Found Things by Marilyn Hilton Read Free Book Online Page B

lost in our house, or worse, try to fly away with his broken wing.
    I carried the cage to the porch. Mr. Tricks cooed the whole time. The front staircase was a few feet away on the other side of the screen door. I could see Mama, standing with her back to me in the kitchen at the end of the hallway. If I could just get in the house and up the stairs without her seeing me, we’d be safe for a while.
    â€œ Shh ,” I told Mr. Tricks, and slowly opened the screen door.
    â€œRiver?” Mama say.
    I kept quiet as I carried the cage to the staircase.
    â€œRiver, is that you?”
    â€œYes, Mama,” I say, halfway up the stairs.
    â€œWhere have you been?”
    At the top of the stairs I say, “I’ll be right down.”
    I tiptoed with the cage to my room and shut the door.
    â€œDon’t coo anymore,” I say to Mr. Tricks, and set him on my bureau. Then I filled a lid with water and put it in his cage. That would have to do until I could bring up some bread and salad from supper.
    I put my face up to the cage. “Hi, pidge,” I say. Mr. Tricks tilted his head at me and blinked. Meadow Lark was right—he was cute.
    Dusk was falling outside, and Mr. Tricks glowed like the moon in fog. I covered his cage with a towel so he’d think it was night and go to sleep. “Good night for now,” I say.
    He cooed at me in reply.
    Then I washed up really well to get the river smell off me, and went downstairs, where I knew Mama would ask me all about where I’d been and what I’d been up to.

Chapter 7
    It was raining again the next day when Meadow Lark showed up on our porch, her nose pressed flat against the screen door. Mama had just put Saturday-night supper on the table, and the smell of maple baked beans drifted out the open door.
    â€œWhat are you doing here?” I asked quickly—because all that good smell was leaking through the screen.
    â€œCan I come in?”
    Mama called from the kitchen, “Who’s at the door, River? It’s suppertime.”
    Mama had strict rules about when you should visit another person’s house, when you should call them on the phone—not before breakfast or after nine o’clock at night—and how to write a thank-you note.
    â€œA girl from school,” I called back. Mama didn’t have to know everything about Meadow Lark that very second.
    â€œWhat does she want? Is she fund-raising? I don’t have much to give for fund-raising right now.”
    â€œNo, she’s not selling anything.” I turned back to Meadow Lark. “Are you?”
    â€œNo,” she say, and I heard Mama open the refrigerator door.
    â€œDoes your friend want to stay for supper?” Mama asked. “Bring her in before the food gets cold.”
    Through the blurry screen, Meadow Lark’s good eye widened. “Can I? It smells so good.”
    I opened the door for her. “So, why are you here?” I whispered. I wanted her reason to be a good one, because seeing her made me happy. She had to see me at school, she saw me at the river by accident, but she appeared to come to my house on purpose.
    â€œWell, because . . .” She looked behind her at the porch as if something out there waited for her. “Since you’re my only friend here, I have to ask you—can I stay here?”
    â€œMama just invited you.”
    â€œNo, I mean stay . . . like a sleepover, but for more than one night. My dad has to go out in the field for a while.”
    â€œWhat is he, a farmer?”
    â€œHe’s a . . . geologist. I thought I told you that before,” she say, and looked around. “You have a nice house.”
    â€œYour daddy would let you stay here?”
    â€œUh-huh,” she say, and nodded, making her hair bounce all around her. “I have to ask him, but I already know he’ll let me because I’ve told him all about you. He won’t go out in the field unless he knows