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soil. You would think that dirt was just dirt, but how different Bridget’s looked from the hard-packed, dust-blown soil of the Village. She walked around to the back of the cottage and knocked.
    Bridget didn’t ask any questions when Robin explained that she was in a hurry. She only thanked her for coming and watched, smiling, as Robin took down the chain and hammer. Damon and Pythias were asleep on the roof of Betty’s shed, and Robin paused long enough to stand on tiptoe and give them each a quick pat. The staking out didn’t take long at all, because Betty seemed to sense that Robin could move much faster than Bridget, and she trotted along so fast that Robin had to run to keep up. When she returned to the cottage to leave the hammer, Bridget was waiting at the door with something in her hand.
    “It was kind of you to come,” she said.
    “It was fun,” Robin said. “Maybe next time I can stay a while — if that’s all right.”
    “I hope you can, my dear,” Bridget put the small white package in Robin’s hand. “These are for you. You’d best eat them on the way home.”
    Just outside the gate Robin stopped long enough to peek inside the package. There, carefully wrapped in clean white paper, were three fat dark cookies, lumpy with raisins. Their sweet spicy odor made Robin swallow hard. It had been a long time since the Williamses had had any extra money to spend on sweets.
    The cookies were too wonderful to waste by gobbling, so Robin decided to forget about hurrying and take her chances on being missed. She walked slowly through the orchard, taking very tiny nibbles. They were marvelous cookies, rich and moist and chewy. She was halfway through the second one when there was a sudden thudding rush, and Robin jumped back as a black horse galloped right across her path. The horse saw Robin and shied into an orange tree, almost unseating the blond girl on its back.
    “Ouch!” the girl cried, jerking angrily at the reins. “Whoa! Oh, stop it!” The horse was skittering sideways and snorting. Robin stood quietly, and after a moment he seemed to realize that she wasn’t really dangerous. He stretched his neck, snuffed at her, and then stood still. He was beautiful — high-necked, seal-sleek, and quivering with life. Robin finally managed to take her eyes off him and give her attention to the girl on his back.
    Now that the horse had quieted, the girl was inspecting her arm where the orange tree had scratched it. She seemed to be about Robins age. She was wearing jodhpurs, black boots, and a plaid shirt, and her fluffy blond hair was tied back with a black ribbon. “Look what that stupid horse did to me,” she said, but there was no real anger in her voice.
    “It wasn’t his fault,” Robin said. “I frightened him.”
    The girl smiled. She had a nice smile, quick and real, with deep dimples on each side. “Mirlo’s always looking for something to be afraid of.” She drew her brows together and looked at Robin with a puzzled expression. Then she smiled again. “Oh, I know. You must be from the new family that just moved into the Village. What’s that?”
    Robin realized the girl was pointing to the package of cookies. “Cookies,” she said, gently pushing back the paper. There was a whole cookie and a half left. She didn’t really want to, but she added, “Would you like one?”
    “You must have been to Bridget’s,” the girl said. “Thanks, I love Bridget’s cookies. She makes the best in the world.” She took the whole cookie and, to Robin’s dismay, ate it in two bites. Suddenly she looked puzzled again. “How did you happen to go to Bridget’s?” she asked. “Don’t you Village kids think she’s a witch?”
    “A witch!” Robin exclaimed. “That’s silly. I think she’s nice.” For the moment she completely forgot the funny feeling she’d had when she first saw the foreign-looking stone cottage and the bent woman. “Why do they think she’s a witch? Who is she,