locked just now, the flickering pink of the Pushpull on the limb-thick oar. When the song rolled lanterns. The smooth, flat, palm-sized stone toward Urrt, he sang, his deep voice resonat- from her father, though, always glowed with ing in the boards. Cymbril hummed on the the blue-green fire of marsh lights, of cats’ same pitch. eyes . . . of the moon on a midnight sea. She untied the silver twine from her hair, “Urrt,” Cymbril said suddenly, trilling the r pulling free the jeweled pin. Her hair tumbled with practiced ease, “tell me again.” over her shoulders. Sliding the twine into her Urrt chuckled, the sound of rocks tum- pocket, she withdrew the stone and laid her bling. “Never fear, little nightingale. You’ve two treasures on the “table” made by her skirt heard it so often, you’ll never forget.” The between her knees. thick oar-lever passed back and forth over A stone from her father, a hairpin from her head. her mother . . . but Cymbril had no “Please tell me again. I like hearing faces to go with the words. Mother it from you.” . . . Father. They had both died of “Well, well,” said Urrt, his voice the plague that swept the village hushed so as not to disturb the where Cymbril had been born. Strongarms’ song—but the song After that, there had been echoed everywhere and could an old woman who cared no more be disturbed than for Cymbril—or fed her, the earth’s bones or oceans’ at least. Cymbril mostly tides. “It is in the songs of remembered her red scarf the Urrmsh: the stone is from and hairy chin. Then there your father and is the color of his was the Thunder Rake, and a woman eyes. The pin is from your mother and once of bony angles who’d taught Cymbril to adorned her hair. She was the most beautiful sing. Selene—that was the woman’s name. woman in the Misty Vales, and the sweetest On the day Master Rombol sold Selene in singer, too. You, Cymbril, have her face and Banburnish Crossing, Cymbril had learned her voice.” He glanced sideways at her with that even people had prices. She’d understood a full-moon eye. “Someday, little thrush, you then that Rombol wasn’t her uncle or a must learn to sing in Urrmsh.” charitable merchant who’d given her a home. Cymbril smiled. The Urrmsh traveled every- He had bought her with shiny coins, just as where; there were many others besides those people bought songbirds to keep in cages. on the Rake. In woods and swamps, on grassy

11 hills, they gathered to exchange their songs. wolves, and worse things—things that the old The music wove together news and wisdom cooks whispered of in the scullery on winter in ways that made the important things hard nights, especially when they wanted to keep to forget. Cymbril carefully let the treasures the younger girls from giggling around the slip back and forth in the lap of her skirt— banked hearth fires. a bright circle, a pink spark. If she squinted, Hurrying forward with a shivery lightness they looked like a firefly and the moon. in her chest, Cymbril wondered what might She was just beginning to feel drowsy when come up the ramp out of the night. a long, braying tone resounded through the Lantern light flared in the lofty hold chamber, shattering the song. Wiltwain’s horn. ahead. There came a murmur of voices, the “Hooooo!” called the Strongarms together thump of the jointed ramp unfolding and and leaned back on their oars. Behind the striking the ground, and the neighing of walls, winches shuddered. Out in the night, horses. Rombol called a greeting to someone. the Rake’s wheels ground to a halt. The steel Cymbril worked her way forward among the claws plunged into the ground and rested. silent carts, their wheels braced with wedges. Wiltwain the Overseer, Rombol’s second- She was on the first balcony; three more in-command, had blown the signal on his levels soared above, but Rombol and his seashell trumpet. He appeared from the stair- party—a few merchants and a squad of way, thrusting his sharp nose and chin through armored guards—stood on the chamber’s the moss curtain. “Just for a short bit, lads,” he floor one story below, where the ramp slanted said, his glittering eyes sweeping the ranks of down into the dark outside the Rake. Cymbril rowers. “We’ve got company coming aboard.” eased into the driver’s seat of the front wagon, Company after sundown. What could its yoke set against the balcony rail. Peeking this mean? Cymbril stowed the treasures in over the footrest, she could see Rombol’s her pocket and sprang to her feet. group, but they weren’t likely to see her . . . “See what it is, songbird,” Urrt said when unless her hair glimmered. Its gold highlights Wiltwain had gone. “But don’t get stepped on.” did that in the glow of fires. She quickly gath- Cymbril laid a hand on his enormous ered her hair, jammed it down her collar, and knuckle, smiled at him and his bench mate, pulled her hood close around her face. and dashed one level up the spiral stairs. As Cloaked riders rumbled up into the hold, she ran along the Hall of Wagons, where the night mist swirling around the horses’ hoofs. rolling tents and shops stood ready to stream Spurs glinted on muddy boots. Some riders down into Highcircle tomorrow, she heard the had long bows across their backs. Sheathed snarling of the ramp’s chains. It was unusual swords were tucked beneath their knees, and for Rombol to lower the ramp after dark. The their eyes shone watchfully in the shadows of lands between towns were haunted by robbers, their cowls. Cymbril counted seven strangers.

12 They stayed in the saddles but guided their horses to the sides, making way for the eighth newcomer, a woman on a pale chest- nut steed. She flung back her hood and shook her flowing hair. Cymbril drew in her breath. The woman was not particularly tall, but she carried her- self in a way that made her seem somehow larger than the rough men around her. A faint scar ran down her left cheek to the jaw. Her wide-set eyes fixed on Rombol. She did not smile. “Brigit!” Rombol spread his arms as if greeting a close friend, but he kept his distance. “What news?” “News of your great good fortune,” she said. Rombol chuckled, hands on his barrel- like waist. “And what good fortune is mine?” “The fortune of the purchase you are about to make.” Brigit signaled one of her riders, who prodded his black horse forward. Cymbril had thought the rider was a fat man, but when he shrugged open his cloak, she saw that he’d been concealing a child on the saddle before him. Cymbril stared. It was a boy—but unlike any she’d ever seen. He had a long, beautiful face, a tiny mouth, and shoulder-length hair precisely the color of the moon. He wore a gray tunic that rippled like the swirling pat- terns of a stream. His luminous eyes shifted At last Brigit showed the hint of a smile. in color as the lanterns flickered, now liquid “Yes. It’s one of them. A Fey child. A Sidhe. brown, now golden. They’re not at all easy to catch. But he’ll be Rombol had begun to laugh at Brigit’s worth the price.” words, but the sound snagged in his throat. For a full count of five, he gawked at the boy. to be continued THEY SNATCHED THAT WHAT ARE THEY GOING POOR CHILD? TO DO WITH HIM? 13 by Richard Wilbur

n omen is a sign of some Occurrence that is yet to come, As when a star, by tumbling down, Warns that a king will lose his crown.

clue, by contrast, is a sign By means of which we can divine What has already taken place— As when, to cite a common case, A fish is missing from a platter And the cat looks a little fatter.

hat is the opposite of pillow? The answer, child, is armadillo. “Oh, don’t talk nonsense!” you protest. However, if you tried to rest Your head upon the creature, you Would find that what I say is true. It isn’t soft. From head to tail It wears a scratchy coat of mail. And furthermore, it won’t hold still Upon a bed, as pillows will, But squirms, and jumps at every chance To run away and eat some ants.

o there! Admit that I was right, Or else we’ll have a pillow fight.

14 n echo’s opposite is the cry To which the echo makes reply. Of course I do not mean to claim That what they say is not the same. If one of them calls out “Good day” Or “Who are you” or “Hip, hooray” Or “Robert has an ugly hat,” The other says exactly that. But still they’re opposites. Know why? A cry is bold; an echo’s shy, And though it loves to shout yoo-hoo It won’t until it hears from you.

he opposite of less is more. What’s better? Which one are you for? My question may seem simple, but The catch is—more or less of what? “Let’s have more everything!” you cry. Well, after we have had more pie, More pickles, and more layer cake, I think we’ll want less stomach ache.

he best thing’s to avoid excess. Try to be temperate, more or less.

