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them?"
    He shrugged. "I wanted to put them where they'd be safe. They're mine, I won them all, mostly from my cousin. I thought he'd take them while I was sick. That's how Edward is. You can't trust him, he's always sneaking around. There's no telling what he'd do if he had the chance."
    While he talked, Andrew traced the pattern on the quilt, his finger moving from one block to the next. "Mama made this for me when I was a baby," he said softly. "The colors have faded so much I scarcely recognize it, but this is her stitching. She sewed every thread."
    Keeping his head down, Andrew studied the rows of tiny stitches as if he were reading a message from the past. He breathed deeply, slowly, deliberately.
    To get his attention, I touched his hand. "Tell me everything that happened tonight."

    Andrew thought hard. "I heard Mama and Hannah crying. They were in the hall, right outside my door. I wanted to say Dr. Fulton was wrong, I wasn't going to die, but I couldn't open my mouth, couldn't speak, couldn't even raise my head. Then Hannah sat down in that rocker."
    He pointed to the chair I'd shoved in front of the attic door. "She said she'd watch me all night, she wouldn't leave me, she wouldn't let me die."
    He rested a moment as if talking wearied him. "I guess I fell asleep. I dreamed my marbles were spinning through the air. I tried to catch them, but they flew away from me, getting smaller and smaller."
    When he paused again for breath, I said, "I dreamed about marbles too. I was in a spaceship and they were coming toward me like a meteor shower—cat's-eyes, immies, moonstones, aggies____"
    Paying no attention to me, Andrew went on talking. "All of a sudden, I woke up. Maybe it was the dream, but I was sure someone had stolen my marbles."
    He looked at the empty rocking chair. "Hannah was sleeping right there. I sneaked past her, just as quiet as a shadow, and
floated
up the attic steps. It was as if I'd turned to smoke, I had no weight at all. I saw the hole in the floor. The cigar box was there, but the marbles were gone. Then the attic turned pitch black and everything spun round and round and round. The next thing I knew, I was in this room and you were in my bed."
    Andrew let out his breath in a long sigh that made him cough. When he could speak, he said, "Maybe that's what dying's like—floating away, leaving everything behind,
never coming back." He leaned toward me, his eyes fever bright. "Do you suppose I died, after all?"

    I shook my head. "I think you woke up just in time. If you'd stayed asleep, if you hadn't gone upstairs to look for your marbles, you'd probably be dead right now."
    "Are you saying I came here instead of dying?" Andrew asked. "Like the man in
The Time Machine
who went to the future?"
    It was too fantastic to be true, but neither of us could come up with another explanation. As far as we could see, a hole had opened between Andrew's time and mine, and he'd fallen through.
    "If I go back, I'll die," Andrew said. "But what will keep me alive here? Look at me. I'm still deathly ill."
    "Modern medicine can cure just about anything."
    Andrew clutched my arms. "Call a doctor," he begged. "I'll take the medicine no matter how bad it tastes. Then, when I'm well, I'll—"
    I interrupted him. "But who will I say you are? How will I explain you? People don't just appear out of nowhere."
    "Lord A'mighty," Andrew exclaimed. "Have you no brains? We're as alike as two peas in a pod. All we need to do is switch places. I'll get in bed. You go up to the attic and hide."
    The excitement wore Andrew out. He began coughing again, harder this time. "Switch clothes with me," he begged. "Quick, or it'll be too late. I've used up almost all my strength."
    I glanced uneasily at our reflections in the mirror over my dresser. Except for our clothes, we were identical. If I put on his nightshirt, would I still be me? Suppose I turned into him? Maybe
I'd
die of diphtheria instead of Andrew.
    "What are you waiting for?"