uldn't put my finger on it. Sadness? Regret?
Distaste? Pity? Magnanimity? Give a basket of goodies to the poor at
Christmas? Give them some clothes to cover their nakedness? Teach them
a sense of shame?

No, I couldn't put my finger on it.

Hilarity?

I found myself regretting that back there on Capella IV, when Aunt
Mattie put clothes on him, and the monster had looked at me, I winked.

I wondered why I should regret that.

* * * * *

I didn't have long to wonder.

Nothing happened during the rest of the day. We went back, together
and separately, several times during the daylight hours and during the
early hours of the night. For a wonder, nobody had leaked anything to
the newspapers, and for what it was worth, we had the show to
ourselves.

"Perhaps tomorrow," Aunt Mattie said around midnight, as we left the
field for the last time. "Perhaps they must rest."

"I could use some of that," I said with a yawn.

"Yes, Hapland," she agreed. "We must conserve our strength. Heaven
knows what may be required of us on the morrow."

Did she feel something, too? It was so strong, how could she help it?
And yet, the monster had not looked into her eye.

I didn't expect to sleep well, but I fooled myself. I was quite sure I
hadn't more than closed my eyes when I was roused by another excited
rapping on my bedroom door and again the butler rushed in without
ceremony.

"Look, Master Hapland," he shouted in a near falsetto.

He pulled so hard on my drapes they swept back from my windows like a
stage curtain--and I looked.

To the very limit of our grounds in the distance, but not beyond, the
trees, the shrubs, the drives and walkways, the lawns and ponds, all
were covered with a two foot thick blanket of glistening salt.

"And the monsters are gone," the butler was saying. "And I must go to
your aunt."

"So must I," I said, and grabbed up a robe.

As I ran, overtook him, passed him, from all over the house I could
hear excited outcries, wonder, amazement, anger, fear from the
servants. I finished the length of my wing, sprinted through the main
body of the house, and down the hallway of her wing to the door of her
suite. I didn't need to knock, someone had left it open.

Her own personal maid, I saw, as I ran past the little alcove into the
sitting room. The maid was standing beside Aunt Mattie, wringing her
hands and crying. The drapes here, too, were swept full back, and
thro