Illustrated by Barbara Remington 15 into the Twigs brushed each other; dead grasses neighborhood. Daffodils nodded on long rustled in the still air. Squinting through stems, and new grass edged sun-warmed the trees, Seth followed the tiny sounds. He sidewalks. Winter held on tighter among the shifted his weight gingerly as he stepped, trees, though. Seth didn’t mind. Everything keeping quiet. Look—a flash of gray? He that mattered to him was in the woods. rounded a broad tree trunk and saw the wolf. His boots slipped on lichen-covered rocks Seth froze. The wolf paused in profile, as Seth scrambled over a stone wall. He’d raising its muzzle to sniff the air. grown over the winter, and his longer arms It turned and trotted deeper into the and legs seemed sometimes to get in his way. woods. The boy remembered to breathe again As he entered the woods, musty air chilled and followed stealthily, remaining downwind. him, and newly sprouted oak leaves made He kept his distance, catching uncertain shadows flicker. He tugged at a rotten log. glimpses of the animal until dusk made track- Did the beetles and centipedes underneath ing it impossible and he needed to be home. it sense spring? The log, still frozen to the ground, didn’t budge. He took up a stick and poked at a decayed stump. “Carpenter ants! But where’s the queen?” Here by himself, Seth spoke out loud, as if to someone walking alongside. He would have liked a compan- ion. But no one who knew him would have expected him to say more than three words in succession. Being alone was easier. Still, he wondered what it would be like to share these woods with someone. He pictured wandering there with different class- mates and shook his head over each of them, now and then raising his eyebrows, too, or cringing at some imagined awkwardness. Then he tried to see himself walking with his father, instead, and snorted a laugh loud enough to startle a magpie into scolding him and flapping away. A hint of motion caught his eye, and he turned. Nothing. “Listen,” he whispered.


Seth searched the Internet, and drinking beer with his buddies. They got memorizing wolf signs and habits. Had he along, but no more than that. actually seen a wolf? Maybe it had been only Next morning, Seth scoured the woods for HERE, a large dog, or even a coyote. Or a wolf-dog a bit of fur or some scat. Sharp air numbed his SCAT MEANS hybrid; half wolf and half dog, half wild and cheeks. As he came to the field separating wilds DOO-DOO. half—well, never really tame. and backyards, he heard a dog yap—frantic A different boy, bright-eyed and exag- high-pitched barks that ended in choked gasps MEW! gerating at the dinner table, might have told as it reached the limit of its chain. “Quit it, his family about the thrill of spotting a wolf. dog. You’ll scare . . . oh, you smell the wolf!” But for Seth, “family” was just Dad, and din- Seth turned toward the sound. WHERE? DID I ner wasn’t something they sat down to at the He caught the whole scene in a flash: the STEP IN table. Woods and weather, books and wild wolf, crossing the field between woods and IT? things made Seth who he was. Dad preferred yard, picking up speed. The little dog, whining loud guitars, yelling at ball games on TV, and pulling against its chain. The rail fence,

17 no protection. Time slowed. Seth didn’t yell. His gut froze. Now the wolf wasn’t some fan- tastic, unexpected adventure. It was a hungry predator, and Seth watched in horror. A fat man inside the house yanked open the sliding door and roared, “Shut up!” He unchained the whimpering dog and took it inside. He never saw the wolf. The wolf lowered itself into the yellowed grass and disappeared. Seth raced home, editing the scene in his mind’s eye. He imagined the wolf lunging at the helpless dog. He pictured a small child taking the place of the dog. He saw the wolf’s gaping jaws and cruel fangs. He heard hor- “O.K., then. Hang on.” rible sounds. Dad grabbed his digital camera from “Dad! Dad! Dad!” the house, and they set off. Seth snuck Seth’s dad straightened up from clearing glimpses of his father from the corner of his away garden debris and leaned on his rake, eye. Was he angry? No, his narrowed eyes frowning. “Whoa, Seth.” Pressing a hand into looked annoyed, but his mouth was twisted the small of his back, he stretched and sighed. in a kind of crooked grin. Just Dad’s usual “What is it?” bewilderment about him, then. The boy’s Seth blurted, “Wolf—in the woods!” He shoulders relaxed. SKEPTICAL winced as his dad raised a skeptical eyebrow, The woods felt different to Seth with his MEANS DISBELIEVING. but then caught his breath and told the story father there, more ordinary somehow: Middle from beginning to end. America replacing Middle Earth. Still, he spoke Dad shook his head. “Son, there haven’t softly. “A screech owl nests in that cottonwood been wolves here for, oh, seventy years or tree; see the hole in the trunk?” He smiled, OH more. You saw a stray dog, a big one maybe, enjoying the companionship and surprised by YEAH? SAYS but no wolf.” his own comfort with it. “I was looking for WHO? (HA-HA) “Come with me then. Come see for your- wolf signs when I heard the barking. Wolf self.” Seth hunched his shoulders under his scat has lots of bones and animal hair, so you father’s gaze. “Please.” can tell it’s not dog droppings.” Silence. Seth already had turned his head “Find any?” away, and his body had begun to follow when “Well, not yet. See in those rocks? A fox the answer came. had a den there last year. I haven’t seen her

BEWILDERMENT MEANS CONFUSION AND UNCERTAINTY. (BEEN THERE, DONE THAT…) 18 this spring, but with a wolf around, she Then Dad pulled out his phone. The air wouldn’t stay, would she?” felt like winter again to Seth as he heard his Seth and his dad spoke more to each dad request the number for Animal Control. ANIMAL CONTROL! other in that hour in the woods than they A burning began in the boy’s chest and HIS DAD CALLED had at home in the last month. It felt natural raced up to his scalp and down to his toes. THE DOG- here to Seth. Here he knew what to say. But “Dad, hey, no, hey!” He reached for Dad’s CATCHERS! finally, reluctantly, he ended their conversation. arm. His father shook him off and waved, “We’d better be quiet now if we want to find pushing his palm toward Seth as a signal that wolf.” to back off. Seth opened his mouth, shut it, Father and son prowled from one end of shook his head, and hissed in frustration. the small woods toward the other, and there— Meanwhile, Dad argued with the dispatcher at the point farthest from any homes—a gray until she agreed to send officers. HE HAD TO DO shape trotted along a stony ridge. Ending the call, Dad said, “O.K., now— SOMETHING… Somehow the wolf didn’t seem such a what?” WHAT DID SETH EXPECT? threat anymore. Maybe they could warn the But Seth no longer had any words. He neighbors, Seth thought. Maybe he could trudged toward home, not looking to see if feed it, maybe he could . . . well, not tame it, his dad followed. exactly . . . befriend it? But these thoughts he The officers arrived at the house in kept to himself. minutes—a tall woman with one gray braid Whir. Dad took a quick photograph, zoom- that reached her waist, and a younger man ing in close. “All right,” he whispered, nodding with a sandy moustache. Their eyes brightened at a grinning Seth as the wolf moved away. as they studied the pictures on the camera’s

19 monitor. While the man got gear from their His stomach clenched as he faced his betrayal van, the woman asked Seth where he’d seen of the wolf. “I didn’t know he’d call them, I the wolf, and when, and doing what. didn’t.” But even as he spoke, he wondered if Seth answered in single syllables, looking that was true. down at his feet or staring into the distance. If he had been younger, he would have He glanced once at his father but then looked cried. He would have pressed his hands tight away from the criticism of Dad’s pursed over his ears to shut out the world. Instead, lips and frowning eyebrows. Shifting his he pictured the wolf, trying to stay hidden in eyes, seeking a distraction, he noticed cages the suburban woods, preying on small pets, and crates of different sizes in the van, and scavenging for dog food or road kill to sur- a folded net and tarp on the ground. And vive. He pictured himself trying to feed the rifles. Two of them. wolf, pretending it was harmless. No good, The boy’s mouth fell open as he stared at he thought. It deserves better, it deserves . . . the weapons. The woman followed his gaze Seth took a deep breath, blew it out and picked up the smaller rifle. slowly, and straightened his back. “This one shoots tranquilizer darts, Seth. The wolf deserves to live, at least, he What we hope to do is catch your wolf, check it thought. And these people are here now. No out, and transport it to a better habitat, maybe time to come up with some other plan—I to the wolf sanctuary outside of Fort McDunn. have to move. “Now,” he said to himself and This animal is almost sure to be a wolf-dog sighed, pushing off from the fence. mix or the result of someone’s attempt to have He caught up with his dad and the offi- a pet wolf. A wild wolf, even a lone one, would cers as they crossed the field. Seth knew the never come so close to people’s homes.” woods better than anyone, and he guided Seth closed his mouth, sucking his lips the three with care and skill into the maze of over his teeth. He didn’t want to hear about trees. But his stomach knotted. He bit his lip cages and fences. Or about the other rifle. hard enough to hurt. The part of him that He turned and walked stiff-legged into the hoped they wouldn’t find the wolf fought the house, then straight through it into the back- part that wanted to have this done with. yard, moving faster; past the barbecue, around As the mismatched band of hunters con- the shed, and into the gap between shed and tinued to move carefully through his woods, fence where he leaned against the wooden staying downwind of the unexplored sections, slats. Eyes closed, hands clasped behind his Seth breathed more easily. Maybe the wolf neck, he lowered his head. had moved on. Maybe it would become some “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” The other boy’s problem. whisper came harsh from his tight throat. “I Then he gave a silent gasp as the older don’t know what else I should have done.” officer’s hand gripped his shoulder. She

