Kneeknock Rise (9 page)

“Do you want to know something funny, Uncle Anson?” said Egan, frustration souring his manners. “You’re always saying ‘perhaps.’ But Uncle Ott is different. He’s always saying ‘exactly.’”

Uncle Anson looked at Egan sadly. “There are a lot of things Ott doesn’t understand,” he said.

“Uncle Ott understands
everything
,” said Egan. “He’s a very wise man.”

“That’s true,” said Uncle Anson. “He is a very wise man. But…”

“But,” Aunt Gertrude interrupted, “he was a fool to climb the Rise. There’s no perhaps about that. Go to bed, Egan. Ada. We’ll talk again at breakfast.”

It seemed to Egan that he hadn’t closed his eyes all night. When, toward morning, the rain began to fall again, he lay waiting for Annabelle’s nervous panting. Then he remembered. Annabelle was gone, gone with Uncle Ott down the other side of the Rise. Egan climbed out of bed and went to Ada’s room. “Wake up!” he hissed at the warm lump under the quilts. “It’s raining.”

Ada sat up. “I heard it first,” she said. “I was just coming in to wake you up.”

“You were not, but never mind,” said Egan. “Come on. We’re going into my room and wait. I’m going to prove to you I’m right.”

The rain came down gently and steadily. Egan opened his window and he and Ada leaned on the sill, staring out at the slope of Kneeknock Rise through the gray, wet glow of dawn.

“All right, then, where’s the Megrimum?” asked Egan after a while. “I don’t hear a thing.” He grinned at Ada.

“You’ll see, smarty,” said Ada, not looking at him. “Be quiet. I’m trying to listen.”

Something moved in the yard outside the window. “Look!” whispered Ada. “There’s Sweetheart!” The cat emerged from the dim, dripping shrubbery and stood poised in the rain.

Then he sprang effortlessly to the top of the garden wall and disappeared over it. After a moment they caught another glimpse of wet orange fur starting up the side of the Rise. Ada pointed. “There he goes. He’s climbing.”

“Well,” said Egan, “he won’t find anything at the top.”

“You’ll see, smarty,” said Ada again. “For goodness’ sake, keep quiet.”

After another long wait they heard footsteps behind them and Uncle Anson came into the room in his white nightshirt, his thin hair rumpled from sleep.

“What are you doing out of bed so early?” he asked, coming over to the window.

“It’s raining, Papa,” Ada explained.

“Yes,” said Uncle Anson quietly, “I know.”

“It’s been raining for a long time,” said Egan, “and there’s not a sound from the top of the Rise!”

“Make him be quiet, Papa,” begged Ada, close to tears at last. “The Megrimum’s got to be up there! He’s always been up there, Papa, hasn’t he? He wouldn’t go away.”

“I think,” said Uncle Anson, “we should all go back to bed.”

Egan smiled to himself and was just turning away from the window when from high on the top of Kneeknock Rise came the muffled boom of an explosion, immediately followed by a high-pitched whistling shriek.

“It’s the Megrimum!” cried Ada. “It’s the Megrimum! You were wrong, Egan! He was up there all along! Listen, Papa.”

The shriek cut thinly through the drizzling dimness, holding for a long moment. At last it broadened and dropped to the old, familiar moan. As they stood at the window staring out, a splash of orange fur came streaking into view down the side of the Rise, vaulted the garden wall, and paused for an instant in the yard.

“Sweetheart!” cried Ada.

The cat turned round, wild eyes to the faces peering out at him, and a second later hurled himself through the open window past them and was under the cot before Ada could make a move to catch him.

“What in the world was that?” cried Aunt Gertrude, appearing in the doorway.

“Something exploded on top of the Rise,” said Uncle Anson.

“But it was only the rock,” said Egan uncertainly. “It couldn’t be the Megrimum because I went up there and I looked and Uncle Ott told me…”

“It’s no use your arguing, Nephew,” said Uncle Anson. “It’s raining and the moaning has started and that’s really all there is to it.”

“Well, Sweetheart certainly is a sissy, anyway,” said Egan loudly, looking sidewise at Ada. “He was so scared he came right in through the window.”

But Ada only smiled. “I really like that scarf you bought for me, Egan,” she told him. And then she turned to her mother and said: “Let’s make a great big breakfast. There’s no sense going back to bed now. Let’s make a special breakfast to celebrate. Because of the Megrimum. He was up there all along.”

