Messenger by Lois Lowry Page B

morning. Maybe his puppy would be ready. At least the puppy would be an excuse for a visit. It was healthy now, and growing fast, with big feet and ears; recently he had watched, laughing, when the mother dog had growled at it because it was nipping at her own ears in play.
    Thinking of the puppy’s behavior reminded Matty of something.
    â€œSomething
was
different,” he said. “She’s a nice woman, the one who got the Gaming Machine.”
    â€œYes, she is. Gentle. Cheerful. Very loving to her husband.”
    â€œWell,” said Matty slowly, “when she was leaving, walking and talking with the other women, and her husband behind trying to keep up, she whirled around suddenly and scolded him for being slow.”
    â€œSlow? But he’s all twisted. He can’t walk any other way,” the blind man said in surprise.
    â€œI know. But she made a sneering face at him and she imitated his way of walking. She made fun of him. It was only for a second, though.”
    Seer was silent, rocking. Matty picked up the empty mugs, took them to the sink, and rinsed them.
    â€œIt’s late,” the blind man said. “Time to go to bed.” He rose from his chair and put his stringed instrument on the shelf where he kept it. He began to walk slowly to his sleeping room. “Good night, Matty,” he said.
    Then he said something else, almost to himself.
    â€œSo now she has a Gaming Machine,” the blind man murmured. His voice sounded scornful.
    Matty, at the sink, remembered something. “Mentor’s birthmark is completely gone,” he called to Seer.

Eight
    The puppy was ready. So was Matty. The other little dog, the one who had been his childhood companion for years, had lived a happy, active life, died in his sleep, and had been buried with ceremony and sadness beyond the garden. For a long time Matty, missing Branch, had not wanted a new dog. But now it was time, and when Jean summoned him—her message was that Matty had to come right away to pick up the puppy, because her father was furious at its mischief—he hurried to her house.
    He had not been to Mentor’s homeplace since Trade Mart the previous week. The flower garden, as always, was thriving and well tended, with late roses in bloom and fall asters fat with bud. He found Jean there, kneeling by her flower bed, digging with a trowel. She smiled up at him, but it was not her usual saucy smile, fraught with flirtatiousness, the smile that drove Matty nearly mad. This morning she seemed troubled.
    â€œHe’s shut in the shed,” she told Matty, meaning the puppy. “Did you bring a rope to lead him home?”
    â€œDon’t need one. He’ll follow me. I have a way with dogs.”
    Jean sighed, set her trowel aside, and wiped her forehead, leaving a smear of earth that Matty found very appealing. “I wish I did,” she said. “I can’t control him at all. He’s grown so fast, and he’s very strong and determined. My father is beside himself, wanting such a wild little thing gone.”
    Matty grinned. “Mentor deals with lots of wild little things in the schoolhouse. I myself was a wild little thing once, and it was he who tamed me.”
    Jean smiled at him. “I remember. What a ragged, naughty thing you were, Matty, when you came to Village.”
    â€œI called myself the Fiercest of the Fierce.”
    â€œYou were that,” Jean agreed with a laugh. “And now your puppy is.”
    â€œIs your father home?”
    â€œNo, he’s off visiting Stocktender’s widow, as usual,” Jean said with a sigh.
    â€œShe’s a nice woman.”
    Jean nodded. “She is. I like her. But, Matty . . .”
    Matty, who had been standing, sat down on the grass at the edge of the garden. “What?”
    â€œMay I tell you something troubling?”
    He felt himself awash with affection for Jean. He had for a long time been attracted