20 I GUESS IT WOULD BE SOMETIMES PEOPLE HAVE HARD FOR A WOLF TO A HARD TIME BEING LIVE SO CLOSE TO PEOPLE. CLOSE TO PEOPLE! pointed. The wolf stood, its head raised, its Then a clear shot with a tranquilizer body turned away from the hunters, on a rock dart—no need for a bullet—and they tracked outcropping not fifty feet away. The other the drowsy animal until it fell. It didn’t take officer slowly raised the tranquilizer rifle. Just long. Seth helped roll the wolf onto the tarp, as slowly, the wolf turned its head and looked helped carry it to the van and the cage. back, over its shoulder. Not free. But alive. That had to be The man aimed. Wolf’s eyes met boy’s enough. eyes for an instant. And for an instant Seth Seth turned and saw his father watching tried to read something into that glance, him. Grinning, Dad nodded and cuffed Seth something of forgiveness or understanding or awkwardly on the shoulder. That had to be maybe simply awareness. But he knew better. enough, too. The Wolf by Georgia Roberts Durston

When the pale moon hides and the wild wind wails, And over the tree-tops the nighthawk sails, The gray wolf sits on the world’s far rim, And howls: and it seems to comfort him.

The wolf is a lonely soul, you see, No beast in the wood, nor bird in the tree, But shuns his path; in the windy gloom They give him plenty, and plenty of room.

So he sits with his long, lean face to the sky Watching the ragged clouds go by. There in the night, alone, apart, Singing the song of his lone, wild heart.

Far away, on the world’s dark rim He howls, and it seems to comfort him.

Art by Rama Hughes 21 THE YOUNG WOLF sat on a rock, sniffing the raw wind intently. He could pick out the sticky-sweet smell of a spruce and the pungent odor of Arctic fox. But the strongest SOME smell was of approaching snow. LITTLE ONES ARE Without warning, one of the pups from NO CHORE TO WATCH. his pack knocked him from his rock. A second pup joined the playful fighting. The wolf allowed the pups to charge into him. They were much too small to really hurt him, and it was his turn to watch them BUT DO YOU while their parents rested. WATCH HER, OR DOES SHE Just then, a piercing howl inter- WATCH YOU? rupted their play. Fifty yards away, the oldest male was pacing nervously. Back and forth he went, smelled the snow and were moving to a new body stiff and ears feeding ground. rammed forward. He The young wolf trotted over to the older looked toward the moun- wolves, the pups tripping after him. Another tains and then raised his head winter had come to the Arctic, and the wolf and howled. His mate joined pack must follow the caribou. him, and their voices blended in For eight days, the wolves trailed the an eerie, sad call. herd. The oldest male and female took turns The young wolf saw what leading. The young wolf was only two and was troubling them. The caribou not very experienced at finding trails. He herd was a gray smudge on the watched the pups and made sure they did horizon. The caribou had also not wander off. The terrain grew steeper and more dan- gerous, and snow began falling. Near the mountains, the pack came to a stream. One at a time, the wolves leaped across. On the other side, they entered a forest of tall trees.

Illustrated by Mark Alan Weatherby Reprinted by permission of Scholastic, Inc. and Jim Murphy from The Call of the Wolves, text © 1989 by Jim Murphy, illustrations © 1989 by Mark Alan Weatherby. The Call of the Wolves by Jim Murphy

At last, the pack came to a long, thin lake. them. Quickly the caribou pulled together in Half a mile away, the caribou had gathered in a protective circle, adults on the outside, the an area filled with trees, plants, and berries. young and the sick in the center. The caribou had found their winter food, and the wolves would stay nearby. The pack found a rock overhang that provided shelter from the snow. They rested, but at dusk they were up again. The journey had left them with a gnawing hunger, and they were eager to hunt. Down through the snowy woods they glided, heads low to the ground, eyes taking in every detail. The powerful odor of the caribou drew them on. The herd had moved to a flat, open space at the tip of the lake. From there, they could see the wolves moving toward

A HUNGRY WOLF WOULD BE GREAT MOTIVATION TO RUN FAST! 23 right, his paws a blur as he ran. But instead of finding safety, the young wolf was running toward a sheer cliff and open sky. Behind him was the terrible plane. He had no other choice. Without hesitating, the wolf launched himself off the cliff. He sailed into the The wolves spread out. Since a healthy air, then began dropping. Down, down he caribou could outrun a wolf, the pack fell. A second later, he crashed into a mound had to pick the right animal. The young of branches and snow. The impact crumpled wolf circled cautiously; it did not take his rear leg under him, but he couldn’t stop. him long to spot a sickly animal. The other The plane was roaring toward him again. wolves saw the same caribou and slowly He tried to run, but each step sent a moved in. Then they began trotting. The painful stab up his leg. He shifted his weight next second, the wolves burst into a forty- so he could use only three legs, and his speed miles-per-hour sprint. increased. Just before the plane reached him, The entire caribou herd turned to flee. he made it into the trees. But at the same moment, a plane loaded with The wolf kept running through the forest, POACHERS away from the sound of the plane. Finally, CHASING AND illegal hunters zoomed over the treetops. SHOOTING A series of sharp, angry shots rang out FROM PLANES—NO from the plane. The frightened caribou FAIR! I HOPE THEY RUN charged back at the wolves. Within moments, OUT OF GAS! I HOPE THE the young wolf found himself in a confusion PROPELLER of snorting, frantic animals. He searched for FREEZES! his pack, but saw only churning legs. To his right, he spotted a sliver of light and headed for the opening. GRR! He broke free of the stampeding caribou only to find the plane coming after him. More shots were fired. He dodged left, then

24 darkness and pain forced him to stop, and he was so tired that his breathing became a curled up in a tight, warm ball to sleep. low, throaty panting. At dawn, the wolf shook off the snow He turned to see if the wolves were that had piled up on him. Then he peered tracking him. Far off, the forest was alive out from under the trees and searched with skulking shadows and glowing eyes. for the hunters. Except for snow, the sky He did not rest. was empty. Two hours later, the wolf detected a Next, he limped into the open and let out familiar odor. Food. The wolves were some- a long, lonely howl. There was no answering where behind him, but it had been many call. He had to find his pack. days since he’d eaten. He moved toward All day the wolf struggled through the the smell. snow. It wasn’t until late in the afternoon The food scent led him over a hill. More that something moved in the distance. He odors came to him—wood smoke, metal, wet studied it and made out the ghostly shape fur, and something that reminded him of the of a wolf. A second wolf appeared. Was this hunters. All were confusing, but he did not his pack? stop. Food was too close. He was about to approach when two other He came around an upended tree. Ahead, adult wolves came into view. The young wolf he saw a tiny cabin, a spot of light seeping had trespassed into another pack’s territory. from a window. Nothing moved, but the And if these wolves saw that he was injured, strange sight made him hesitate. He inched they would follow him, hoping for an easy forward, his eyes probing the dark. kill. He scurried away. Suddenly, the snow next to him exploded, The storm grew worse, and the wolf had and a sled dog leaped at him, its teeth snap- to use his chest to plow through the snow. He ping. Other mounds erupted with angry dogs straining at their chains. The young wolf fled into the cold night.

