“You were frightened, weren’t you?” asked Erna.
Mo nodded. “Very,” she admitted.
“Boy!” said Willy. “You sure ran!”
“Two big beasts were coming out of a house,” Mo said. “They had long teeth, and they snorted and wanted to bite me.”
The children couldn’t help laughing, and an old woman indignantly turned around. “Hush,” she called.
The children sheepishly left. Outside, they stood on the steps, squinting in the bright sun after the darkness of the church. It was only then that they discovered that Mo’s daintiness had suffered. Her face was smeared from wiping her tears, and her red coat was all dirty, with one pocket half torn off. The seam of her right sleeve had opened, and her knees were scratched.
Gretel wrung her hands. “Goodness, you look awful,” she exclaimed with motherly concern.
Mo was embarrassed. “I stepped on a soft animal and fell,” she said. “It yelled very much.”
The children laughed again. Even Walter joined in the laughter.
“That was Putzi,” said Gretel.
“I’ve got a hole in my pants,” said Konrad.
“Why did you run into the church, Mo?” asked Walter.
“The bells rang, so I ran in. Nobody may do me harm in the church, isn’t that right?” said Mo.
“But you’re wearing the necklace again,” Walter observed with alarm.
“It is my chain, isn’t it?” ask Mo.
“Yes, yes,” said Walter, “but you had better give it to me; I will keep it for you until you leave. It’s dangerous for you to run around wearing it!”
Mo took off the necklace and handed it to him. Walter immediately buried it in his pants pocket. Then he quickly looked around to see whether anyone had been watching, but there was no one about.
“Why is it dangerous for me to run around with it?” asked Mo.
“Someone might kill you for it,” answered Konrad.
“What is that?” asked Mo uneasily.
“To kill means when somebody shoots you or conks you on the head and you’re dead,” explained Otto. He knew a lot about it from reading his favorite detective stories.
“Oh!” said Mo, her eyes popping. “Nobody conks heads on Asra,” she said.
“You’re lucky. On earth somebody is killed every day!” cried Willy.
Mo was very frightened. “Will we go at once into the Hollewood?” she asked anxiously.
“First, I must clean you up,” Gretel said firmly. “You can’t be seen this way. Come!” They walked over to the fountain. Mo had to take off her coat, and Gretel handed it to Erna. “Give it a good shake and turn it inside out,” she said busily. “That way nobody will see the torn pocket and the open seam on the sleeve. I need a rag!” She looked at them with impatience.
“I never have rags,” grumbled Konrad.
“Do you want me to take my shirt off?” asked Walter helpfully.
“No,” said Gretel. “Mother would scold. Do you still have the kerchief?” she asked Mo.
“Oh, yes,” said Mo. “I must give it back to my father.”
Gretel rinsed it in the fountain and then wiped Mo’s face. She kneeled down and scrubbed her knees. Meanwhile, Erna had shaken the coat and turned it inside out. It was lined with pink silk and looked very pretty even this way. She waited for Mo to put it on again. Mo’s blue silk dress had remained clean, although it was somewhat mussed.
Gretel looked up at Mo and said, “Why did you say that these aren’t your regular clothes?” She had not forgotten and had wondered all the time why Mo had mentioned that.
“Oh, it was like this …” explained Mo with animation. “My father forbade me to wear my Asra clothes on Earth. He said that we might happen to meet humans, and then they would see at once that we came from another planet. Our clothes are quite different from yours.”
“Where did you get these clothes,” asked Otto dubiously.
Mo broke into laughter, and, as before, it sounded like the melodious note of the lark. She seemed to have overcome the panic that had seized her during her flight through the village.
“I had a little quarrel with my father,” she related gleefully. “I did not want to wear the clothes, because they looked so funny. My father once brought them back from Earth. They belong to a big doll in our museum. The doll has a tag and it says on it: ‘A little girl from Earth.’ We children are fascinated by the doll.”
Erna sniffed the coat. “It smells of perfume!”
