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ears than he had intended. He wrestled the sack to his shoulder and judged that he could handle it. When he reached the edge of the field, he stopped to look and listen. There seemed no one about. Heaving the heavy sack over the rail fence, he vaulted after it, grabbed the sack and scurried into the woods.
    He felt safe now. There was nothing that could catch him in the woods. The woods were home. He knew this forest for miles about, every cranny of it. Angling swiftly down the hill, he headed for the huge hollow oak. As he went, his eyes sought and noted, without too much effort or attention, many different things—the flaming crimson of the ripened berries of the jack-in-the-pulpit, the fact that a small cluster of black haw trees were loaded with fruit that would become edible with the first coming of a killing frost, the heavily laden grapevines, which in many cases masked the very trees in which they grew, the silvery glint of a shed snakeskin left over from the summer, now half concealed in the fallen leaves.
    In half an hour or so he reached the oak, a giant that measured at its base a good ten feet in diameter. Twenty feet up its trunk gaped a hole some two feet across. A series of pegs, driven into the wood, formed a ladder by which it could be reached.
    There was no sign of Coon. He was probably off somewhere, investigating. It was unlikely, Hal reminded himself, that at this time of day he’d still be inside sleeping.
    Hal leaned the sack of corn against the oak, swarmed up the ladder, and crawled through the hole, then climbed down another series of pegs.
    The entire interior of the oak was hollowed out. Perhaps not a great deal more than a foot of shell surrounded the cavity. Someday, Hal knew, a wind might snap it off and he’d have to find another home. But here, deep in the forest, the wind was broken up by the many trees, and the oak was further protected by a high, flinty ridge, cutting the course of the prevailing westerlies. The cavity extended up for another twenty feet or so above the opening and here and there the shell was pierced by other smaller holes, admitting some daylight. The floor was made of dry decayed wood, which through the centuries had fallen from the sides of the hole.
    A hearth stood to one side of the cavity. There was a table and chairs. Bins and cabinets stood against the walls.
    â€œHello,” a voice said from behind him, and he turned on his heel, his hand going to the knife at his belt. On the edge of the bed sat a wizened creature with big ears. He had on tattered leathern breeches and an old bottle-green jacket over a crimson shirt. He wore a peaked cap.
    â€œWho the hell are you?” asked Hal. “You have your nerve.”
    â€œI am the goblin of the rafters from Wyalusing University,” said the creature, “and my name is Oliver.”
    â€œWell, all right,” said Hal, relaxing, “but tell me, what are you doing here?”
    â€œI came to see you,” said the goblin, “and you weren’t home. I am nervous in the open. You see, a rafter goblin—”
    â€œSo you came inside to wait. Lucky for you Coon wasn’t around. He’d took you out of here.”
    â€œCoon?”
    â€œA big raccoon. He and I are friends. He lives with me.”
    â€œOh, a pet.”
    â€œNo, not a pet. A friend.”
    â€œYou going to throw me out?”
    â€œNo, you startled me, was all. You hungry?”
    â€œA little,” said the goblin. “Have you a bit of cheese?”
    â€œNo cheese,” said Hal. “How about some cornmeal mush? Or an apple dumpling?”
    â€œThe cornmeal mush sounds good.”
    â€œAll right, then, that will be our supper. I think there still is milk. I get my milk from a woodcutter. Long way to carry it, but he is the nearest with a cow. Maple syrup for sweetening.”
    The goblin rolled his eyes. “It sounds wonderful.”
    â€œI’ll stir up the fire. I think