THE MAGIC BALL

Herby wondered what it was. This Christmas,

the most important gift of all was from his grandfather. It had arrived weeks before and was secreted away in a closet, in his mother's out-of-bounds sewing room. Herby's father hinted a couple of times, "Son, if you're not good, the most special present will have to go back. You won't have anything for Christmas."

Herby had heard this kind of thing before, for he was already seven years old. In fact, Herby had heard this threat each Christmas, each birthday, and on other occasions, for eight years. It seemed an idle threat, now, for the presents weren't really that special and the need to be "good" seemed a very tedious endeavor to Herby. He was already learning the ability not to care, which was his primary sense of power.

But, this Christmas was to be different. This present was going to change Herby's young life. On the Advent morning, under the tree, there was a big package for Herby. It was wrapped in a glowing paper, red and green. Herby saw the colors vibrating as he looked at it. The bow, a golden, shimmering topper, added to the intrigue of the gift. The card read, simply, "To Herby, with wonder and magic, Love Grandpa." Herby did not know his grandfather. However, there was a picture of him on the mantle and, when a fire was lighted, the eyes in the picture would sparkle and follow Herby around the room. The inscription on the picture read, "Grandfather Herbert." There were stories about Grandpa Herbert. They never seemed believable. He was at least eccentric, whatever that means. He was an inventor. He was also, Herby had been told, crazy and made things that never worked. He lived in Canada, wherever that is. Herby liked his eyes to follow him around the room and would sometimes try to sneak by the picture without Grandpa Herbert "seeing" him. He never could.

Christmas morning finally arrived. It was time to unwrap the gifts. Streaming sunlight through the east windows illuminated the golden bow. Herby went first to that present. His father and mother said, in unison, "Herby, don't you think you should open other presents first?" Herby knew that wasn't a question. He silently assented, receiving a small package held out by his mother. She looked expectantly at Herby as he sneaked glances at the red and green vibrant box.

Herby's mother said, "Now Herby, pay attention to what you are doing. You don't want to break anything."

Herby concentrated on the designated gift with visible insincerity. It was a pocket comb and fingernail clipper set. His mother and father watched his face and seemed disappointed at Herby's reaction.

His father was anticipating his son's gratitude, as Herby opened his next appointed gift. It was a pen and ruler set. "This is so you can make straight, Herby. Your lines are never straight, you know. You won't have any excuses now and won't need the edges of books, leaving your pencil marks on them. You know how you are always doing that, Herby. I've told you over and over about how that marks the edges of the books. Now you have a ruler of your very own and you will never again have to borrow a pencil from me. Isn't that nice, Herby?" said his father.

And so it goes for Herby's eighth Christmas. Herby had to wait for his sister to open two, now that he had opened two. Sylvan, Herby's older sister, sat primly on the couch, next to her mother. She was quietly opening a gift. She squealed with excitement and began to read her new book. She said, "Oh, thank you mother. This is the best book I've ever had. It is better than Heidi."

Herby rolled his eyes and watched his mother's reaction. Her face glowed with affection as she looked at Sylvan. Sylvan was squeezing everything she could out of this moment of maternal indulgence. She was milking her mother for every ounce of drippy admiration she could pull.

Herbert's father, Herbert the Second, said, "Sylvan, your hunger for knowledge and love of books are great gifts. You will have a rich life. It is too bad Herby doesn't share your thirst for culture."

Eventually, all other presents opened and stacked neatly at the base of the tree, all wrappings folded and the ribbons sorted and rolled beside the folded paper, Herby was permitted to open Grandpa Herbert's present. He carefully peeled the paper from the box and opened it. He took out a strange, green ball, about the size of a soccer ball. It was very light and seemed strange-ly soft, almost mushy. It wouldn't bounce at all and tended to float and hang in the air, when he threw it.

"Not in the house!" his mother yelled. Herby was confused by this gift. After much

study of this ball, he put it on the floor, beside the other gifts. A few seconds later, Herby noticed the ball had somehow moved, rolled, perhaps. It was closer to the other gifts than it had been. But, Herby did nothing further with the ball, because it was time for the Christmas morning guests and the big, noisy meal.

