“But how she ever managed to run in it.”
“She didn’t,” said Mark. “She sort of fluttered around like a chicken. I thought she was a feathered thing at first. Every time I thought I had her, she got away, flopping and fluttering, above my head half the time. I don’t see how she ever-Oh! I found a place that might be where she spent the night. Looks like she crawled back among the roots of the deadfall at the bend of the creek. There’s a pressed down, grassy hollow, soggy wet, of course, just inches above the water.”
“I don’t understand this fluttering bit,” said Meris. “You mean she jumped so high you-“
“Not exactly jumped-” began Mark.
A sudden movement caught them both. The child had wakened, starting up with a terrified cry, “Muhlala! Muhlala!”
Before Meris could reach her, she was fluttering up from the bed, trailing the chenille robe beneath her. She hovered against the upper windowpane, like a moth, pushing her small hands against it, sobbing, “Muhlala! Muhlala!”
Meris gaped up at her. “Mark! Mark!”
“Not exactly-jump!” grunted Mark, reaching up for the child. He caught one of the flailing bare feet and pulled the child down into his arms, hushing her against him.
“There, there, muhlala, muhlala,” he comforted awkwardly.
“Muhlala?” asked Meris, taking the struggling child from him.
“Well, she said it first,” he said. “Maybe the familiarity will help.”
“Well, maybe,” said Meris. “There, there, muhlala, muhlala.”
The child quieted and looked up at Meris.
“Muhlala?” she asked hopefully.
“Muhlala,” said Meris as positively as she could.
The big wet eyes looked at her accusingly and the little head said no, unmistakably, but she leaned against Meris her weight suddenly doubling as she relaxed.
“Well now,” said Mark. “Back to work.”
“Work? Oh, Mark!” Meris was contrite. “I’ve broken into your workday again!”
“Well, it’s not every day I catch a child flying in the forest. I’ll make it up-somehow.”
Meris helped Mark get settled to his work and, dressing the child-“What’s your name, honey? What’s your name?”-in her own freshly dried clothes, she took her outside to leave Mark in peace.
“Muhlala,” said Meris, smiling down at the upturned wondering face. The child smiled and swung their linked hands.
“Muhlala!” she laughed.
“Okay,” said Meris, “we’ll call you Lala.” She skoonched down to child height. “Lala,” she said, prodding the small chest with her finger. “Lala!”
Lala looked solemnly down at her own chest, tucking her chin in tightly in order to see. “Lala,” she said, and giggled.
“Lala!”
The two walked toward the creek, Lala in the lead, firmly leashed by Meris’s hand. “No flying,” she warned. “I can’t interrupt Mark to have him fish you out of the treetops.”
Lala walked along the creek bank, peering down into the romping water and keeping up a running commentary of unintelligible words. Meris kept up a conversation of her own, fitting it into the brief pauses of Lala’s. Suddenly Lala cried out triumphantly and pointed. Meris peered down into the water.
“Well!” she cried indignantly. “Those darn boys! Dropping trash in our creek just because they’re mad at Mark. Tin cans-“
Lala was togging at her hand, pulling her toward the creek.
“Wait a bit, Lala,” laughed Meris. “You’ll fall us both into the water,”
Then she gasped and clutched Lala’s hand more firmly. Lala was standing on the water, the speed of the current ruffling it whitely against the sides of her tiny shoes. She was trying to tug Meris after her, across the water toward the metallic gleam by the other bank of the creek.
“No, baby,” said Meris firmly, pulling Lala back to the bank. “We’ll use the bridge.” So they did and Lala, impatient of delay, tried to free her hand so she could run along the creek bed, but Meris clung firmly. “Not without me!” she said.
When they arrived at the place where the metallic whatever lay under the water, Meris put Lala down firmly on a big gray granite boulder, back from the creek. “Stay there,” she said, pushing firmly down on the small shoulders. “Stay there.” Than she turned to the creek. Starting to wade, sneakers and all into the stream, she looked back at Lala. The child was standing on the boulder visibly wanting to come. Meris shook her head. “Stay there,” she repeated.
Lala’s face puckered but she sat down again. “Stay there,” she repeated unhappily.
Meris tugged and pulled at the metal, the icy bite of the creek water numbing her feet. “Must be an old hot water tank,” she grunted as she worked to drag it ashore. “When could they have dumped it here? We’ve been home-“
The current caught the thing as it let go of the mud at the bottom of the creek. It rolled and almost tore loose from Meris’s hands, but she clung, feeling a fingernail break, and, putting her back to the task, towed the thing out of the current into the shallows. She turned its gleaming length over to drain the water out through the rip down its side.
“Water tank?” she puzzled. “Not like any I ever-“
“Stay there?” cried Lala excitedly. “Stay there?” She was jumping up and down on the boulder.
Meris laughed. “Come here,” she said, holding out her muddy hands. “Come here!” Lala came. Meris nearly dropped her as she staggered under the weight of the child. Lala hadn’t bothered to slide down the boulder and run to her. She had launched herself like a little rocket, airborne the whole distance.
She wiggled out of Meris’s astonished arms and rummaging, head hidden in the metal capsule, came out with a triumphant cry, “Deeko! Deeko!” And she showed Meris her sodden treasure. It was a doll, a wet, muddy, battered doll, but a doll nevertheless, dressed in miniature duplication of Lala’s outer garment which they had left in the cabin.
Lala plucked at the wet folds of the doll’s clothes and made unhappy noises as she wiped the mud from the tiny face. She held the doll up to Meris, her voice asking and coaxing. So Meris squatted down by the child and together they undressed Deeko and washed her and her tiny clothes in the creek, then spread the clothes on the boulder in the sun. Lain gave Deeko a couple of soggy hugs, then put her on the rock also.
Just before supper, Mark came out to the creek-side to see the metallic object. He was still shaking his head in wonderment over the things Meris had told him of Lala. He would have discounted them about ninety per cent except that Lala did them all over again for him. When he saw the ripped cylinder, he stopped shaking his head and just stared for a moment. Then he was turning it, and exploring in it, head hidden, hefting the weight of it, flexing a piece of its ripped metal. Then he lounged against the gray boulder and lipped thoughtfully at a dry cluster of pine needles.
“Let’s live dangerously,” he said, “and assert that this is the How that Lala arrived in our vicinity last night. Let us further assert that it has no earthly origin. Therefore, let us, madly but positively, assert that this is a Space capsule of some sort and Lala is an extra-terrestrial.”
“You mean,” gasped Meris, “that Lala is a little green man! And that this is a flying saucer?”
“Well, yes,” said Mark. “Inexact, but it conveys the general idea.”
“But, Mark! She’s just a baby. She couldn’t possibly have traveled all that distance alone-“
“I’d say also that she couldn’t have traveled all that distance in this vehicle, either,” said Mark. “Point one, I don’t see anything resembling a motor or a fuel container or even a steering device. Point two, there are no provisions of any kind-water or food-or even any evidence of an air supply.”