Mo seemed a bit embarrassed. “It did not smell very pleasant because it had been in the museum for so long,” she explained, “so I secretly took a bit of nice-smelling water from my mother and poured it on.” She stopped talking and gave the children a guilty look.
“So you’re not always such angels either,” said Otto with satisfaction.
“We have to go!” urged Walter impatiently.
But Gretel insisted on first combing Mo’s hair. To do that, she made Walter give her his pocket comb. Walter happened to have very beautiful, slightly wavy brown hair for which he always carried a pocket comb. Gretel removed Mo’s red cap. Walter took it and put it in his pocket. “It’s better if Mo doesn’t wear it,” he explained. “They could spot her too easily.”
Gretel tenderly combed Mo’s hair; then Erna helped her into the coat. But they were not yet ready; instead they continued to pluck and brush her. They pulled up her socks, smoothed out the pink silk lining, and even retied her shoelaces.
Walter grew angry and shouted: “Now stop all that fuss! We have to start for the Hollewood! The sun will soon go down!”
Reluctantly, Gretel and Erna ceased their efforts to fuss over Mo, and Konrad exclaimed in horror, “Are we going to walk it?”
“Sure,” said Walter. “We can’t get our bikes and run the risk of getting caught by the police.”
“We had better go up Gackenburg Alley by way of the market,” suggested Otto. “That way, he’s not so likely to see us.”
“A good idea,” said Walter, and Otto was flattered. But they should never have gone by way of the market place.
Twelve
A Bird on the Butter
Mo was happy to have rejoined the children, and she laughed all the time. But when they passed the old organgrinder, she stopped and a shadow came over her face. On the organ box sat a little monkey, leashed on a long chain. He was wearing a tiny soldier’s uniform, from which his long tail stuck out. In his hands he held a tin cup with which he was begging for coins.
“Is that a little man?” asked Mo, looking frightened.
“No,” said Walter, “it’s an animal.”
“But it has two legs!” said Mo, eying the monkey with suspicion.
“Isn’t he cute?” cried out Lottie, and clapped her hands eagerly.
“No,” said Mo, vexed. “It is a bad animal.”
The children were puzzled.
“Why?” asked Walter.
“It is wearing a uniform,” said Mo, and turned her back on the monkey. She was not going to have anything to do with him. Then, in a flash, her gay mood returned, and she laughed. “Oh, we children have those on Asra too!”
On the other side of the square a woman was selling balloons. In one hand she held a bunch of red, green, and blue balloons and in the other an especially big one attached to a string.
Mo ran up to her and snatched the big balloon from her. “Thanks,” Mo said.
Walter dashed up in a frenzy. “You have to give the balloon back,” he said.
“Why?” Mo asked.
“The balloons belong to her,” Walter explained. He quickly returned it to the woman, who nodded amiably.
“But they are only for children,” said Mo, confused.
“The woman sells them to children,” said Walter. Mo did not seem to understand, but Walter dragged her away and they walked on. Mo turned around a few times to give the balloons a longing look, but then there were many other things to see and she soon forgot about them.
&nb
sp; “What is all that?” she asked, pointing to the stands heaped with carrots, cabbages, potatoes, spinach, radishes, tomatoes, turnips, and many other vegetables.
“Those are vegetables,” said Gretel, who was following them.
Mo turned and asked, “What does one do with them?”
“People eat them,” explained Otto.
“Do they eat them here?” asked Mo, and looked at Walter in amazement.
“No, they eat them at home,” said Walter patiently.
Mo again burst into laughter. “Really?” she cried out. “Then why do they first bring them here?” Soon something else caught her attention. “Can one eat that too?” she asked, and stood in front of a few baskets filled to the brim with red-cheeked apples. Behind the baskets sat a little old farmer looking rather sullen because he had not yet sold many apples. He had a long nose, and his head was shaven as smooth as an egg. In fact, what hair he had was only some bushy fuzz sprouting from his ears.
“Those are apples,” explained Konrad, pushing himself forward. “They taste awfully good.” He looked at them longingly. Mo picked up an especially large one and bit into it with zest. The children were horrified.
