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this place, they will now be well rewarded.”
    The air began to waver, then. Rippling like water.
    â€œAs to that, I cannot say,” Melisande answered softly. “But I will say this: I hope it may be so. In the meantime, however, I can say this much more: Wherever we dwell, you will be welcome.”
    And, just like that, the air returned to normal. It was, in fact, so completely like itself that I found myself wondering if I had imagined the entire episode. The air does not change its substance, as a general rule. Unless you count things like rain or snow.
    â€œYour words are both kind and honest,” the tinker said. “A difficult combination to manage, I think. I thank you for them.”
    You didn’t imagine anything, Rapunzel,
I thought. For, even though my young ears were young, they could still detect that there was much more being said here than what was being spoken.
    â€œI will see to your horse, if you like,” I offered.
    â€œThank you,” the tinker said with a nod.
    But as I went to free the horse from its tracings, a commotion occurred within the wagon, a great caterwauling of sound. A moment later, a small orange kitten burst out the front, as if fired from a gun. It took two great leaps, landing first upon the horse’s back, and then upon my shoulder.
    Once there, it turned swiftly, hissing and spitting, just in time to face a long-nosed terrier that thrust its head out from between the fabric at the wagons entrance and began to bark in its best imitation of a larger, more ferocious dog.
    â€œI don’t suppose you’d care to have a cat?” the tinker inquired over the sound.
    As the kitten’s claws dug into my neck, I winced and met Melisande’s eyes. Our old mouser, Timothy, had died over the winter, and I missed him sorely, though the mice did not.
    â€œRapunzel,” Melisande said.
    â€œThank you,” I said, on a great rush of delight. “We’d love one.” Precisely as if the kitten had understood my words, it removed its claws from my neck, turned around twice more, then sat down upon my shoulder, as if ending up right there had been its intention all along, and began to lick one ginger paw.
    â€œExcellent. That’s settled, then,” the tinker replied. He moved to silence the terrier, who was well on its way to yapping itself hoarse.
    â€œRapunzel,” Melisande said. “Perhaps you should introduce the cat to the barn.”
    â€œWhat will you name him?” the tinker called after me. The terrier, feeling it had won the day, retired back inside the wagon and order was restored.
    I turned and regarded the tinker’s ginger whiskers for a moment. I had never been offered the opportunity to name a living thing before. It was a big responsibility, and I wanted to make the right choice.
    â€œHow are you called?” I finally asked, as an idea took shape in my mind.
    â€œMr. Jones.”
    â€œThen that’s what I’ll call him, too,” I said. “So that I may always remember you for this gift. Also, your hair is the same color.”
    At this the tinker gave a laugh, Melisande smiled, and I knew I had done well. And that is how I acquired two new friends in the very same day, and both of them named Mr. Jones.
    Late that night I came suddenly awake, my body sitting straight up in the darkness before my mind had the chance to understand why. I stayed still for a moment, listening hard with both my ears. I had not been prone to nightmares, even when I was small. So it never once occurred to me that I might have been roused by some phantom. If I had awakened, it was for a good cause.
    I listened to Melisande’s quiet breathing, coming from across the room. The tinker, Mr. Jones, had shared our supper and was now asleep in his own wagon, which still stood in our front yard. I heard thewind moving through the trees in the orchard, the faint clank it raised from the items on the tinker’s