25 Toward morning, the storm lessened, and Behind him, the other pack had reached the wolf grew nervous. The other wolves were the water’s edge. The young wolf pushed him- getting closer. And in the light the hunters self up and started to run, only to find the might see him. Then he heard rushing water. path in front blocked by two wolves. He froze. He’d found the stream. The water splashed Had the other wolves circled around to cut and roared over ice-covered, slippery rocks, and him off? All of a sudden, two pups charged below the falls the rocks jutted out of the water into the open, barking wildly. He’d done it— like jagged black teeth. he had found his way home to his pack! The barking of the other pack grew louder. Before the young wolf could take another Still, the pain in the young wolf’s leg made step, his pack ran past him and challenged him pause. A sudden growling behind him the other pack. When the other wolves saw forced him to act. He fixed his eyes on the them, they turned and fled. opposite side, tensed his muscles, and jumped. The young wolf sprinted the short dis- His foreclaws touched rock and dug in, tance to his pack and sniffed to show he but his rear legs splashed into the icy water. was friendly. But the pups did not wait for The water tugged at him and tried to pull the young wolf to greet the adults. They him under, and his legs fought to hold on. sprang at him in a frenzy of affection, Finally, with one great heave, he pulled knocking him over and licking his face. himself out. The oldest male and female raised their heads and howled a greeting. The young wolf and the pups howled, too, their call drifting over the hills and snow for many miles. Every animal who heard the call of the wolves knew that the pack was together again.



Kaya and she learns she is really a princess, the The Iowa Lone Dog daughter of a murdered queen, and Baseball by Janet Beeler the evil wizard Dom Daniel is trying Confederacy Shaw to murder her also. Jenna meets Boy by W. P. Kinsella 412 and Dom Daniel’s apprentice, This book A young man who claims to be Septimus Heap! is about a girl named Gideon Then the histories of Boy 412 and named Kaya. Clarke follows his “Septimus” begin to unravel. . . . She finds a lone father’s footsteps Mae, age 10 dog. She cannot and tries to prove via e-mail take it to her vil- the existence of the lage because the people say no. Kaya Iowa Baseball Confederacy, a league East o’ feeds the dog, and the dog has puppies that no one remembers and that is not the Sun and saves Kaya’s brother from a bear! recorded anywhere. Read it and you’ll and West Do the village people let her keep the like it. o’ the dog? What will the puppies do? You Alex, age 15 Moon will have to read the book. via e-mail by Naomi Katie, age 10 Lewis via e-mail Lionboy illustrated by Trilogy Magyk P. J. Lynch by Zizou Corder (Septimus This is Lionboy is fab- Heap, Book 1) a beautiful tale of a lassie who must ulous! It’s about a by Angie Sage search out the four winds. The North boy who can speak Septimus Wind is the only one that can blow lion’s tongue. One Heap, seventh her to the castle where her lover day his parents son of a sev- resides. The drawings are lifelike and (famous scientists) enth son, gorgeous. It is a mystical and strange got kidnapped and which would story wrapped around incredible taken far away. Lionboy went to rescue make him drawing. This book is a perfect read. his parents and got caught up in a cir- a very powerful wizard, supposedly Lily W., age 10 cus! It’s exciting; the suspense is great! dies at birth. His father finds a baby Fultonville, New York John A., age 11 girl, Jenna. When Jenna turns ten, via e-mail

Do you have a favorite book? Send your review (75 words or less) to Cricket Readers Recommend, P.O. Box 300, Peru, IL 61354. Please write your name, age, and address on the letter. Or visit our Web site: Reviews should be your own original words—please do not copy. 27 elodiou M s BY LINDA LEE SAND elodiou JUST ABOUT EVERYBODY’S the biggest contestant in the s heard of Paul Bunyan, Pecos Bill, and all county singin’ contest, she was M those other fellows who settled this country the one who brought home the grand when it was just achin’ to be tamed. But champion ribbon every year. It made the doggone it, why hasn’t anyone written a speck whole town pretty proud. about Melodious Angelinika Carlson? Well, Well, things would have gone on har- I’d be flattered to tell her tale. And believe moniously if it weren’t for those winds that me, I’ll set all the facts straighter than two came howlin’ across the prairie every spring. knittin’ needles in a ball of yarn. I’m warnin’ They sometimes blew folks clear into the next you though . . . this story just might take county and back again before supper. your breath away. One night, those winds came down and It all started when Melodious was just a blew right inside the Carlson cabin. They babe. That girl was so small, her mama had started tossin’ Mama and Papa around like to use a sunflower-seed shell as a cradle. But potato peels at Grandma Lena’s restaurant. it wasn’t long, three hours in fact, before Melodious knew she had to do somethin’ Melodious had to switch to a walnut shell. pretty quick. So she went outside and grabbed And by jiminy, if she wasn’t bustin’ out of a hold of the chimney. Then she took the big- watermelon rind by day’s end. gest, deepest, doggonedest breath there ever “Big-boned,” said Mama. was. She sucked that wind up through the “Like you,” said Papa. chimney and swallowed it, like it was no Melodious kept growin’ faster than a more than a burp. weed in a patch of peppers. But it was her “UFF DA,” said Mama, “the worst of it sweet voice that got people cluckin’ like hens. is over, then.” The first time she gave a cry in church, the “You can say that again,” said Papa. Reverend Elmer Olson stopped preachin’ and UFF DA! Don’t you know the worst of it shouted out: “By heavens! It’s an angel!” Why, was far from over. Because after that Melodious that’s how she got her middle name. could not make a sound. Not a whisper or a “Melodious Angelinika is the music of my whistle. Not a high note or a low note. Boy, heart,” said Mama. oh boy, the town missed her singin’. But she “You betcha’ she is,” said Papa. was still the cheerful girl she always was. And Yes, sir, that girl’s voice was smoother when the county singin’ contest rolled around, than melted butter on biscuits. That’s why, Melodious was ready to encourage every off- when Melodious got older, she was not only key, tone-deaf warbler in the bunch. UFF DA IS AN EXPRESSION OF SURPRISE OR RELIEF BROUGHT TO AMERICA BY NORWEGIAN WHO’S Illustrated by Julia Gran IMMIGRANTS, BY JIMINY! JIMINY? © 2008 by Linda Lee Sand 29 But the first contestant had hardly peeped That arctic air come swoopin’ out a note before the storm clouds began con- down like a Canadian Mountie. The gregatin’ on the horizon. It wasn’t two minutes snow was pourin’ down faster than before that mass of clouds started whirlin’ flour out of a sifter. If somethin’ wasn’t toward the town. By heavens, if that wasn’t a done quick, everybody would be as stiff rotatin’, gyratin’, circulatin’ twist of wind! Yes, as long johns on a clothesline in winter. sirree, it was a tornado. And not your run-of- (Right about now you’re probably the-mill, knock-a-few-barns-over variety, either. thinkin’ I’m making this up, because No, sirree, it was the Cyclone of the Century everybody knows you never take and headed straight for the stage. your long johns off in winter. But Melodious knew she had to do somethin’ I’m telling you, this is as close pretty quick. So she grabbed hold of that to the unvarnished truth as a tornado like a jump rope, but it was in no person can get.) mood for playground games. It leveled every Melodious knew she stone and stump in sight. If the Red River had to do some- Valley wasn’t already as flat as a flounder, thin’ pretty that twister was going to make it so. But quick. Just Melodious hung on and tossed that tornado like that, she up so high, it had to fight with the clouds to get back down. Mercy, that tornado was mad. It landed forty miles east and drilled holes all over Minnesota—10,000 of ’em to be exact. By the time the rain filled them up, there was a lake for every man, woman, and child, tied all the plus a few left over for visitors. When folks together that twister was finished, it was so with twine so they tuckered out that it couldn’t even wouldn’t blow away. Then she blow the fuzz off a dandelion. Whew! blew out the biggest, deepest, doggonedest But hold your horses, because that was breath there ever was. All the wind she had only the beginning. On the way down, just deep down inside her from the chimney to be ornery, some of that rain turned into episode came out in a rush that blew that snow and blew up the earliest, coldest, frost- blizzard way up north. The cold air liked it bittenest blizzard there ever was. It created so much up there, it decided to stay put. such a flurry that the old Red River got itself “How about we have a little lunch to all twisted up and started headin’ north. celebrate?” said Mama.

