The Four-Story Mistake by Elizabeth Enright

truck. But no; Randy wanted to ride her bike.
    â€œThat’s right,” said Rush approvingly. “After a crash they always make aviators fly again, so they won’t lose their nerve.”
    â€œOnly don’t get too far ahead of me,” begged Randy.
    Before she left she thanked Mrs. Wheelwright. “Can I come and see you sometimes?” she asked.
    â€œYou come whenever you want to, honey,” Mrs. Wheelwright said. “Maybe you’d like to come on Thursdays when I let the birds fly around the house. Or maybe you’d like to come on Saturdays when I bake cookies.”
    â€œMaybe I’d like to come both times,” Randy suggested greedily, and Mrs. Wheelwright seemed to think that was a good idea.
    Randy enjoyed the ride home. Her bicycle appeared to be repentant of its past actions and took her docilely in at the gate, down the hill, and along the drive without a single fall.
    â€œMy lands!” cried Cuffy when she saw her. “You look like the Spirit of ’76!”
    â€œThe Carthage traffic cop has an alligator in his bathtub!” Randy told her.
    â€œThe what! ” Cuffy looked startled. “You sure your head feels all right?”
    But Oliver, who was getting ready for his bath, said gloomily, “A bathtub’s a good place for an alligator. Not for a boy like me. Alligators like water.”
    That night Randy had her supper in bed: chicken broth, and toast, and lemon jelly. Just like a real invalid. And afterward everyone came up to see her. Mrs. Oliphant and Father made her promise to ride her bike only on the home grounds until she became more expert.
    Before she turned out the light, Randy took inventory of her wounds. There were four dark bruises and a skinned knee on her right leg; five dark bruises and a scratched shin on her left. She also had a swollen wrist and a scraped elbow. But the crowning glory, the best wound, the one she valued above all others, was the deep cut on her forehead. Maybe it will leave a scar, she thought hopefully. Oh, if it only would: a distinguished little white scar that she could point to and say casually, “This? Oh, I got this the time I ran into the back of the bus.”
    It had been a good day, a wonderful day. She had a new bicycle, she had made new friends, and probably she was going to have a scar.

CHAPTER V
    Rock-a-bye Rush
    Up on the hill in the woods there was an oak. Of course there were a lot of oaks; dozens of them. There were birch trees, too, with bark like torn satin, and hickory trees, and elms, and pines, and big silvery beeches that looked as if they’d been poured into molds. Thousands of trees, there were. But this oak was special.
    Rush had been looking for the right tree for days, now. It had to be tall, for one thing; it had to have widespread branches not too near the earth, and it had to be strong. Also it had to grow on a hill. This was it.
    Once long ago Rush had built a tree house in a place where the Melendys used to spend their summers, and he had never forgotten it. It had been his own private domain and nobody had been allowed to enter it without a special invitation extended by the architect. He remembered with pleasure the privacy and power he had felt in his tree house. He remembered the way it had creaked and swayed high among the branches; and how it bucked and leaped like a ship at sea whenever the wind was strong. It had been wonderful to lie on his back in that airy, gently rocking nest and look up into the living, complicated structure of leaves and branches. Why not do it all over again?
    â€œWhy not?” Father agreed. “There’s a lot of wood out in the stable. Down in the furnace room, too, left over from crates. You ought to be able to find enough material.”
    â€œBe careful now, Rush,” cautioned Cuffy. “I don’t want no broken collarbones.”
    â€œI know just what to do for a broken collarbone,” Mona said, with a glint