“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s not right. And they’re both touched in the head. That’s a point in favor of the match,” I added, although really Miss Macy didn’t seem so at all anymore to me. She had swum out there when the need demanded like nobody’s business and managed to get the hermit through the thick bush without soldiers finding them. I don’t know many people who could have done that. Of course, there was the matter of her sequined underwear. Still, that wasn’t touched, maybe just a little odd, and odd people were often the most interesting. “Oh,” I said, continuing to remember, “and her house was lined with books, too. Just like his cabin. They could spend long hours just reading on the porch together. Maybe he could help lead Brownies.”

“Jeez, take it easy, Franny,” said Old Tom. “They were just having some cocoa and a laugh.”

“From little cups of cocoa do little hermits grow,” I said.

Old Tom just rolled his eyes. I tried to imagine the progeny of Miss Macy and the hermit. But to be truthful, I imagined them as kind of like Martians. A Martian kind of family. Maybe these were the aliens that Gladys predicted would be talking to Sina. No, that was supposed to happen through the radio. Well, I will say in my own confused and dazed defense that I was on hour thirty-six without sleep.

“I don’t see it happening,” said Old Tom.

“Then I’ll never get to be a flower girl!” I wailed.

Old Tom startled and looked at me but said nothing.

Then it occurred to me that I’d passed the flower-girl age anyhow. Sleep, I thought, I needed sleep.

*   *   *

When we got back, the soldier was still standing in front of the house guarding it. Inside, Winifred, Wilfred, and Zebediah were all quite agitated, as you can imagine. Even though Flying Bob was safe for now, we were still a long way from being in the clear. So much would depend on what he could remember of the last twenty-four hours and what he would say. Sina brought the radio into the dining room, and we sat around the table listening furiously to news reports.