It wasn't until several hours later, as Herby was excused from the table, that he discovered the first occasion of wonder- ing about this ball. The ball had moved and was a tiny bit larger. All of his presents were gone. The ball was right where the presents had been. Herby said nothing about this. He picked up his ball and went to his room with it.

Herby's father said, "Herby, you shouldn't plan on just playing with that ball, you know. You have your music lesson tomorrow and, remember, there are three chores I told you about. Especially, you must take out the trash." Herby said nothing and carried the new ball past his father. "Herby? Did you hear me?" queried his father.

"Yessir," Herby responded, heading up the stairs.

Later, Herby was asleep, when suddenly, the bed was bumped in the night. Herby did not know what had happened, but in the morning, the ball was beside his head, nearly on his pillow. Herby thought and remembered he had put the ball under his bed the night before. It was next to his drawing paper, his slippers, his bowl of marbles. Herby wondered about this, but said nothing.

After his chores and his music lesson, Herby took his ball outside, for the very first time. Because it didn't bounce, he just carried it around. He began to talk to it, showing the ball his yard, his hideout, the field where he dug his holes, and telling the ball all about his life. For some reason, this seemed natural for Herby. It was like they were becoming attached. He felt better, talking to his ball. By the end of the day, his ball was a bit heavier and several inches larger than it had been on Christmas Day.

It was two days later when the conversation took place with his father. His father was lecturing Herby and told him that he must take care of his chores, because he had to help around the house. "I won't be around to take care of you, forever, Herby. You must be prepared to take care everything here, if anything should happen to me," said his father. It was bewildering to Herby. He agreed he would take care of everything and for his father not to worry. It was soon after that lecture, the major event took place.

Herby was walking out the front door with his ball, about the size of a basketball, now. He saw his father walking toward him and, startled, because he knew he had been caught playing, he dropped the ball. The green, mushy ball rolled down the front walk. It seemed to be on a mission and had a will of its own. It rolled toward Herby's father. Herbert the Second tried, and failed, to dodge the ball and the ball leaped into his midsection and stuck to his stomach. Herby watched in horror as his father tried to get the ball off of him, but every time he tried to get the ball off, he would stick more to it and the ball was getting larger. Suddenly, there was a sucking-gripping-sticking-gluck-puck-slurp noise and Herby's father disappeared into the ball.

Herby yelled for his father, but there was no answer. The ball slowly rolled back to Herby.

Seconds later, his mother appeared at the door of the house and yelled at Herby to come clean his room and take out the trash. Before Herby could fully turn around, the ball leaped out of his grasp and rolled intently toward his mother, sticking to her rear end as she attempted to outrun it. She screamed as she tried to get the ball off her bottom, to no avail. The ball grew a bit and stuck fast to her great posterior and there was a sucking-gripping-sticking-gluck-puck-slurp noise. Herby's mother vanished inside the ball.

The ball was quite large, now. About the size of a buoy at the anchorage in the sound. Herby watched in amazement as the ball rolled back to him. He could not easily lift it, now, but it rolled better and wasn't as mushy as before. He was not able to get it through the front door of the house, at first, except he learned he could wedge it in, inches at a time, and finally it kind of popped into the livingroom.

Herby's sister emerged from the kitchen and screamed at Herby, "Herby, get mother! I need her help with this lesson!" Before Herby could say anything at all, like, "Watch out!", the ball swooped to Sylvan's face and stuck fast to it. Herby tried to grab an arm and get the ball off of her, but it was no use. Before Herby could say, "Suck-grip-stick-gluck-puck-slurp," the ball had Sylvan well inside it and he last saw strands of her hair and an elbow sink beneath the surface of the ball.

He rolled the ball, this way and that. He looked for openings. He tried sticking his hand into the ball, to see if he could reach his mother, father, or Sylvan. He could not get even a fraction of an inch beneath the ball's mushy surface. It was clear to Herby he was going to need help, which he began to seek. This was not an easy task, of course, as nothing truly important is easy.

