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candy to Daisy and said, “Guess what’s happened?”
    Daisy always seemed to be about one jump ahead of me.
    Smiling, she said, “I already know about the monkeys, Jay Berry. Papa told Mama and me about them when he brought Sally Gooden in from the bottoms.”
    Trying to act very important, I shoved my hands down in my pockets and said, “Those monkeys are worth quite a bit of money. I’m going to catch them and get myself that pony and gun I’ve been wanting.”
    Every time I mentioned catching something to Daisy, she naturally figured that I intended to kill and skin it.
    Frowning, she said, “Jay Berry, I know how you’ve been wanting a pony and gun, but isn’t there some other way you could get them? I’ve seen pictures of monkeys and they’re the cutest little things. I just couldn’t stand to think of one being skinned. How would you like it if someone caught you and peeled your skin off. You wouldn’t like it, would you?”
    “Aw, Daisy,” I said, “you girls sure do think funny. Whoever heard of anyone skinning a boy. I’m not going to skin the monkeys. I’m going to catch them alive. They won’t be hurt in any way.”
    Daisy sighed her relief and said, “I’m glad you’re not going to hurt them. Every time I walk by the smokehouse and see all those little skins you have stretched there, I just shiver all over.”
    “Well, you can stop shivering,” I said. “I promise that I won’t harm one hair on those monkeys.”
    “How do you know so much about the monkeys anyway?” Daisy asked. “Papa said he couldn’t remember any wild monkeys being around here before.”
    “They’re not exactly wild monkeys,” I said. “They got away from a circus train that had a wreck over on the railroad. Grandpa told me all about it. He even fixed some traps for me so I could catch them.”
    “That’s just like Grandpa,” Daisy exclaimed. “He’s always telling you how to catch the little animals. Surely, Jay Berry, you don’t get any fun out of it, do you?”
    “Aw, Daisy,” I said, “what do you think animals are for anyway. Just to look at? They’re supposed to be hunted. How else would a boy have any fun in these hills?”
    Shaking her head and looking very disgusted with me, Daisy said, “Jay Berry, you should have a talk with the Old Man of the Mountains. I think maybe he could tell you a few things. Being a boy though, I doubt if you would understand a word he said.”
    There it was again—the Old Man of the Mountains. Daisy had mentioned him several times and I hadn’t paid much attention to her. After all, she lived in one of those girl kind of worlds and it was chuck full of strange old men, fairies, angels, spirits, knights in shining armor, and everything else you could think of. I just figured that all girls were like that and it wasn’t anything to get excited about. But Daisy had a way of making things sound so real that sometimes I didn’t know whether to believe her or not.
    Daisy did this by telling stories. She was the best storyteller in those Ozark hills. It wasn’t only the stories she told, it was the way she told them. She would get real serious and her eyes would get big and starry-looking. She would talk in a whisper, and go through all kinds of motions. By the time she was finished with her story, my hair would be standing straight up and I wouldn’t know what to believe.
    “Daisy,” I said, “you’ve been telling me about this Old Man of the Mountains for a long time now. Who is he anyway?”
    “Oh, he’s just a friendly old man,” she said very pertly. “He comes around every once in a while and visits with me.”
    “He does?” I said. “When was the last time you saw him?”
    “Why just this morning,” she said, “right here in my playhouse.”
    “You did?” I said. “What’s the old man’s name?”
    “I don’t know what his name is,” Daisy said. “I never have asked him. I just call him the ‘Old Man of the Mountains.’ ”
    “Where