30 HOT DISH IS A KIND OF MINNESOTAN CASSEROLE. YUM! “Don’t go to north, I started worryin’ about what’ll happen too much trouble,” when all that snow melts.” said Papa. Everyone nodded. It wasn’t too much “So I went up there and carved a few of trouble scarin’ up some hot those lakes a little bigger. That way, all that dish and buns and a little melted snow will have a place to go.” sweet relish. They were whoop- Believe me, they were pretty good before, in’ it up with coffee and bars but after Melodious carved ’em bigger, those when someone noticed Melodious were five GREAT lakes. was gone. Then someone said, “Hurray for Melodious! You talk about gone, too. They Sing us a song to celebrate!” looked high and low, but she was no place. So Melodious sang. She sounded so darn They looked inside and out, but there wasn’t good that the music brought tears to the eyes a trace of her anywhere. of even the most hard-bit sourpuss. “My heart,” said Mama. Some say Melodious sounded like the wind “—broken,” said Papa. rufflin’ over a wheat field in autumn. Others Oh, it was the palest moon that ever put tell it like her voice was a spring rainfall trem- itself to bed that night. Yep, without Melodious, blin’ over prairie grassland. Yet there are those the whole town was sadder than a prairie dog that say she sounded as mysterious as a loon without a hole. on a crystal-clear lake in Then they heard it. summer or as delicate as There it was. The most the first snow in winter. heavenly darn sound any- Truth is, some one ever laid ears on. say you can still hear “Melodious,” said Melodious today. Now, Mama. don’t go to too much “Our angel,” said Papa. Spring and the Winter Goblin trouble, but if you are Sure enough, Melodious by Raven Howell ever near the Valley here, Angelinika came running you should stop by. On across the prairie singin’ The winter goblin some quiet prairie night, like, well, like someone who Eats his greens, when the stars have just blew a blizzard away and Gobbles grass and leaves burst out of eternity unstuck her vocal cords And beans; itself, listen with your doin’ it. own two ears. By heav- Eats until there’s nothing left, “I’m sorry I was gone so ens, and this is the plain ’Til Spring accuses him of theft. long,” said Melodious. “But truth, it just might take after I blew that blizzard up Then off he trudges to his den your breath away. While Spring fills up her shelves again. 31 Flying Balloons

The MontgolfierStory of the Brothers

by Joseph Taylor

Th e s m a l l t ow n of Annonay, France, Joseph grasped the large knot of ropes, twittered with disbelief one spring day in 1754. took a deep breath, and jumped. People were gathering to watch thirteen-year- The canvas billowed up. Joseph swung old Joseph Montgolfier attempt the seemingly from side to side. But as he expected from impossible: surviving a jump from the roof of the countless tests he had conducted, his SAY MONTGOLFIER: his family’s four-story house. descent was slow. He landed feetfirst on the MOHN-GOL-— lawn with only a slight thud. The jump was FEE-AY. “We’ve got to stop the boy!” cried one man. “He’ll break his neck.” a success! Grinning, Étienne helped pull the Nine-year-old Étienne Montgolfier, one of parachute off his triumphant brother as the SAY ÉTIENNE: Joseph’s fifteen siblings, turned and shook his crowd cheered its approval. AY-TEE- head. “No, monsieur, he won’t. He’ll be saved The celebration was not to last, however. EN. by an old invention of Leonardo da Vinci’s. Monsieur Montgolfier soon returned from Just watch.” Paris, where he had been conducting business On the steep slate roof, Joseph carefully for the family’s profitable paper company. finished laying out a large sheet of canvas He heard what had taken place and was furi- with eight ropes attached to its edges. He tied ous. “You could have been killed,” he scolded the ends of the ropes together in a knot, then Joseph. “Promise me you will never again put stood up and peered over the roof’s ledge. yourself in such danger.” “Oh, what would your father say!” a “I promise, Father,” the boy answered. woman grumbled at Étienne. “You’re just “You need to get your head out of the lucky he’s out of town.” clouds and apply yourself to your schoolwork. Étienne stepped away from the crowd to You and your brothers will have to take over get a clearer view of the chestnut tree across the paper mill one day.” the carriageway. Its leaves were still, the air Joseph nodded uncertainly. He wanted calm; the time had come. He waved his arms to live up to his father’s expectations, yet his at his brother, giving him the go-ahead. heart and mind were elsewhere.

Illustrated by John Bobbish © 2008 by Joseph Taylor 32 G r e e k , L a t i n , a n d t h e o l o g y were the subjects taught in his school, but it was sci- ence and mathematics that interested Joseph. As often as he could, he would steal time from his studies to escape outdoors, where he could let his mind wander and ponder nature. One day, he found himself considering the possibility of flight. Though many had tried, no human had ever flown before. Most people thought it impossible. One noted scientist put it bluntly: “It has been proved that we human beings are incapable of rising from the ground and soaring in the air. Why waste time on attempts at changing nature’s basic laws?” Joseph had other ideas. He saw that many things in nature—bubbles, steam, clouds— did rise. “Surely, a human could lift off the ground and fly, too,” he told Étienne. Étienne nodded his agreement. “But how?” Joseph grew so frustrated with his formal studies and his father’s rigid ways that he left school and ran away from home. He found a job picking mulberry leaves on a farm that raised silkworms. It wasn’t exactly the life of a prosperous merchant’s son, and his father soon had him returned to school. Joseph only

33 rose up the chimney. Could it be, he wondered, that something could float up with it? He glued together a few pieces of paper to make a small bag, then carefully held it upside down above the flame. When he released it, the bag flew up the chimney with the smoke. His heart racing, Joseph borrowed some green silk taffeta from his landlady and sewed a larger bag using the dress material. When he filled the bag with smoke, he could hardly believe his eyes. It lifted out of his hands and rose up to the ceiling. After sending a hurried note to Étienne, Joseph made for Annonay to show his younger brother his discovery. “It’s incredible!” Étienne agreed. The brothers quickly set to work experi- grew more determined to study science and menting. For months they tested many mathematics. different bags—small and large, paper and Meanwhile, Étienne excelled in school, cloth, square and round, some inflated over much to his father’s delight. When he grew up, a smoky fire on the ground, others carry- he became an architect, then, when his father ing kettles of fire up with them. Finally, they retired, manager of the family business. designed a large, round bag constructed of Joseph, though, stumbled from one failed layers of paper and cloth that did not carry career endeavor to the next. Although he devised a kettle. It was 110 feet in circumference, new kinds of paper and manufacturing tech- weighed approximately 500 pounds—and was niques, most of the family was dismissive of his held together by more than 1,800 buttons! attempts at papermaking and began referring Rumors of the Montgolfier brothers’ experi- to toilet paper as “Joseph’s paper.” Meanwhile, ments eventually aroused curiosity, and they were Joseph’s dream of flight remained just a dream. invited to give a public demonstration of their Perhaps, he started to think, it always would. “machine.” On 4 June 1783, surrounded by a crowd of local officials and townspeople, Joseph Th e n o n e d r e a r y November day in 1782, as and Étienne built a smoky fire in a grate using forty-two-year-old Joseph warmed himself beside straw and wool and sent their balloon aloft. It rose the fire in his apartment in Avignon, an idea more than 3,000 feet and drifted for ten minutes came to him. He noticed how quickly the smoke before landing in a vineyard. The brothers agreed

