Escape to Witch Mountain Read Free

man's name? We don't know who our people are, and he may be a relation.”
    The nun pressed her thin hand to her forehead. “It was something like Caroway, or Garroway. No, Hideaway seems closer—though that couldn't be it. Anyway, I do recall that he lived in the mountains, but much farther south. Somewhere down in the Blue Ridge.”
    Tony gasped. “The mountains—the Blue Ridge? You're sure?”
    “Yes, because he mentioned them. He said—”
    They were interrupted by the bus driver, who shouted, “Hey, you kids! Get aboard—or aren't you going to Hackett House?”
    “Wait!” Tony pleaded. “Just a moment—please!”
    “I ain't got all day,” the driver grumbled.
    The nun said hastily, “The letter may be on file at the school. When I get back tonight I'll look it up. If you'll give me your names…”
    Tia was already swiftly scribbling their names and address on a piece of notepaper. The nun took it and folded it away, saying, “I'm Sister Amelia, of St. Agnes School. If I can find the letter, I'll—”
    Her voice was drowned by the roar of another bus approaching. They were forced to separate as two other nuns came over and took Sister Amelia by the arms. Tony had no chance to talk to her again. Reluctantly he followed Tia aboard.
    He was in a daze of excitement and uncertainty all the way back to the city.

OUT OF YESTERDAY
    A t Hackett House that night, Tony lay awake long after the other boys had gone to sleep. Somewhere in the mountains was a man who was almost certainly a member of the same family as Tia and himself. It had to be that way. Why else the double star? You wouldn't use such an uncommon design on a letter—and print it so exactly—without reason.
    It was galling not to know that person's name, or where he lived. Everything depended on Sister Amelia. So much depended on her, in fact, that it suddenly worried him to realize he didn't know her address. She'd merely said St. Agnes School, as if she thought he knew where it was—but St. Agnes School might be in any of a dozen towns within a few hours' drive of Heron Lake.
    The next day he borrowed the telephone directories and searched through them carefully. St. Agnes School was not listed in the city, or in any of the suburbs.
    He told himself it didn't really matter, for surely they'd hear from Sister Amelia within a day or two.
    But three long days passed and dragged into four; then four became five, and five turned into six. Finally a new week had begun, and still there was no word from the little nun.
    Tony despaired. What could have happened? Had Sister Amelia lost the paper Tia had given her? Or, worse, had she been unable to find the all-important letter?
    “No,” said Tia to the last question. “She'd write if she could, nomatter what. I'm sure of that, Tony. She knows how important it is. I—I'm awfully afraid about her. She's old, and I know she wasn't at all well when we saw her…”
    They had finished their assigned tasks for the afternoon, and had met in the tiny library. It was the only spot where they could talk without interruption. The place was stifling. Tony unlocked the front window and opened it for ventilation. He peered glumly out at the ceaseless traffic and the old rooming houses across the street.
    What were they going to do?
    Absently he took the tiny wooden doll from his pocket, placed it on the windowsill, and pointed his finger at it. Feeling as he did, his curious ability to make things move was at a low ebb. The doll lay crumpled and motionless until he found his harmonica and blew a few soft notes. Gradually, life seemed to enter it. It stirred, rose slowly, and finally began to dance as he played. The music was Tony's own, the softest whisper of a melody that came from somewhere deep within him. Tia listened, entranced, then opened the star box. Now the other doll joined the first upon the windowsill.
    The drab world around them was forgotten. Here for a moment there was magic. Magic in the music, in