“You can’t do that,” Walter whispered.
“Why not?” said Mo, and took another bite. “I’m hungry. I haven’t had my pill yet.”
“Ten pennies,” said the old farmer glumly, and held out his bony hand.
Mo quickly shook the hand. “Are we friends now?” she asked, still chewing.
“The apples are ten pennies apiece,” insisted the old man even more sullenly. “They’re cheaper if you buy a dozen.”
“Are those your apples?” Mo asked hesitatingly.
“Of course,” snarled the old man. “Do you think I stole them? Ten pennies,” he persisted.
“Do you want to eat them all yourself?” asked Mo in wonderment, and reluctantly took one more bite.
“You bit into the apple; you’ve got to pay for it,” the old man said, and got up.
“She has no money,” said Walter.
“What?” fumed the old man. “Where are your parents?” he asked Mo angrily.
“I am alone on Earth,” replied Mo, terrified.
Walter took the apple away from her and handed it to the old man.
“Why don’t you take it back!” he begged.
“Are you crazy?” asked the old man. “Who would want to buy a bitten apple?”
“Couldn’t you cut a piece off?” Gretel asked hopefully.
“No,” snapped the old man. “I want ten pennies.”
“You are awfully mean,” heckled Erna, hiding behind Walter.
“For the love of Pete!” yelled the old man. “If the child has no parents, it shouldn’t nibble my apples!”
“My father is on the Moon,” explained Mo meekly.
“Where is she from?” the old man shouted at the children.
“From Asra,” whimpered Lottie.
“Are you together?” the old man wanted to know.
“Yes,” said Walter, “but she’s just visiting here.”
“Then you must pay for the apple!” insisted the old man.
Walter, Willy, Otto, and Konrad desperately searched their pockets, but they knew only too well that they had no money. Willy pulled a small can of earthworms out of his left pocket and from the right one a piece of wood with a long fishing line wound around it, a stump of a candle, two bits of chalk, five playing cards, six fishhooks, several tin soldiers, and finally a small sack of colored marbles. After serious consideration, he offered the marbles to the old man, but the farmer refused them. “I’ve quit playing with marbles,” he growled scornfully.
Konrad dug three caramels out of his pants pocket, gave them a quick look, and put them back. He obviously could not get himself to part with them. Instead, he tried to interest the old man in the stub of a pencil, but the old man would not even deign to look. “Have you no money?” he asked menacingly.
“No,” confessed Walter.
“Don’t you get any spending money?” inquired the old man.
“Father has no money to give us,” sobbed Lottie.
“Take this for the apple,” said Walter, holding up his pocket comb. Nothing could have been more unfortunate, considering that the old farmer did not have a single hair on his head. His face turned purple, and he roared: “Get out of here before I give you a good thrashing! And don’t ever let me see you again!”
He did not have to tell the children twice. They fled and kept running until they could no longer see the old man. Only then did they stop to catch their breath.
“That almost did it,” panted Walter. He was still clutching the nibbled apple.
“Could I have it now?” begged Konrad.
“Nix,” said Walter, and threw the apple away. “It isn’t ours.”
Willy took off his cap and ran his fingers through his red hair. “Boy, was he a money miser!” he said.
“I would have thrown that apple in his face!” scolded Gretel.
“The apples in our garden are much better,” said Erna, wrinkling her nose.
“Why did not that man have any hair?” Mo asked meekly.
“Because he is bald-headed,” grumbled Otto scornfully.
“He cried so loud,” said Mo.
“You shouldn’t have taken the apple,” Erna rebuked Mo.
“She doesn’t know that one cannot do that,” said Walter.
They wanted to walk on when Mo, entranced, stood staring at a wooden cage bursting with live chickens. A farmer’s fat wife was dozing beside the cage. “We’ve got to go!” said Walter, and took Mo by the hand again. But Mo resisted.
“Are those animals too?” she asked excitedly.
