“I have some reference books on folk dancing at home,” he said. “When I have these developed, I’ll see if that dance looks anything like one of the old-time Greek or Mexican dances. Maybe the children inherited some kind of folk memory. You never know.”

Mrs. Novato nodded absentmindedly. “Thank you, Mr. Saperstein. I’d be interested to find out.”

*

The dance broke up almost as quickly as it had begun, and for a while, the children wandered around the school yard, talking quietly or playing games. Today, they kept apart from children from other classes, and if a teacher appeared in the yard, they seemed to turn away and shun her.

Over by the wall of the kindergarten annex, under the shade of a maple, Toby was talking to his best friend, Linus Hopland, while Andy Beaver and Ben Nichelini were squatting beside them drawing patterns in the dust with pointed sticks.

“My daddy almost burned the house down last night,” said Toby. “He was trying to break up this old wardrobe in my room, and he burned it right on the rug. You should have seen my room.”

“Is your old man crazy?” asked Linus, scratching his bright red hair.

“My pa says he is,” put in Andy. “My pa says your pa’s gone bananas. He says your pa was up at police headquarters yesterday, trying to talk George Murray into chasing after ghosts.”

“I don’t think my daddy’s crazy,” said Toby, simply. He spoke with unusual seriousness, and his eyes seemed glazed, as if he were thinking about something else altogether. “I think he’s kind of nosy, that’s all. He should learn to keep out of things that don’t concern him.”

“All parents are like that,” said Debbie Spurr, coming across the yard with her yo-yo. “My mom said that if I had any more dreams, she was going to take me to see a psychiatrist. So all I do now is tell her I don’t dream anymore. Parents are real dumb when you think about it.”

“I think the dreams are good,” said Ben Nichelini. “I had a dream about this man cutting up these women, cutting them into pieces. He cut them right open, tummies and everything, and they were still alive.”

Debbie sat down beside Toby and laid her hand on his shoulder. She was pale today, and distracted, and she looked waiflike in her thin blue gingham dress. “The dreams are important,” she said. “If we didn’t have the dreams, we wouldn’t know how important we are. We’re important.”