ement, and Channeljumper warned,
"Careful, you're beginning to turn purple."

"I know," Longtree said mournfully, and the purple tint changed to a
more acceptable green. "But I've got to win first prize at the festival
tomorrow; Redsand promised to marry me if I did."

"You can't lose," Channeljumper told him, and then remembered, "if you
can get that last note."

"If," Longtree echoed despairingly, as though his friend had asked the
impossible. "I wish I had your confidence, Chan; you're orange most of
the time, while I'm a spectrum."

"I haven't your artistic temperament," Channeljumper told him. "Besides,
orange is such a homely color I feel ashamed to have it all the time."

As he said this, he turned green with shame, and Longtree laughed at the
paradox.

Channeljumper laughed too, glad that he had diverted his friend's
attention from the elusive and perhaps non-existent note. "Did you know
the space rocket is due pretty soon," he said, "perhaps even in time for
the Music Festival?"

"Space rocket?"

"Oh, I forgot you were busy composing and didn't get to hear about it,"
Channeljumper said. "Well, Bigwind, who has a telescope in his hole,
told me a rocket is coming through space toward us, possibly from the
third planet."

"Oh?" Longtree said, not particularly interested.

"I wonder if they'll look like us?" Channeljumper wondered.

"If they're intelligent, of course they will," Longtree said certainly,
not caring. "Their culture will probably be alien, though, and their
music--" He paused and turned a very deep yellow. "Of course! They might
even be able to furnish the note I need to complete my symphony!"

Channeljumper shook his head. "You've got to compose it all yourself,"
he reminded, "or you don't qualify. And if you don't qualify, you can't
win, and if you don't win, you can't marry Redsand."

"But just one little note--" Longtree said.

Channeljumper shrugged helplessly and turned sympathetically green. "I
don't make the rules," he said.

"No. Well," Longtree went on in sudden determination, "I'll find that
last note if I have to stay permanently purple."

Channeljumper shuddered jestingly at this but remained pleasantly
orange. "And I'll leave you alone so you can get to work," he said,
unfolding himself.

"Goodbye," Longtree said, but Channeljumper's long legs had already
taken him over to the nearest sand dune and out of sight.

Alone, Longtree picked up the blowstring once more,