Spiderweb for Two - A Melendy Maze by Elizabeth Enright Page B

head.
    â€œMatter? Cat got your tongue? Well, you’ve had enough, I guess,” said Cuffy.
    â€œCan we please be excused?” cried Oliver, his eyes shining: for the ordeal was nearly over, they had all but won. “We’ll go straight out and do the dishes,” he said with unusual alacrity, for though the children always did the dishes on Saturday, Oliver’s heart was never in the project, and he had a quiet, efficient way of drifting out of earshot immediately after breakfast.
    â€œAll right, skedaddle,” said Cuffy. “I think I’ll just sit here and have another cup.”
    â€œYes, do,” said Oliver enthusiastically. “You just take your time, Cuff.”
    â€œWe did it!” whispered Randy when they were in the kitchen.
    â€œWell, just about,” said Oliver cautiously.
    Randy ran the water, full force, into the dishpan and shook out a huge extravagant cloud of soap flakes. Both children sneezed. Randy washed with a great clatter and clinking, and Oliver sang noisily as he dried and put away, to cover up the lack of conversation for Cuffy’s ears.
    It was going to be a fine day: sunny, and there was no wind; a fine day for clue hunting. If Randy could have joined Oliver in song she would have.
    Cuffy struck open the kitchen door unexpectedly.
    â€œHeavenly day, the racket —I been calling! Randy, Pearl Cotton’s on the phone for you.”
    Randy stared at her mutely. Oliver, too. He could not help now.
    â€œAm I a Gorgon? Are you turned to stone, or what? Pearl’s still waiting, you know.”
    â€œI can’t talk to her,” whispered Randy.
    â€œWhy not, honey? What’s the matter? Did you quarrel? Are you worried? Tell me,” said Cuffy, all concern, letting the door flap and coming to Randy.
    â€œOh, no, it’s just that I plain can’t talk, ” whispered Randy.
    â€œLaryngitis,” said Oliver glumly. The game was up.
    In no time at all Randy found herself in bed with Vicks ointment on the outside of her throat and an aspirin tablet going down the inside of it. (Oliver finally remembered to inform poor patient Pearl Cotton of the turn of events.)
    â€œBut I feel fine, ” Randy whispered rebelliously. “It doesn’t hurt or anything.”
    â€œBed’s the place for you,” said Cuffy unswervingly, and in bed Randy stayed.
    Oliver came up to see her. “We’ll wait till next week,” he said.
    â€œNo, you must go. Next Saturday may be rainy; we can’t take chances. You must go alone.”
    â€œI’m kind of dumb,” said Oliver humbly. “I don’t see how I’ll ever find it by myself. I don’t know anything about nymps.”
    â€œYou’re not dumb at all. You’ve caught onto these things quicker than I have most of the time. The dictionary says a nymph is ‘a youthful female nature divinity.’ Remember?”
    â€œI don’t know how to tell one if I see one,” said Oliver.
    â€œOh, it’s not literal. It’s probably someone with a nymph’s name, or something. You’ll find out; you’re smart.”
    Oliver left reluctantly, and Randy lay back on her pillows somewhat tired from this show of good sportsmanship and sisterly encouragement. “Well, I hope he finds it. Yes, I really do!” she whispered to herself defiantly.
    Oliver decided to take his lunch along with him, and after a brief verbal tussle with Cuffy (who believed almost as strongly in a hot midday meal as she did in porridge) was allowed to do so. At ten o’clock he set off, carefully facing west, and Isaac accompanied him in a haphazard, preoccupied manner. It was very warm for the time of year, almost as warm as summer, but the trees were nearly bare: only the oak trees clung to their dry purple and crimson foliage. A late swallowtail dipped and rested on the air. “Brother, you nearly missed the boat,” said Oliver. The