“Yes,” said Walter, alarmed. “Those are chickens. Come along!”
“Why are they imprisoned?” asked Mo, tears welling up in her eyes.
“So you can’t take a bite of them,” grinned Willy.
“They kill them and cook them,” said Erna.
“I love to eat chicken,” said Konrad dreamily.
Suddenly, Mo broke away and ran up to the farmer’s fat wife.
“You are a very horrible human!” she shouted at her, and, before the children could stop her, Mo threw back the lid of the cage and, presto, all the chickens fluttered to freedom and ran in all directions, clucking loudly.
At first, the farmer’s wife was speechless, but then she jumped up and shrieked: “Help! My chickens! My chickens!” With that, she grabbed Mo by the sleeve and held her. The children were thunderstruck.
Farmers at the nearby stands called: “What’s up? What happened?”
“My chickens! My chickens!” howled the farmer’s wife. “The brat let my chickens loose!”
A few chickens managed to escape as far as the church; others had taken refuge under the stands and were aimlessly fluttering among the boxes and baskets. The farmers chased them, but they were not so easy to catch. One chicken flew atop a parasol and tipped it over; another fluttered against a flower stand and knocked down all the flowers; while a third, a particularly stupid hen, perched on a large hunk of butter that a farmer had most artistically arranged on his stand. The fellow sprang up as if stung by a wasp and screamed, “Lord Almighty! The dumb bird is sitting on top of my butter!”
The farmer’s wife just stood and shrieked without stopping, “My chickens! My chickens! I’ll kill that brat!” And she shook Mo violently.
“Please, no!” cried Mo in horror. “You cannot cook me!”
At last Walter sprang into action. He clutched Mo by her free sleeve and tried to pull her away from her captor. But the woman would not let her go, and a tug-of-war followed. Gretel ran up to the woman and shouted in a rage, “Let her go! Let her go! She isn’t human; she couldn’t help it.”
Lottie started to cry and plead, “Please, don’t harm her; she comes from Asra!”
The fat wife showed no pity. “Police! Police!” she roared. “My chickens! My chickens
!”
As luck would have it, the ripped sleeve, by which she was holding Mo, tore off at that moment, and the children ran away with Mo. They took off helter-skelter, zigzagging their way around the stands, and finally emerged on the square in front of the church. They wanted to run up Church Street, but Willy cried in terror, “Here comes Klotz!”
The policeman came waddling toward the market. He apparently had heard the shouting of the farmer’s wife. He obviously was in a rush. His fat stomach bounced up and down like a great rubber ball.
The children turned on their heels and sped into the Gackenburg Alley. They were afraid that the sergeant had seen them and frantically sought a hiding place.
“Quick in here!” cried Walter, and they tumbled head over heels into the small red brick building of the public library. They slammed the door behind them, and Walter, just to make sure, turned the key.
Thirteen
Safety in a Booh
The only reason a little place like Kummersville had a public library was that it had been donated by a rich lady from America. She had been born in Kummersville and wanted to give her birthplace a lovely gift.
The librarian’s name was Miss Josephine Tim. She was a former schoolteacher for whom the children had great respect. However, they also were fond of her because Miss Tim was always kind to them. She was genuinely pleased whenever the children dropped in to take out books. On those occasions she would have long chats with them—never in a condescending way, like most other grownups, but sensibly and like a friend.
For the moment, the children were much too excited and scared to think of Miss Tim. They stood near the door of the reading room and listened, hearts pounding. Even so, Otto had taken off his cap and Willy his hat, as is proper in a library.
“I hope he didn’t see us run in here,” whispered Walter. Willy wanted to go to the window and peek out, but Walter warned, “Not you, Willy! They can spot your red hair!” He crept up to the window himself and cautiously looked out. The street was deserted. Only a lone chicken was running down Gackenburg Alley with a determined air. It probably belonged to the farmer’s fat wife. Just then the policeman appeared at the end of the street, walking slowly but surely toward the library. He hesitated every once in a while and looked searchingly in all directions.
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