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He
had
been
wandering
about
the
neighborhood
,
seeing
how
the
ants
were
doing
here
or
there
,
and
had
found
a
particularly
good
hill
with
a
big
hole
in
which
all
kinds
of
fiery
bright
pismires
were
tumbling
about
scissoring
the
air
and
wildly
carrying
little
packets
of
dead
grasshopper
and
infinitesimal
bird
down
into
the
earth
.
Now
here
was
something
else
:
Mrs
.
Brown
,
swaying
on
the
edge
of
her
porch
as
if
she
’
d
just
found
out
the
world
was
falling
through
space
at
sixty
trillion
miles
a
second
.
Behind
her
was
Mr
.
Brown
,
who
didn
’
t
know
the
miles
per
second
and
probably
wouldn
’
t
care
if
he
did
know
.
"
You
,
Tom
!
"
said
Mrs
.
Brown
.
"
I
need
moral
support
and
the
equivalent
of
the
blood
of
the
Lamb
with
me
.
Come
along
!
"
And
off
she
rushed
,
squashing
ants
and
kicking
tops
off
dandelions
and
trotting
big
spiky
holes
in
flower
beds
as
she
cut
across
yards
.
Tom
knelt
a
moment
longer
studying
Mrs
.
Brown
’
s
shoulder
blades
and
spine
as
she
toppled
down
the
street
.
He
read
the
bones
and
they
were
eloquent
of
melodrama
and
adventure
,
a
thing
he
did
not
ordinarily
connect
with
ladies
,
even
though
Mrs
.
Brown
had
the
remnants
of
a
pirate
’
s
mustache
.
A
moment
later
he
was
in
tandem
with
her
.
"
Mrs
.
Brown
,
you
sure
look
mad
!
"
"
You
don
’
t
know
what
mad
is
,
boy
!
"
"
Watch
out
!
"
cried
Tom
.
Mrs
.
Elmira
Brown
fell
right
over
an
iron
dog
lying
asleep
there
on
the
green
grass
.
"
Mrs
.
Brown
!
"
"
You
see
?
"
Mrs
.
Brown
sat
there
.
"
Clara
Goodwater
did
this
to
me
!
Magic
!
"
