A Perfect Gentle Knight by Kit Pearson

be true, right?”
    Fa smiled. “We thought that when I was young! No, it’s not true. It’s just a superstition.”
    â€œWhat’s a stition?” asked Orly.
    â€œA superstition is something that is untrue but that many people believe is true,” said Fa. “Like thinking that black cats are bad luck.”
    â€œThey are bad luck!” said Orly. “I’m glad Hamlet is grey and not black.”
    Fa kissed the top of Orly’s head. “You can think they are if you like.”
    Corrie watched Orly enviously; it didn’t seem so long ago that she’d had that place on Fa’s lap. She had to be content with leaning against his legs while she waited for a break in the chatter. Then she told Fa about reading The Eagle of the Ninth and asked him to tell her something about the Roman Empire. She had his whole attention for twenty minutes, and she learned a lot. Fa knew everything ! He was better than an encyclopedia.
    Then Fa asked them his usual weekly question: “Is everything all right, my dears? Are you managing with Mrs. Smith?”
    â€œMrs. Oliphant!” cried Juliet. “But we call her the Elephant!”
    â€œAh, yes, of course … Mrs. Oliphant. I hope you don’t call her that to her face, Juliet. You must never hurt people’s feelings, you know. Is she doing a good job? Is she kind?”
    Sebastian shot the others a warning glance. “Mrs. Oliphant is very nice to us. Everything’s fine, Fa.”
    â€œI hope so,” said Fa. “I don’t want to overburden you. I can afford to hire Mrs. Elephant to stay longer in the evenings if you like.” Juliet shrieked at his mistake, but Corrie knew that he’d said it on purpose.
    â€œWe really don’t need her,” Sebastian said. “We’re fine in the evenings—right, Roz?” Roz looked as if she wanted to contradict him, but she didn’t dare do anything but nod in agreement.
    Corrie sighed. How could Fa not notice the dirty and untidy house and the awful meals? But he never did.
    It was Sebastian’s turn to cook Sunday supper. He made what he always did—hot dogs and carrot sticks. Harry sulked when Orly beat him in a hot-dog-eating contest: he ate three and a half to Orly’s four.
    After the meal they went back into the den and Fa read to them. He had a deep, rich voice, with a slight overlay of an English accent; he’d come to Canada from Devon when he was sixteen. Every Sunday in Corrie’s life she had listened to him. What wonderful stories they had heard in this room! Lamb’s Tales from Shakespeare , Grimms’ Household Tales , The Jungle Books …
    Tonight Fa was reading A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court . Because there were knights in it, they all listened especially avidly. Corrie had managed to squeeze in beside Fa.
    She stopped listening as a memory arose in her mind. She and Roz were sitting on each side of Aunt Madge on the same chesterfield, pushing into her and wailing like babies.
    â€œYou cry too, Sebastian,” Aunt Madge had said, gazing with concern at eleven-year-old Sebastian standing by the fireplace. “Do try to, dear. It will help you feel better.”
    Sebastian had given Aunt Madge a look of utter scorn. “Don’t tell me what to do! You’re not my mother!”
    Corrie had climbed onto Aunt Madge’s lap and cried even harder.
    The memory vanished when Orly clapped his hands to his mouth and dashed out of the room. Roz ran after him. When she came back a few minutes later with a pale-looking Orly, Harry said, “I won! Now I have more hot dogs inside me than you have!”
    â€œI still ate more!”
    â€œNow, boys,” said Fa weakly. He looked at Sebastian. “Isn’t it time for bed?”

4
    A Quarrel
    C orrie and Meredith sat in Meredith’s bedroom, a plate of peanut butter cookies between them. Corrie leaned against two of the