Hound Dog True by Linda Urban

Uncle Potluck is left alone in the rain.
    Miss Sweet pouts when she sees Quincy. "You washed off the makeup."
    "It felt fake."
    Miss Sweet matches her pout with an arm cross. "You get used to it."
    "To continue," Uncle Potluck says.
    To continue? There is more to the Stella story?
    "I must have passed out, because the next thing I know, it is night and there's a terrible crashing sound not twenty yards away. I was certain it was a bear."
    "And you with no birthday cake," says Uncle Tommy.
    Uncle Potluck throws a hush-up look at Uncle Tommy. Goes on with his story.
    "There I was, hurt and defenseless. I reached for a stout branch, though I knew I could not fight off a bear in my pitiful condition. Closer the sound came. Closer..."
    Mattie feels herself lean forward. Sees Mama do the same.
    "...when out of the woods charged that goofball dog, galloping full speed, jumping right into my lap, and howling like one of Tommy's fire trucks." Mama laughs and Uncle Tommy laughs and even Quincy laughs. "A couple seconds later, two of my fellow MPs struggled through the bushes. Stella had led them straight to me."
    "Lazy dog," says Miss Sweet. "She tricked you! She knew how to track all along."
    "Maybe she wasn't lazy. Maybe people just didn't understand her," Quincy says.
    Mattie thinks about this. About tricks and understanding. Thinks, too, about how maybe even Stella didn't know what she could do. How maybe she didn't know the truth until she had to.
    "Hound dog true," Mattie says quietly. Uncle Potluck smiles. Takes his hat from Mattie's head and drops it back on his own.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
    M ATTIE IS HALFWAY THROUGH EATING her supper when she hears a rumbling sound.
    A shiny black car rumbles up the gravel drive, parks next to Crystal Sweet's orange one.
    "Who's that?" Miss Sweet asks.
    Uncle Potluck sets his corncob down, leans far around Miss Sweet to see out the kitchen window. Soon as he sees, he shoots back to sitting straight. It is Principal Bonnet.
    Mama taps Mattie to get the door.
    Principal Bonnet has regular shoes on. And regular jeans. She is not dressed like a principal. Or a mountain climber. Just a regular person. "Hello, Mattie. I wanted to check on your uncle. May I come in?"
    Mattie lets Principal Bonnet in. It is weird having a principal in your house—even a regular-looking one. Everybody at the table sits taller, Mattie notices. Uncle Potluck. Everyone.
    "Hello," Mama says.
    "Hello," Principal Bonnet says. Then she turns to Uncle Potluck. "Sir," she says. And she salutes.
    Before Mattie has time to ponder the spirit in which the salute is meant, Uncle Potluck laughs a big laugh, one that shakes his shoulders and his belly and even his knee, so he has to put a hand to it to keep it from hurting. "You know about that?" he asks.
    "Of course I know, Robert. I am the principal. I see all."
    Miss Sweet humphs, unimpressed. "Potluck can see the future in an ear of corn."
    Uncle Tommy slaps the table. "Caught!" He laughs. "Let's see you hound dog true your way out of this one."
    For a second, Uncle Potluck is silent. Nervous, Mattie thinks. Can't think of anything to say with Principal Bonnet right here in his kitchen.
    But then he does say something. Clears his throat and tilts his hat and says, "Tommy, your lack of faith is a sorry disappointment. Sylvie, would you do me the honor of allowing me to examine your cob?"
    Mama pushes her plate to Uncle Potluck. Uncle Tommy waves Principal Bonnet to an empty chair. "Sit," he says. "This might take a while."
    Uncle Potluck looks around the table, though Mattie notices he skips looking at Principal Bonnet. Just looks at everyone else and then at the cob on the plate.
    "Hmmmmm," he says, lifting Mama's corn with a fork. "Before I begin, it is important that everyone present understand that these readings are merely snapshots, rather than complete prognostication. The cob tells us about this moment, offering a keen and discerning reader clues about the future."
    "Get