The first thing Herby did, being quite bright, was to call "911." He explained the situation. "Hello. My name is Herby. I have a large, green, mushy ball in my livingroom and it has swallowed up my sister, my Christmas presents, and my parents. I need help." The sound he heard, each time he called, was a resounding click. It was clear the "911" people did not have a way of handling this kind of problem. So, he called the fire department. The result was much the same, except, finally, a fireman told Herby to bring the ball to the station and they would get everyone out of it. Which Herby did. He wedged the ball through the front door of the house and began to roll it to the fire station, just a mile away. He was already feeling relieved that he would be able to get help.

On reaching the fire station, rolling the ball up some hills and generally pooping himself out, Herby pushed the bell and a fireman came to the door. "Yessir? What may I do for you?" said the fireman. Herby said, "Please help me to get my sister, my mother, and my father out of this ball. You see, they stuck to it and it sucked them inside." The fireman looked at the ball and looked at Herby. He looked at the ball again. Then, again, he looked at Herby. "The ball sucked three people inside it?" the fireman asked. "That's right," said Herby. The fireman poked the ball, but it was not very pokeable. His hand could not even make an impression on the surface of the otherwise mushy ball. "Where did you get this, young man," asked the fireman.

Herby said, "It was a Christmas present from my Grandpa Herbert, who lives in Canada."

"Well," said the fireman, "It is obvious your Grandpa Herbert is the one you must talk to about this problem." The fireman smiled kindly and patted Herby on the head and walked back inside the fire station.

Herby huffed and puffed and got the ball back home, but, instead of taking the ball inside, he left it in the backyard of his house. 'What to do,' he thought to himself. He went into the house and opened the refrigerator door. The refrigerator was full of everything he liked and he made himself a peanut butter, jelly, and wiener sandwich, with nuts and lettuce and two Oreo cookies in it. He drank a quart of milk and ate his sandwich and began to think how he was going to get his grandfather to help him with his problem. He felt very responsible about everything and knew it was all up to him to get help and save his sister, his mother, and his father. Would they be forever stuck in the ball? Could they breathe in there? There were lots of technical questions Herby came up with, thinking about his dilemma. But, eventually, after the sandwich was eaten, it came to him. 'I must get this ball to my Grandpa Herbert. There is no other way.'

The story from here is difficult and tedious, much like Herby's life for the next two years. Herby, at eight years of age, took charge of the ball and began to roll it to Canada, to Grandpa Herbert. He had found his Grandpa's address in the little flipup thing by the telephone. He had written a letter, but realized it would take too long for an answer and decided he would just take the ball to the address where his Grandpa lived. There was no phone number and no other way to do all this. He began to roll the ball to Canada. It was quite an odyssey, of course, as you can imagine it would be. (How many of you have rolled a four-foot diameter, green, mushy ball over thousands of miles, through one adventure after another, knowing your parents' and your sister's lives depended upon you and your wits, strength, and determination? But, Herby did it.

He had rolled the ball down the sides of streets, on highways, been helped by truckers. Been laughed at by waitresses in truck stops. He'd been teased and scolded, all for his devotion to the mission of getting this large, green ball to Canada and to his Grandpa Herbert. But, Herby would not be deterred from his task. What made it worse, twice he had become quite fond of animals, one was a dog and one was a cat. As soon as he felt responsible and attached to these animals, there was the familiar, sucking-gripping-sticking-gluck-puck-slurp noise, and the dog and cat disappeared into the ball. Of course, the ball became a bit bigger, but Herby could still roll it. No matter how heavy the ball became, Herby's strength increased for the task.

Often, on his pilgrimage, he would be offered rides in cars. But the ball, of course, would not fit, so he had to decline. People would try to get him to leave the ball, but he had to say "no," which no one understood, especially in rainstorms, snowstorms, windstorms, and very cold nights. Herby did learn the ball would keep him warm, if he snuggled against it on cold days and nights, which was a great help.