34 that the machine could have stayed up longer young scientist, gasped at its small size. Then had the smoke not escaped from its buttoned Étienne realized why it was so small. “He’s sides. But the crowd was far from disappointed. using inflammable air!” Everyone rushed to congratulate them. Indeed, unlike the Montgolfiers’ aerostat, Soon the Academy of Sciences and the Charles’s was filled with a gas discovered king and queen themselves, Louis XVI and seventeen years earlier that would soon Marie Antoinette, invited the Montgolfiers to become known as hydrogen. It was lighter Paris to demonstrate their invention. Joseph than air—but also explosive. When Charles and Étienne were overjoyed. All they needed heard first reports of the Montgolfiers’ flight, was some time to construct a better “aerostat,” he may have believed, with other scientists, as they now called the balloon. that their balloon was lifted with this gas. But time was something they did not have. Forty-five minutes after Le Globe lifted off, A few weeks after their triumph, they learned the Charles aerostat burst. Its remnants streamed that their demonstration had prompted a down into a field, where farmers attacked it with prominent Parisian scientist, Jacques Charles, to pitchforks, thinking it was a strange monster begin work on a similar machine. Stunned, the from the sky. Although Charles’s flight was not brothers decided that the more worldly Étienne completely successful, Paris now buzzed with should go to Paris to keep up with events and excitement. People talked about exploring the oversee the construction of their new aerostat. “air ocean” the way they had the sea. A few weeks later, on 12 September, Étienne O n 27 Au g u s t 1783, thousands of people demonstrated his new, handsewn aerostat to assembled in Paris to witness the flight of members of the Academy of Sciences. Though Charles’s Le Globe. When it was unveiled, the balloon rose up into the air, a sudden rain Étienne and his new friend, Jean-François Pilâtre sent it crashing to the ground, destroying it. de Rozier, an ambitious Étienne was horrified. The great demonstration before the king and queen was scheduled in less than a week! Trying not to panic, he and his workers quickly began to construct an entirely new aerostat. Not only did they finish in time, but Étienne took the opportunity to add a wicker basket to the new design. This aerostat would carry passengers—animal passengers,

An alien invader? That’s what French peasants thought when Charles’s hydrogen balloon fell from the sky. 35 to be precise! No living thing had ever flown in a machine. No one knew whether it was even possible for living creatures to endure the air at a high altitude. Étienne felt it was time to try. On 19 September, near the royal palace at Versailles, the king and queen watched expec- I WONDER IF tantly as the Montgolfier aerostat took off, with THE SHEEP, DUCK, AND a sheep, a rooster, and a duck in its basket. A ROOSTER ENJOYED gust of wind knocked the balloon against its THEIR FLIGHT. support mast, tearing it slightly. Once in the air, another gust tilted it and sent a plume of smoke streaming out its side. Étienne grimaced and closed one eye. But the aerostat contin- DID IT MAKE THEM ued at an angle, traveling two miles in eight THE STARS OF THE minutes before landing in a small meadow. All BARNYARD? three animals had survived! Étienne shared the good news with Joseph, lifted off the ground, carrying its courageous then got right to work on their next aerostat: passengers upward. one that might carry people. He was deter- On board, the two men waved to the enor- mined to reach this milestone ahead of Charles. mous crowd below. Using pitchforks to add A critical day came a month later on straw to an iron fire basket suspended in the 15 October. In a private test conducted by neck of the balloon, they kept the montgol- Étienne, Pilâtre de Rozier became the first fière rising steadily. It wasn’t long before the person to go up in an aerostat tethered to the flames swelled too high and set pieces of cloth ground. He rose eighty-four feet. and rope on fire. D’Arlandes grabbed a wet The following month, de Rozier and the sponge and put out the flames, saving the bal- Marquis François Laurent d’Arlandes, an old loon—and their lives. Drifting with the wind friend of Joseph’s, were ready to attempt the over Paris, they traveled more than five miles first free flight of human beings. in twenty-five minutes before landing safely on All of France seemed to hold its breath. the slope of a hill outside the city. They had done it! All those involved with the historic O n 21 N ov e m b e r 1783, de Rozier and first human flight were instant heroes. the Marquis climbed aboard a montgolfière, as Ten days later, Jacques Charles and Noël everyone called their flying balloon. Étienne’s Robert made the second successful air voyage, steady gaze never strayed as the balloon slowly using a “charlière.”

36 On 19 January 1784, Joseph himself flew was responsible for lift. Joseph went on to with five other men in a gigantic montgolfière enjoy further success as an inventor, while 125 feet high. Afterward, a beaming Joseph Étienne continued to manage the family told Étienne, “I flew! Can you believe it?” paper business and became active in politics. Étienne nodded. “I most certainly can, The two remained close. my dear brother. I always believed you would A “steerable” balloon, or dirigible, was reach your dreams.” finally devised in 1852. The key to its success: Joseph hugged him. “Thank you, Étienne. it used a steam engine for propulsion. None of it would have happened without you.” Although the gas balloon is still in use His eyes twinkled. “Now, if only we could fig- today, it often contains nonexplosive helium, ure out a way to steer the balloon. . . .” not hydrogen. A hot air balloon is still referred to as a J o s e p h a n d É t i e n n e ’s invention opened montgolfière. up the skies for human flight. In the years that followed, “balloon fever” swept the AUTHOR’S NOTE While we know that world, as new “aeronauts” pioneered first-ever Joseph experimented with parachutes as a flights in different countries. boy, his leaping from his family’s house may In 1785, the brothers learned that it was be legend and is not known with certainty. hot air, not smoke as they had thought, which

37 Up . p . . . . . U and Away !

MAKE YOUR OWN hot air balloon! Here’s how.

What You’ll Need: large plastic bag (be sure it has no holes) needle plastic cup scissors strong thread hair dryer

What to Do: 1. Carefully sew a running stitch around the open end of bag. Pull ends of threads together to form bag into a balloon shape. 2. Cut bottom off plastic cup. Decorate cup with markers, crayons, bits of colored paper, or anything you like. 3. Sew cup to bottom of balloon, looping threads as shown. 4. Fill balloon with hot air from hair dryer. Watch your balloon rise.

How does this work? The hot air from the hair dryer is more buoyant than the room-temperature air. Hot air always rises, so your balloon, filled with the hot air, floats upward. As the air in it cools, the balloon will descend.

Illustrated by 38 Ryan Wiesbrock One Horse, One Bird, Two Brothers A SERBIAN TALE

“GOD BLESS YOU, Andjelia hastened my sons.” to lay a hand on his High in a tower shoulder. He clutched above Belgrade town, at it with a grip that Andjelia watched as the nearly cracked her old prince gave his last bones. blessing to his sons— “Farewell . . .” The Bogdan and her own old prince breathed the husband, Dmitri. word like a sigh, then Bogdan knelt, breathed no more. head bowed, at his “Nay!” Dmitri father’s bedside, hands leaped to his feet. Fists clasped on the rich swinging, he thrashed coverlet in prayer. at the bed curtains Dmitri grasped at and candlestands in the old man’s veined his grief. hand. Adapted by Deborah Gee Zigenis All through the “You must . . . next day and long into divide everything the night, Andjelia between you . . . equally.” The old prince’s listened as Dmitri and Bogdan made a list quavering voice could barely be heard above dividing their father’s riches. And all through Dmitri’s muffled sobs. the day and long into the night, she winced “As you wish,” Bogdan whispered. and wrung her hands as they quarreled in the “Don’t . . .” Dmitri choked. room overhead.

