And the rich man wanted Great-Granpappy Pavel to organize one of these “Lodges” in the New World—that is, America. And if there were no good magicians in America yet to make up a “Lodge,” to pass that information down to his descendants so that they could. In return, the rich man promised him money enough to get to America and set himself up when he got there, and the connections among all the “Lodges” he knew to make the trip as easy as it possibly could be.

It seemed like something he would never have dared to dream of to Pavel, and so he agreed.

“I swan, I called y’all three times now,” Aunt Jinny said, poking her foot to get her attention. “Y’all done got swallered up by thet book.”

She didn’t want to put it up—who knew when she’d be able to get back to it?—but she knew Aunt Jinny was not going to let a candle burn for much longer. Reluctantly, she put the book up and climbed up to the loft, to find that little mud-man waiting on the edge of the box that held her featherbed.

It nodded at her solemnly. She nodded back to it, and looked up at the rafters.

There were dozens of the little critters up there, all gazing back down at her, eyes shining.

She didn’t feel any different when she woke up the next day. The mud man was gone, as was the line of observers, and she had actually awakened before her aunt did, because there was no one stirring below. So she took her time about carefully brushing out her hair, braiding it, and putting it up with her precious hairpins.

She actually had the leisure to think and wonder about a lot of things before her aunt woke up and she climbed down the ladder to wash her face and get dressed. Her aunt was a very good seamstress, as evidenced by her skill at unpicking everything in those three garments yesterday, rather than just ripping the seams apart—and by the careful way she had measured Anna, cutting the six waistbands—three for now, three for later, when she had “fattened up,” if she ever did. How she had carefully conserved the maximum amount of fabric she could from each of the three garments when cutting the skirts. It seemed a shame that she disdained pretty clothing for herself.

Wisht I dared to arst her about thet.

The skirts were all going to be just a bit short, but to be honest that was just practical, and she had ceased to worry about how much ankle she was showing, when it came to not having to scrub her hem every night. Maybe that was all it was—Aunt Jinny didn’t so much disdain pretty things, she just didn’t have any use for anything that wasn’t practical up here in the Holler. She certainly hadn’t chopped off her hair to look like a man’s—it was at least down to her waist when unbound, and she kept it braided and wrapped around her head.