There's a Spaceship in My Tree! Read Free

its builders labor in vain,” their mom said. “That’s from someplace in the Psalms, I think. God’s given us a good start. Your dad has a good job at the university. Things are getting off the ground for my pediatrics clinic. We’ll be starting out at a new church Sunday, and school’s only a couple of weeks off.”
    â€œSchool?” the kids groaned in unison.
    Mr. Mac picked up his napkin and wiped his chin. “I know it’s tough, guys, making this move. But you’ve got to give it a little time, treat it like . . . like an adventure.”
    â€œThere’s lots more here that you didn’t have back there,” her mom added, “like fireflies and . . . tree-covered hills and — ”
    â€œAiiiiiii !” Erin’s scream sliced through Dr. Mac’s dreamy landscape. Something with antennae and long, hairy back legs had just hopped onto Erin’s arm. She scooted across the floor in full reverse until she banged her head on the windowsill. That caused the window to slide closed with a bang, which in turn brought three other windows crashing down: Bang ! Bang ! Bang !
    Stunned by the shooting-gallery sound effects, no one moved . . . except for Michael, who was already lunging for the misguided insect. “I got it!” he cried, but missed.
    â€œNo, you don’t,” Beamer said, jumping in for the kill. “He’s mine!” He scrambled after it on hands and knees, scattering boxes everywhere in his wake.
    â€œBeamer!” his mother cried as she lurched to her feet and saved a box of teacups from a shattering experience. “Stop, Beamer!” she called again, grabbing hold of him by his belt loop. “It’s a cricket!”
    â€œMo-o-o-o-ommm,” he protested, “it’ll get away!”
    â€œThat’s exactly what I have in mind,” she said, planting Beamer and the box of teacups at the same time. Then, as smooth as honey, she glided into the corner and caught the cricket, cupping it gently in her hand. “You can’t kill a cricket the first night in a new home,” she said, carrying it toward the kitchen. “It would bring terrible luck.”
    â€œBad luck?” Erin complained. “What do you call what happened to my head?”
    â€œSince when are you so superstitious, honey?” Mr. Mac asked with a grin.
    â€œOh, it’s just that crickets don’t do anything but good,” she answered, peeking into her hand. “They eat parasites and fill the night with singing, that’s all.”
    Beamer rolled his eyes. Only Mom could get misty-eyed about a bug .
    â€œThe song of the cricket is supposed to guarantee a happy home,” she added with a grin to her husband as he opened the door for them to disappear into the kitchen.
    Still holding her head, Erin pushed one-handed to her feet. “Maybe that’s why it’s not singing,” Erin yelled, following her parents out.
    Reaching the door at the same time, Beamer called through it, “It doesn’t have to move in with us, does it?”
    His mother stepped down into the covered back porch off the kitchen. “Oh, no,” she said with a laugh, “The great outdoors will do just fine.” She opened the screen door and gently dumped the bewildered cricket onto the step. “Into the backyard with you,” she said. “Go.”
    â€œThat reminds me,” said Mr. Mac, pivoting around on his heel to face his kids. “I’ve been holding out a surprise for you all . . . uh, y’all, I mean.”
    â€œSurprise?!” The three kids tuned in at the same time.
    â€œIt’s out back. Just follow the cricket.”
    â€œComing through,” Michael yelled, diving toward the door headfirst.
    The two boys flew out in a whirlwind. Erin, with slightly more dignity, was close behind.
    Their eyes scanned the terrain like radar. It was just after sunset, and a crescent moon hung