Illustrated by Polly M. Law © 2008 by Deborah Zigenis-Lowery 39 Oh, my husband, have a care. . . . She “What do you mean?” Andjelia followed hugged herself tightly. You are as dangerous in him to the courtyard where he slung his your sorrow as a wounded beast. Grief for your father’s saddle onto the great, black horse father has enraged you so, you would turn on and seized the gray falcon. those you love best. “Where are you Finally, over most going?” She caught at matters the brothers his hand. had agreed, but over “Listen.” He shook two items, they argued himself free. “And yet. Each claimed their listen well. I am off father’s favorite black hunting and I take horse and his beloved both falcon and horse. gray falcon. Bogdan is pig-headed,” “They are mine.” Dmitri said, yanking Dmitri’s voice boomed the cinch tight, “stiff- from above. “Many necked,” he buckled it, are my memories of “and greedy. There is no hunting with them on dealing with him. I am the high hills with our the eldest. How dare he father.” claim that which should “Ah, my brother,” be mine!” Dmitri Bogdan’s voice was turned and scowled at low in reply, “did I his brother’s chambers. not help to train both “I cannot bear his pres- horse and bird? Many ence. While I am away, are the memories they I order you to kill him. hold for me as well.” I don’t care how. Poison Finally, as the him if you must!” rising sun beamed “Dmitri!” Andjelia through the lancet windows, Dmitri slammed drew back. “You cannot mean it. You love out of the tower room and clattered down the your brother. You must not allow your grief stairs. and fury to so cloud your reason!” Andjelia hurried to his side. “So, my hus- “I do mean it!” Dmitri jabbed a finger band, you have settled all between you?” at her. “I must have both horse and bird. If “We have not!” Dmitri flung on his cloak, you will not poison my brother, I shall send you then stalked out the door. away—away from this castle, away from our

IF THEY’VE SHARED EVERYTHING ELSE, WHY CAN’T THEY SHARE MAYBE THEY’RE THE BIRD AND THE HORSE? TIRED OF SHARING. 40 DMITRI WOULD RATHER HAVE A BIRD AND A HORSE THAN A BROTHER AND A WIFE? HE NEEDS A TIME-OUT. child, and away from me.” Then he swung up where she sought out the cask that held her onto the horse and galloped out the gate. finest wine. Carefully, she drew the stop- As the hoofbeats faded into silence, per and filled the chalice. Then she raised it, Andjelia buried her face in her hands. “How closed her eyes, and sniffed. can he ask this of me?” She wept. “If I should “Mmm. Now I must find Bogdan.” poison his dear, good brother, ’twould be a Andjelia searched the castle, every corner, mighty sin. And yet . . . ,” she continued, every corridor, every hidden, twisted stairway, gazing toward the high window of her child’s but Bogdan was not to be found. Finally, she room, “if I do not poison Bogdan, I must stepped into the chapel garden. “Bogdan . . . ,” leave my dear baby and all love.” she whispered. Wiping her tears, Andjelia turned to the There he paced, his cloak snapping as he keep. As she passed the heavy doors that led whirled to retrace his steps. to the treasure chamber, however, she paused. Gravel crunched beneath Andjelia’s feet. Silently, she eased open a door. A brush Bogdan looked up, his frown changing to of chill air raised the hairs on her arms as she a smile. sped down the stairs. As she approached, however, his smile At the bottom, Andjelia felt her way to faded. “Sister, what troubles you?” the table that held flint and tinder. Then, Sweet Jesu! Andjelia cast a glance skyward. raising a lighted candle, she turned to the I pray I do right. She dropped to her knees. cavernous chamber and blinked at the daz- “Oh, my brother!” she cried as she leaned to zling display. Jewelry, goblets, platters, and kiss the hem of his robe. armor overflowed from coffers and shelves. “Andjelia . . . rise.” Bogdan held out a Moving from chest to chest, pile to pile, hand, his expression puzzled. Andjelia searched for the one possession she “Nay.” Andjelia raised the chalice, fixing could call her own. her gaze upon his tired face. “’Tis in honor “At last!” She dropped to her knees of you . . . in honor of you, my husband’s before a carved box. Her hands trembled as brother, that I kneel and offer this golden she lifted out a great prayer chalice made of prayer chalice.” the finest beaten gold. Bogdan’s brows pulled taut. “This I brought with me from my par- Andjelia held the chalice higher. “I grieve ’ house,” she whispered. “Thus it is mine at the manner in which you and Dmitri have to take now.” quarreled. I beg of you, accept this gift, as Andjelia shined the chalice with the hem though it were from him.” of her gown, then turned to the stairs. “Thank you, my sister.” Bogdan’s voice Along the vast corridors and through the was heavy, but his smile was gentle as he took kitchens she sped, then down to the cellars, the chalice. “Thank you for your tender care.”

THE KEEP IS THE A CHALICE IS A DRINKING INNERMOST TOWER OF CUP OR GOBLET, A CASTLE, A PLACE LIKE THE ONES USED IN TO KEEP THINGS SAFE. COMMUNION. 41 Andjelia clasped her trembling hands “Without my right wing,” the falcon together and watched as he raised the chalice gasped, “I feel as a brother would feel without to his lips. his brother.” Dmitri jerked back. The bird had spoken! HIGH ON the misty hills, Dmitri scowled Then its words sank in. up at the sky. All morning he had hunted the Bogdan, he thought. I bade Andjelia woods and fields where he and Bogdan had poison Bogdan! Heavenly Father, forgive me. played when they were boys. What was I thinking? Settling the falcon on his glove, he turned With trembling hands, Dmitri took up the stallion along the shore of a lake. He the falcon and leaped astride the horse. recalled how their father used to hold him “Please, God,” the words pulsed through and Bogdan before him in the saddle, and him as he thundered toward Belgrade, “let me the feel of their sire’s laughter rumbling in his reach home in time to save my brother.” chest. Tears rose to his eyes. Over the hills Dmitri and the black “But what’s this?” Dmitri sat up straight and horse raced. Through the woods and across squinted as he peered out over the water. the plains they flew, up to the very gates of On the lake swam a duck with wings so Belgrade town. With a ferocious kick, Dmitri golden-bright they lit up the valley. spurred the horse to cross the bridge. He sighed. “What a trophy that duck would The horse whinnied and collapsed. make.” And he loosed the falcon to catch it. For a moment, Dmitri lay stunned upon Up, up, up into the sky the falcon circled. the ground. Then he rolled to his hands and Then she dove. As she reached to sink her knees. talons into the golden fowl, however, the duck “Arise!” He pounded at the saddle, but whirled and caught her in his bill. The duck the horse lay there, its sides heaving. shook the falcon mercilessly over the water. “Arise, I command you . . . I beg of “Father, forgive me!” Dmitri breathed you . . .” Dmitri’s voice broke. the words in horror. Then he leaped from his He lifted the horse’s head onto his lap, horse and plunged into the icy water. Swiftly stroked its lathered brow, and wept. Then he swam to the injured falcon, took her into he unfastened his father’s saddle and slung one hand, and held her high as he struggled it over his own back and took the falcon to shore. upon his glove. There Dmitri laid the broken bird on the Through the streets of Belgrade he ran, grass. Its right wing was twisted at an impos- heart pounding, silently praying. Holy Father, sible angle. Dmitri shook his head, his heart let me reach home in time! When he reached heavy with sorrow. “How is it with you, my the castle, the courtyard was silent, empty. poor, gray falcon?” Dmitri could barely breathe, so great was his

42 fear. He dropped the saddle, then sprinted to brother. Instead I have made peace between Andjelia’s chamber, taking the stairs two at you. He has granted to me the falcon,” she a time. said, gesturing toward As he burst through the bird, “and the horse the doorway, Andjelia in exchange for my looked up from where she golden prayer chalice. sat playing the tamboura. I, in turn, give both “Andjelia!” Dmitri to you. He said, ‘Such threw himself onto his insignificant matters knees and buried his face should not keep a man in her gown. “I have been from his brother.’” SHE DIDN’T such a fool!” “Oh, thank you, POISON HIM! WHEW. Andjelia plucked the thank you!” Dmitri last chord of her song, cried. Then, thinking then turned to him. “Why of the maimed falcon say you that?” and the great black Tears trickled down horse that would never Dmitri’s face. “In my again gallop like the longing to cling to my wind, his face flushed WHY DID THE CHALICE father and to our old life hot with shame. CALM together, I forgot the great Andjelia stroked BOGDAN’S ANGER? love he bore both Bogdan his cheek. “I can see and me—and my own you have already made love for my brother. Tell your own peace with me . . . Tell me, please . . . your brother. Go now. Say you have not poisoned Tell him. He is in the ALL THAT ARGUING FOR my brother!” garden.” NOTHING… Andjelia set the tamboura aside and Then she smiled as Dmitri leaped to his cupped his face in her hands. “Indeed,” she feet and ran out to embrace his brother in the said, smiling, “I have not poisoned your last light of the setting sun.

NOTE “One Horse, One Bird, Two Brothers” is a story that has been adapted from the Serbian epic song “How the Jaksic Brothers Shared,” collected by Vuk Karadzic in the early nineteenth century. This song, dating from the fourteenth and early fifteenth centuries, was originally sung to entertain and to help preserve the wisdom and heritage of the Serbian people and is a testament to the value of peacemaking.


