“I don’t understand,” said Old Tom. “What do you want from us?”

“I want you to pay for it. There’s a school in Toronto I want to go to. It’s a culinary institute.” She said this as if an institute were something far grander than a school. “I want to be a chef. I want to better myself.”

We all looked at her in disbelief.

“What?” she squawked defensively. “I’m supposed to want to hang out here my whole life, playing poker with soldiers? I got a cousin Bettina in Toronto I can live with, but I need a hundred bucks for tuition and I need bus fare to Toronto.”

“So you just want money?” asked Old Tom.

“Yeah, that’s right,” said Gladys.

“Well, heck, yes,” said Old Tom.

“But you can’t tell anyone the truth. Not about any of this, but especially not about how Flying Bob came to be in your car,” I said. “You have to lie about it until the day you die. You have to swear to us on a stack of Bibles that you’ll keep silent.”

“Jeez, kid, no need to get so dramatic,” said Gladys. “But sure, bring on a stack of Bibles.”

No one moved.

“Or even one?” said Gladys.

But it turned out we didn’t have one among us.

“Well, swear on a cookbook, then,” said Winifred, rushing to the kitchen to get The Settlement Cookbook, Sina’s one and only cookbook.

“Swear on a toad,” said Zebediah. Zebediah had discovered toads on the farm, and between them and an outhouse, his cup ranneth over.

“You shut up!” said Winifred and Wilfred.

“Yeah, yeah,” said Gladys, airily putting her hand on the cookbook. “I swear.”

So then it was a matter of Old Tom filling Sina in, and we started loading milk cans and egg flats into the truck. Then Old Tom backed the truck up behind the house where we were hoping to sneak Flying Bob quietly into its bed, and that’s when the trouble began, because the soldier who was keeping us safe by hanging out on our porch came around when he heard the truck and got all chatty with Old Tom. Finally, Old Tom disengaged himself and came inside.

“How are we going to get Flying Bob into the truck without that soldier seeing?” I asked Old Tom frantically.

But fortunately at that moment the soldier knocked on our front door and said, “I hate to ask you, but do you mind if I use your outhouse? I’ve been out here all night.”

“Sure,” said Old Tom.

“NO!” we children screamed.

Old Tom and the soldier looked startled.

“Don’t you remember?” I said to Old Tom meaningly. “The trouble we’ve been having with the outhouse? The fluggermeister is out of whack.”

“Oh, yes, the fluggermeister trouble. Right,” said Old Tom. “Be a better idea to, uh, go in the woods.”