第4章

At sunset of that same long day, a stranger came strolling up the road from the village and paused at the Fosters’ gate. Winnie was once again in the yard, this time intent on catching fireflies, and at first she didn’t notice him. But, after a few moments of watching her, he called out, “Good evening!”

He was remarkably tall and narrow, this stranger standing there. His long chin faded off into a thin, apologetic beard, but his suit was a jaunty yellow that seemed to glow a little in the fading light. A black hat dangled from one hand, and as Winnie came toward him, he passed the other through his dry, gray hair, settling it smoothly. “Well, now,” he said in a light voice. “Out for fireflies, are you?”

“Yes,” said Winnie.

“A lovely thing to do on a summer evening,” said the man richly. “A lovely entertainment. I used to do it myself when I was your age. But of course that was a long, long time ago.” He laughed, gesturing in self-deprecation with long, thin fingers. His tall body moved continuously; a foot tapped, a shoulder twitched. And it moved in angles, rather jerkily. But at the same time he had a kind of grace, like a well-handled marionette. Indeed, he seemed almost to hang suspended there in the twilight. But Winnie, though she was half charmed, was suddenly reminded of the stiff black ribbons they had hung on the door of the cottage for her grandfather’s funeral. She frowned and looked at the man more closely. But his smile seemed perfectly all right, quite agreeable and friendly.

“Is this your house?” asked the man, folding his arms now and leaning against the gate.

“Yes,” said Winnie. “Do you want to see my father?”

“Perhaps. In a bit,” said the man. “But I’d like to talk to you first. Have you and your family lived here long?”

“Oh, yes,” said Winnie. “We’ve lived here forever.”

“Forever,” the man echoed thoughtfully.

It was not a question, but Winnie decided to explain anyway. “Well, not forever, of course, but as long as there’ve been any people here. My grandmother was born here. She says this was all trees once, just one big forest everywhere around, but it’s mostly all cut down now. Except for the wood.”

“I see,” said the man, pulling at his beard. “So of course you know everyone, and everything that goes on.”

“Well, not especially,” said Winnie. “At least, I don’t. Why?”

The man lifted his eyebrows. “Oh,” he said, “I’m looking for someone. A family.”

“I don’t know anybody much,” said Winnie, with a shrug. “But my father might. You could ask him.”

“I believe I shall,” said the man. “I do believe I shall.”

At this moment the cottage door opened, and in the lamp glow that spilled across the grass, Winnie’s grandmother appeared. “Winifred? Who are you talking to out there?”

“It’s a man, Granny,” she called back. “He says he’s looking for someone.”

“What’s that?” said the old woman. She picked up her skirts and came down the path to the gate. “What did you say he wants?”

The man on the other side of the fence bowed slightly. “Good evening, madam,” he said. “How delightful to see you looking so fit.”

“And why shouldn’t I be fit?” she retorted, peering at him through the fading light. His yellow suit seemed to surprise her, and she squinted suspiciously. “We haven’t met, that I can recall. Who are you? Who are you looking for?”

The man answered neither of these questions. Instead, he said, “This young lady tells me you’ve lived here for a long time, so I thought you would probably know everyone who comes and goes.”

The old woman shook her head. “I don’t know everyone,” she said, “nor do I want to. And I don’t stand outside in the dark discussing such a thing with strangers. Neither does Winifred. So…”

And then she paused. For, through the twilight sounds of crickets and sighing trees, a faint, surprising wisp of music came floating to them, and all three turned toward it, toward the wood. It was a tinkling little melody, and in a few moments it stopped.

“My stars!” said Winnie’s grandmother, her eyes round. “I do believe it’s come again, after all these years!” She pressed her wrinkled hands together, forgetting the man in the yellow suit. “Did you hear that, Winifred? That’s it! That’s the elf music I told you about. Why, it’s been ages since I heard it last. And this is the first time you’ve ever heard it, isn’t it? Wait till we tell your father!” And she seized Winnie’s hand and turned to go back into the cottage.

“Wait!” said the man at the gate. He had stiffened, and his voice was eager. “You’ve heard that music before, you say?”

But, before he could get an answer, it began again and they all stopped to listen. This time it tinkled its way faintly through the little melody three times before it faded.

“It sounds like a music box,” said Winnie when it was over.

“Nonsense. It’s elves!” crowed her grandmother excitedly. And then she said to the man at the gate, “You’ll have to excuse us now.” She shook the gate latch under his nose, to make sure it was locked, and then, taking Winnie by the hand once more, she marched up the path into the cottage, shutting the door firmly behind her.

But the man in the yellow suit stood tapping his foot in the road for a long time all alone, looking at the wood. The last stains of sunset had melted away, and the twilight died, too, as he stood there, though its remnants clung reluctantly to everything that was pale in color—pebbles, the dusty road, the figure of the man himself—turning them blue and blurry.

Then the moon rose. The man came to himself and sighed. His expression was one of intense satisfaction. He put on his hat, and in the moonlight his long fingers were graceful and very white. Then he turned and disappeared down the shadowy road, and as he went he whistled, very softly, the tinkling little melody from the wood.