And then Miles caught a fish. There it flopped, in the bottom of the boat, its jaw working, its gills fanning rapidly. Winnie drew up her knees and stared at it. It was beautiful, and horrible too, with gleaming, rainbow-colored scales, and an eye like a marble beginning to dim even as she watched it. The hook was caught in its upper lip, and suddenly Winnie wanted to weep. “Put it back, Miles,” she said, her voice dry and harsh. “Put it back right away.”

Miles started to protest, and then, looking at her face, he picked up the trout and gently worked the barbed hook free. “All right, Winnie,” he said. He dropped the fish over the edge of the boat. It flipped its tail and disappeared under the lily pads.

“Will it be all right?” asked Winnie, feeling foolish and happy both at once.

“It’ll be all right,” Miles assured her. And then he said, “People got to be meat-eaters sometimes, though. It’s the natural way. And that means killing things.”

“I know,” said Winnie weakly. “But still.”

“Yes,” said Miles. “I know.”

18

And so there were flapjacks again for breakfast, but no one seemed to mind. “Didn’t get a bite, eh?” said Mae.

“No,” said Miles, “nothing we wanted to keep.”

That was true, anyway. And though Winnie blushed as he said it, she was grateful that he didn’t explain.

“Never mind,” said Mae. “You’re likely out of practice. Tomorrow, maybe.”

“Sure,” said Miles. “Tomorrow.”

But it was the thought of seeing Jesse again that kept Winnie’s stomach fluttering. And at last he came down from the loft, yawning and rosy, rubbing his curls, just as Mae was piling the plates with flapjacks. “Well, slug-a-bed,” she said to him fondly. “You come near to missing breakfast. Miles and Winnie been up for hours, out fishing and back already.”

“Oh?” said Jesse, his eyes on Miles. “Where’s the fish, then? How come we got nothing but flapjacks?”

“No luck,” said Mae. “They wasn’t biting, for some reason.”

“Reason is, Miles don’t know how to fish,” said Jesse. He grinned at Winnie and she lowered her eyes, her heart thumping.

“It don’t matter,” said Mae. “We got plenty without. Come and get your plates, everybody.”

They sat about in the parlor, as they had the night before. The ceiling swam with bright reflections, and sunlight streamed across the dusty, chip-strewn floor. Mae surveyed it all and sighed contentedly. “Now, this is real nice,” she said, her fork poised above her plate. “Everyone sitting down together. And having Winnie here—why, it’s just like a party.”

“That’s the truth,” said Jesse and Miles both together, and Winnie felt a rush of happiness.

“Still, we got things to discuss,” Tuck reminded them. “There’s the business of the horse getting stole. And we got to get Winnie home where she belongs. How we going to do that without the horse?”

“After breakfast, Tuck,” said Mae firmly. “Don’t spoil a good meal with a lot of talk. We’ll get to it soon enough.”