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roost?”
    â€œYeah, it’s a good name. Does your mama and daddy own The Roost?”
    â€œNo, I just live there with Miss Arbutus Ward. She’s the proprietor.”
    â€œHow come you live in a boardinghouse?” Peter asked.
    â€œPanthers got ’er,” Bird mumbled.
    Ruby was distracted by the old man’s mumbling, and did not hear Peter’s question.
    â€œDon’t pay any attention to Bird,” Peter said. “He rambles a lot. Has no idea what he’s talking about.”
    â€œHe’s talking about panthers,” Ruby said.
    â€œThat’s right!” Bird said loudly. “There were panthers on the mountain.”
    â€œIt’s okay, Bird,” Peter said. “There are no panthers here.”
    â€œPanthers ate her all up!” Bird cried out, pulling at his thin silver hair in agitation.
    Peter comforted the old man by patting him on the back. “Who, Bird? Who did the panthers eat up?”
    â€œHer!” Bird hollered again, pointing at Ruby.
    Peter and Ruby burst into laughter. At first Bird appeared to be startled and bewildered at their amusement, but then his face melted into a sheepish grin.
    â€œBut here she is, still alive and kickin’,” he admitted.
    Almost immediately Bird’s attention turned toward a dog on the other side of the street.
    â€œThere’s old Red,” he said. “Followed us all this way.”
    He started to cross the street, but Peter grabbed him and pulled him back.
    â€œIt’s not old Red, Bird. It just looks like him.”
    â€œDid you have to leave your dog behind?” Ruby asked.
    â€œNo, we don’t have a dog. Old Red was Bird’s dog sixty years ago, when he was a little boy.”
    Busy Street, true to its name, was bustling with people, which was usual for a Saturday evening into late night, when everybody and his kin came into Way Down from the hills. They came to town to shop for supplies and to find entertainment.
    Folks walked by the storefronts in pairs or small bunches, chattering, laughing, counting their coins, licking ice cream cones. Children darted in and out among the grownups.
    Although it was still daylight, the Silver Screen marquee was lit up with flashing lights, advertising Alan Ladd in
Shane
. For the second feature, Gene Autry’s
Riders in the Sky
was back by popular demand.
    The Morgans’ oldest boy, Jude, was standing in line for tickets, with Lantha Bevins hanging on to his arm, her summer cold apparently all dried up.
    Beside the movie theater stood the town’s only tavern,The Beer Barrel, from which the sounds of raucous laughter and a screeching jukebox spilled carelessly onto the street.
    Just beyond The Beer Barrel, the eleven-year-old identical Fuller triplets were standing on stacks of pop crates, preaching the Gospel.
    Connie Lynn, Sunny Gaye, and Bonnie Clare Fuller had eyes like violets and long yellow hair, which was plaited into pigtails. This evening they were dressed alike in blue homemade sundresses and sandals. Only their parents and a few friends, including Ruby, could tell one girl from another.
    The triplets had been called at an early age to preach on the streets of Way Down. At the moment they were sermonizing to people who were in the throes of real temptation, imposed on them by the rowdy tavern. A crowd had gathered to hear the girls preach. As they were wrapping up the sermon, Ruby, Peter, and Bird joined their flock.
    â€œAnd the Lord said to Aaron, ‘Drink no wine nor strong drink, you nor your sons with you, when you go into the tent of meeting,’ ” Bonnie Clare preached, slapping the Bible in her hands and emphasizing her last three words, “Lest you die!”
    Then, with pigtails swinging, Sunny Gaye took her turn. “Wine is a mocker, strong drink a brawler,” she cried out, “and whoever is led astray by it is not wise!”
    Next Connie Lynn evangelized, “And he will drink