And we set off again, the river still far below us, Samuel scooting ahead as soon as the path leveled out a bit, determined to lead the way.

I let him, since it was easier to keep an eye on him if he was ahead of me, but I wished he would stay near.

That was always one of my wishes: to keep him near.

—

There were many things that tempted me as we went down the mountain: a fresh-green meadow where fire from lightning strike had cleared a few acres of trees before rain had put it out; a vernal pool where peepers sang so loudly at twilight that we could hear them even far up-mountain; a granite ledge big enough for me to sit on, like a turtle in the sun. But I decided to keep those things for another day. And I left the honey, too, for the trip home, since it would be harder to fish with bee-stung hands, but I heard the hive hidden in an oak as we passed, and the old tree, too, humming with excitement as its buds erupted into leaf.

As we passed by there, I saw a brand-new gift, sitting on a white rock at the edge of the trail where even Samuel might have seen it if he hadn’t been in such a hurry.

A honeybee. Made of wood and something I couldn’t name.

I held it up in the light. Smiled. Peered into the trees. Said, “Thank you,” in case someone was listening. “I wish you’d come out and meet me.”

“And I wish you’d hurry up,” Samuel said from down the path a bit. “Or the river’s gonna dry up before we get there.”

I put the bee in my pocket and held it there in my hand.

Looked long into the trees all around me. Saw nothing.

Waited until Samuel disappeared around a bend and then, feeling a little foolish, said, “I don’t know why you won’t show yourself.”

The trees stood quietly, waiting as I waited, but nothing moved. Nothing answered.

And I did not dare let Samuel reach the river before me.

But when I hurried down the trail, I found him standing quiet and still, with his hand up to stop me. He whispered, “Look there, Ellie.”

I saw, over his head, not on the trail but in the trees to one side, the ghost dog, a rabbit hanging limp from his mouth.

He stared back at us.

Samuel must have seen something in that dark eye, because when I came up alongside him he slowly worked his way behind me, put one hand flat on my back, peered out from around me, and said, “I don’t like him.”

I felt sorry for the poor rabbit in those jaws, but I’d been known to eat a rabbit, too. “He won’t hurt us,” I whispered.

“How do you know?”