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white. Chickens and ducks were squawking and flapping to let her know she was intruding, and a pair of geese scurried across the grass toward her. Down past thecreek a cow and a small flock of sheep were browsing. Beyond, where there should have been a field of crab grass and burdock, was an apple orchard in full bloom.
    “This time it’s me,” whispered Rose. “I’ve shifted.”

Susan
    “S usan!” A fretful voice called from the house. “Susan, Suusaan!”
    “Oh, Lord’s mercy, there she is again,” sighed the girl. “I don’t know where you come from, but you best go back there right soon.” She paused. “You aren’t lost or nothing?”
    Rose stared at Susan, not really hearing her.
    “Are you lost?” Susan repeated.
    “Lost?”
    “Susan!” cried the voice.
    “Stay here. I’ll be back. But mind you don’t go helping yourself to nothing.”
    “Susan!” The tone had become imperious. Off went Susan on the run.
    Rose sat down at the edge of the garden. She couldn’t believe what had happened. She moved her hand slowly over the soft spring grass. She looked around at the sheep, the neat little garden, the geese, and the chickens who,having assured themselves that she was harmless, had stopped squawking and were clucking peacefully as they toddled and scrabbled around the yard.
    “It’s true,” she whispered. “I have shifted. And that girl—Susan—
is
the girl I saw making the bed in Aunt Nan’s house—in this house,” she amended, realizing that although it looked new and bright, this was the same house she hated so much for being old and ugly. Dazed, she got up and started walking around to the front.
    It was certainly the same house, the same back porch, the same shed, except that this one was strong and straight and, peering inside, she could see that it was full of things: a wood pile, a big wooden tub with a scrub board stuck in it, old newspapers, and an assortment of unidentifiable junk. There was a porch along the front of the house, its roof supported by white posts, carved at the upper corners in elaborate curves and curlicues. Dark green shutters opened out from all the windows.
    The tangle of bushes that grew so close to the eastern side of the Henrys’ house was gone. Instead there were three large lilac bushes in full bloom. Beyond, partly hidden by the foliage, was a long open-fronted drive-shed where Rose could see an old-fashioned carriage and a wagon parked side by side. Lily of the valley grew in flower beds on either side of the frontdoor. In the middle of the yard was a well with a stone wall around it and a steep roof above it. Out on the road was a row of tall elm trees.
    It was a fairytale day. The sun shone warm on the soft red brick of the house and turned the creek and the bay beyond to glittering reflections of its own brilliance. To the west and across the road, apple orchards were a haze of pink and white blossoms. Down past the creek, hawthorn trees covered with tiny white flowers grew singly and in clusters like giant bouquets. Bees hummed in the small chestnut tree in the front yard, and everywhere birds were trilling and calling to each other through the trees.
    Nearby someone played a few notes on a flute. Rose looked around. There was no one in sight. The notes sounded again, above her. She looked up and saw a boy with blond hair sitting on the roof of the drive-shed. He was intent on his music and had not seen her. She was trying to decide whether or not to speak when Susan came around the corner of the house.
    “There you are,” she said, coming toward Rose.
    “Damn!” said the boy.
    “Oh, Will!”
    “Well I almost had him and now he’s gone. Susan, why did you have to—Who’s that?”
    “I dunno. He says he’s lost,” said Susan.
    “What are you playing?” asked Rose. Itdidn’t occur to her to wonder at her boldness in speaking up. Talking to Will and Susan came so easily, without shyness or thought.
    “I’m trying to talk to the