In the middle of the morning, Egan said goodbye to Ada and Aunt Gertrude and went slowly into the village and across the square into Uncle Anson’s clock shop, where the chandler had promised to pick him up for the long ride home. The rain was still falling softly and the moaning from the top of the Rise could still be heard, though it had grown much fainter now and was sadder than ever. Egan leaned on the counter in the shop, his chin in his hand, and watched while his uncle wound up all the clocks for another day’s ticking.

“Uncle Anson,” he said at last, “was Uncle Ott right or wrong about the Megrimum?”

“I’m sure he thought he was right,” said Uncle Anson. “I haven’t climbed up myself, so I really can’t say. I don’t know what the real facts are.”

“I can tell you one real fact,” said Egan. “I certainly didn’t see any Megrimum when I went up.”

A cart creaked by in the street outside the shop and a passing villager called to the driver. “Headed home?”

“That’s right. Back again next year. But I don’t see how there could ever be another Fair as fine as this one was.”

“Yes, it was just about perfect this year.”

“Did that boy get down again safely?”

“Yes, I understand he was perfectly all right.”

“I was sure of it. That old fellow up there would never harm a child. Well, see you next year.”

“That’s right. See you next year.”

Egan glanced at his uncle but Anson was tinkering with the open works of a clock and didn’t seem to have heard.

“Uncle Anson,” said Egan.

“Ummmm,” said Anson, looking up at last.

“Uncle Anson, please—tell me what you really think. Is there a Megrimum up there or isn’t there?”

“Nephew,” said Uncle Anson kindly, “I’ll tell you what I think. I think it doesn’t really matter. The only thing that matters is whether you want to believe he’s there or not. And if your mind is made up, all the facts in the world won’t make the slightest difference.”

Egan was silent for a moment and then he said, “But do you believe in the Megrimum?”

Uncle Anson laid aside the open clock. He stared out the shop window and rubbed his chin, just as Egan had seen Uncle Ott do at the top of the Rise. And then his expression changed to one of relief. “Look, Nephew, here comes the chandler. We’ll have to finish our talk another year. Are you ready? It’s time to go.”

Suddenly Egan remembered. “My presents! I forgot about my presents! I left them in the square.”

“Go see if you can find them, then,” said Uncle Anson. “The chandler will wait.”

Egan ran out of the shop and into the square, where a few men of the village were clearing away the last booths and flags. He hurried over to the spot where all of yesterday’s adventures had begun. There on the grass lay the red beads he had bought for his mother and the pipe with
Instep Fair
still bright around its bowl. The packet of needles was there, too, though its gay cloth cover was soaking wet. But the wishbone was gone. Egan searched about in the grass and before long he found it. It was broken, splintered into sharp little fragments, and the card to which it had been fastened was wilted and smeared. Only the words
It’s best
were still legible.

Egan sighed and, turning away, gathered up the other presents and hurried back to the clock shop. The chandler’s cart was standing in the street and Frieda, the mule, appeared to be asleep, her harness drooping. Inside the shop the chandler and Uncle Anson were chatting.

“Here comes the boy,” said Uncle Anson, looking up as Egan appeared in the doorway.

“Well, Egan!” said the chandler. “How did you enjoy the Instep Fair?”

“It was fine,” said Egan, “but the present I bought for my father got broken somehow. Here, Uncle Anson, this pipe is for you, and would you give these needles to Aunt Gertrude for me?”

“Why, that’s very kind of you, Nephew,” said Uncle Anson. “But look here—why don’t you take the pipe home and give it to your father? It would be a shame not to have a present for him.”

“But then there’s no present for
you
,” Egan protested. “I wanted to do something for you.”

“You’ve done something for me already,” said Uncle Anson, smiling.

“I have?” wondered Egan. “What did I do?”

“You found my brother Ott. Remember? And you took Annabelle back to him. Now I won’t be worried about either of them again.”

“It sounds to me as if you’ve had a busy visit, Egan,” said the chandler. “But no busier than that boy who tried to climb up Kneeknock Rise. You heard about that, I suppose?”

“Yes,” said Uncle Anson. “We heard.”

“He got down again all right, I understand,” the chandler went on. “But they say he lost his dog to the Megrimum.”

“Is that what they’re saying?” asked Egan.

“I heard the whole story just now in the square,” said the chandler. “Well, come along, Egan. Your mother will be anxious to have you home. Oh, by the way, would you like to have one of these souvenirs? I have an extra.” He reached into his pocket and laid a polished wishbone on the counter. It was exactly like the one that lay in pieces in the square.

Egan picked it up and turned it over in his hands. “Thank you,” he said, and then, echoing Ada: “But there isn’t any Megrimum where we live.”

“Better take it, just the same,” said Uncle Anson, smiling at Egan. “Goodbye. Come back again next year.”