He ran on trembling, unsure feet and the great door loomed before him, with the latch too high to reach. But there was another way, a small swinging door built into the big door, the sort of door that is built for cats and dogs and sometimes little children. He darted through it and felt the sureness and the comfort of the house about him. The sureness and the comfort--and the loneliness. He found his second-best teddy bear, and, picking it up, clutched it to his breast, sobbing into its scratchy back in pure relief from terror. There is something wrong, he thought. Something dreadfully wrong. Something is as it should not be. It is not the garden or the darkened bushes or the swooping winged shape that came out of the night. It is something else, something missing, something that should be here and isn't. Clutching the teddy bear, he sat rigid and tried desperately to drive his mind back along the way that would tell him what was wrong. There was an answer, he was sure of that. There was an answer somewhere; at one time he had known it. At one time he had recognized the need he felt and there had been no way to supply it--and now he couldn't even know the need, could feel it, but he could not know it. He clutched the bear closer and huddled in the darkness, watching the moonbeam that came through a window, high above his head, and etched a square of floor in brightness. Fascinated, he watched the moonbeam and all at once the terror faded. He dropped the bear and crawled on hands and knees, stalking the moonbeam. It did not try to get away and he reached its edge and thrust his hands into it and laughed with glee when his hands were painted by the light coming through the window. He lifted his face and stared up at the blackness and saw the white globe of the Moon, looking at him, watching him. The Moon seemed to wink at him and he chortled joyfully. Behind him a door creaked open and he turned clumsily around. Someone stood in the doorway, almost filling it--a beautiful person who smiled at him. Even in the darkness he could sense the sweetness of the smile, the glory of her golden hair. "Time to eat, Andy," said the woman. "Eat and get a bath and then to bed." Andrew Young hopped joyfully on both feet, arms held out--happy and excited and contented. "Mummy!" he cried. "Mummy ... Moon!" He swung about with a pointing finger and the woman came swiftly across the floor, knelt and put her arms around him, held him close against her. His cheek against hers, he stared up at the Moon and it was a wondrous thing, a bright and golden thing, a wonder that was shining new and fresh. * * * * * On the street outside, Stanford and Riggs stood looking up at the huge house that towered above the trees. "She's in there now," said Stanford. "Everything's quiet so it must be all right."