7 9 8

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Solution on page 47

1 23 B R 6 I 45 N G F O O 7 H L 8 9 R A A I Across 11 Down L L 10 N A E N 1. “April showers ______May flowers” 1. T Sail______E 12 D M 6. April ______(victim of a joke on 15 Across) C 2. Part played14 by an actorE T 13 7. Typical April weather 3. State justP south of Wisconsin (abbreviation)T 15 A N UGLY THINKS T 9. Once and for ______4. UsualD color of April grass R DROPPING THAT 18 A Y 16 BIG PUZZLE ON 17 1 0 . f Opposite o beginning P 5. Concealed S T SOMEBUGGY IS20 A E N 19 Y FUNNY TRICK? 1 1 . f Past tense o eat L 8. Social insect A P E N R 1 2 . Encountered 1 1 . PerformT in a stage21 play 22 P A 26 A U 1 4 . Kitchen utensil for frying 1 2 . MonthS following April L T O 1 5 . April Fools’ ______(April 1) 13 . t If a first you don’t succeed,N E ______again 1 6 . e Pig’s hom 1 4 . Trousers 1 8 . Writing instrument THAT’S 1 5 . e Lion’s hom NOT A 1 9 . Fourth month (abbreviation) TRICK, 1 6 . s Act a a bridge THAT’S A 2 0 . f Past tense o lend TRAP! 17. Not false 2 1 . ______Revere made his famous ride on April 18 1 8 . If you are born in April, the sweet ______is 2 2 . The diamond is April’s birth______your flower BUT HE’S GOING TO 1 9 . Army address (abbreviation) SMASH THE COOKIES! WE HOW DUMB DOES HE SHOULD… THINK WE ARE?


First prize 10 and under First prize 11 and up Karly Chin, age 10, Redding, CA Bianca Trombetta, age 14, Boston, MA Wolf Spirit’s Forest First prize 11 and up The Tiger Within Abby Grobbel, age 12, Grosse Pointe, MI

Second prize 10 and under Second prize 11 and up Leela Keshav, age 9, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada Karen Duan, age 12, Ann Arbor, MI The ’s Feather

Second prize 10 and under Olivia Lewis, age 10, Larkspur, CA

45 Third prize 10 and under Second prize 11 and up Remy Mann, age 8, Boulder, CO Lindsey K. Okada, age 12, Dallas, TX

Second prize 11 and up Eaton Guo, age 13, Elk Grove Village, IL Weasel Nation

Second prize 11 and up Brenna Manning, age 11, Wakefield, MA Third prize 10 and under The Tiger Emily Yeh, age 10, Plano, TX





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about opposites. It’s a bit of April foolishness that appealed to everybuggy. So, give it a try! try! a it give So, everybuggy. to appealed that foolishness April of bit a It’s opposites. about


or this month’s contest, Ladybug was not opposed to reading lots of clever poems poems clever of lots reading to opposed not was Ladybug contest, month’s this or F

Photograph accompanying “Flying Balloons” is courtesy of Bridgeman Art Art Bridgeman of courtesy is Balloons” “Flying accompanying Photograph

you read his poem. his read you Mitch Aunger/Shutterstock. Mitch

Photograph accompanying “Spring and the Winter Goblin” is courtesy of of courtesy is Goblin” Winter the and “Spring accompanying Photograph

. Perhaps you didn’t know those words had opposites until until opposites had words those know didn’t you Perhaps . and for opposites echo armadillo Acknowledgements continued from inside front cover front inside from continued Acknowledgements

oes everything have an opposite? Maybe. Wilbur even found funny and surprising surprising and funny found even Wilbur Maybe. opposite? an have everything oes D

1 23 45 , or anything they liked. liked. they anything or , or , or , of opposite the for asking by round another flat whale

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11 12 13

A T E M E T T just was game The losers. or winners no and scoring no was There children. their with played 14 wife his and he game a from poem his for idea the got “Opposites,” wrote who Wilbur, Richard

C P A N R 15 16 17 CONTEST POETRY NEW T D A Y S T Y 18 19 P E N A P R

20 21 Kiersten Kern, Kiersten age 12, Grosse Pointe Park, MI Park, Pointe Grosse 12, age

L E N T P A U L Cat Fire

Third prize 11 and up and 11 prize Third

Ariel Long, Long, Ariel 22 26 NC Seagrove, 12, age

A S T O N E Third prize 11 and up and 11 prize Third

Solution to Crossbird Puzzle Crossbird to Solution

site: Web our visit entries,

To see more winning Cricket League League Cricket winning more see To

Mobile, AL. Mobile,

Kimi Wendland, Kimi age 15, 15, age MA. Chelmsford,

Jennifer Sohn, Jennifer 11, age WA. Orchard, Port 11, age

Rachel Routh, Rachel Nelson, age 10, Leominster, MA. MA. Leominster, 10, age

Hummingbird Snails, Mice, Hedgehogs, and Bunnies and Hedgehogs, Mice, Snails,

Lulu Lulu McVicar, Abigail age 9, Mobile, AL. AL. Mobile, 9, age TX.

Carlina Duan, Carlina Maya I. Keshav, I. Maya age 14, Ann Arbor, MI Arbor, Ann 14, age age 11, Waterloo, Ontario, Canada Ontario, Waterloo, 11, age

Catherine McGeoch, Catherine age 11, Dallas, Dallas, 11, age TX. Dallas,

Third prize 11 and up and 11 prize Third Third prize 11 and up and 11 prize Third

Maura McCrary, Maura age 11, 11, age ME. Monroe, 16, age

Zora E. MacClintock, E. Zora Le, TX. Plano, 11, age

Tiffany Tiffany Lataif, Frances age 11, Rome, GA. GA. Rome, 11, age NH.

Mia Lalanne, Mia age 13, New Hampton, Hampton, New 13, age MN. Paul, St.

Jian Kettunen, Jian age 10, Centennial, CO. CO. Centennial, 10, age 10, age

Firester, Jordan Jayko, Jordan age 10, New York, NY. NY. York, New 10, age

Spencer Enns, Spencer Kalia Kalia age 11, Ashland, OR. OR. Ashland, 11, age

DeMann, Isabel Estelle Estelle Isabel age 7, New York, NY. NY. York, New 7, age

Julian Julian Carr, Michael age 8, St. Paul, MN. MN. Paul, St. 8, age MD.

Jordan Zane Brownstein, Zane Jordan age 12, Lutherville, Lutherville, 12, age Honorable Mention Honorable AT 10:00 a . m . on 9 January 1793, Jean Pierre Blanchard went “over the wall” at the Walnut Street Prison in Philadelphia. Way over. But he wasn’t an escaping prisoner. He was a French balloonist, and my friend Carl Delano Fowler tells me he was the first person to take flight in America. Blanchard had arrived in the U.S. at the end of 1792 with his yellow silk balloon in hand, hoping that an aerial exhibition would pay his trav- eling expenses. He offered tickets at prices from two to five dollars, but though the flight attracted a crowd of 40,000 (including future presidents Adams, Jefferson, Madison, and Monroe), he didn’t make much money on the venture. Most people didn’t bother to buy tickets, preferring instead to watch from lawns, rooftops, or open windows. Still, Blanchard carried on with his flight. He had, after all, gone to the trouble (and personal risk) of mixing 4,200 pounds of sulfuric acid with iron scraps to make the hydro- gen he’d need to get his balloon off the ground. With wine and biscuits for nourishment and a small black dog for company, Blanchard lifted off from the prison courtyard as the crowd cheered a bon voyage. He rode the wind for fifty-six minutes, eventually reaching a height of 5,800 feet. Several riders tried to keep up with him on horseback, but he easily outdistanced them. When he finally landed, he’d traveled fifteen miles and crossed the Delaware River into New Jersey. Both he and his dog emerged unharmed. Over the course of his life, Blanchard would make fifty-nine flights, including the first airborne crossing of the English Channel. Clearly he was happiest when he kept his head in the clouds.

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