When he reached Michigan, a man from the newspaper took his picture and asked him questions and took notes, getting Herby's long story of how the ball had been given to him by Grandpa Herbert, had swallowed up his whole family, and how he could get no help, and how he was told only his Grandpa Herbert in Canada could help, and how he was on his way to find him to get help. Herby did not know the man was going to print this story. Herby had no way of knowing this man had taken him seriously, in a way. The newspaper man was quite bemused by this young fellow's ordeal and printed the whole thing, complete with pictures. Herby was now ten years old. He had been working his way through adventure and misadventure for two years. He had tales to tell for the rest of his life, but he didn't know this quite yet. When one is on such a pilgrimage, the tales aren't formed, yet. The green, mushy, heavy ball was his constant companion. When he would go into a diner, it would be right outside the window and he would not take his eyes off of it, knowing his constant responsibility was contained in that ball. He could recall his father's charge, "Take care of everything, Herby. If anything happens to me, it is all up to you." One thing he did notice, everyone seemed to feel sorry for him, buying his meals here and there and giving him scraps of food now and then.

To help cut a long tale into a readable one, we now find Herby roaming Canada's eastern territory, looking for the address of his Grandpa Herbert. The address was, "Mr. Herbert Merlin Arthur, Rural Route One, Box One, Upsalquitch, New Brunswick, Canada." This was not an easy place to reach, as any of you Canadians must realize. Not just every road leads to Upsalquitch, Canada. In fact, there is a story about this little town, that there is no way to get there from here and once there, not knowing how you got there, there is no way to get away from here to anywhere else. It is a short story, but it has earned its veracity by experiences of those familiar with Upsalquitch.

Fortunately, as is the way in such tales as this, the newspaper from Detroit, Michigan, which had carried the story about Herby and his ball, had found its way to the coffee shop in Upsalquitch and had been read by Grandpa Herbert, one very cold morning. He learned Herby was roaming the northeast, looking for him. Grandpa Herbert began to worry about Herby. He knew the ball had special powers, but wasn't sure, sometimes, and would worry. He talked to his friends and it became known that if Herby and his ball were ever spotted, his friends would help Herby reach his grandfather in Upsalquitch.

Synchronisticly, just that very thing happened. Herbert Arthur's friend, Broily Linquist, was traveling into Campbellton and spotted the boy and his ball on the dock. Herby was sitting, chin in his hands, seemingly very discouraged. He had traveled a bit too far north and had no way of knowing how to get to Upsalquitch. Everyone told him there was no way to get there from here for the last five towns. Mr. Linquist pulled his 1938 Ford flatbed to a halt just a few boards away from the ball and Herby. He opening the door and swinging his feet out onto the runningboard, said, spitting a small charge between his stained teeth, first, "Are you Herby Arthur?"

The boy looked mystified and was cautious, at first, for he was no longer a naive child. He knew the ways of the world and how wicked they could be. He hesitated to answer. Then Broily said, "Now, if you're Herby Arthur, I know your grandpa and would take you right to him. He has told us all about you and this ball. He read it in paper."

Herby jumped to his feet and said, "You know my grandfather? What's his middle name and what is his address?" Herby inquired, testing Broily. Herby looked at the crumpled, torn piece of paper in his hand as Broily Linquist said, "Merlin is his middle name and he lives out on the rural route, not too far from Jenkins' Mill. He has a shop where he makes and fixes things and none of us could get through a winter without his help. Your grandfather is probably the best known, respected man what ever lived in Canada, maybe the whole of North America.

Within a few hours, Broily's chores and errands having been accomplished, Herby was riding in the Ford's cab. The big, green ball was securely tied, taped, and tethered to the flatbed. Herby was looking through the colors of celluloid separations in his side of the windshield as they rattled, twisted, and bumped their way to Upsalquitch. There was almost no talking. The most exciting thing that happened along the way was when Broily Linquist forgot to crank his window down before spitting his load. Wiping his side window with his sleeve, he said, "That ain't the first goddam time I done that. It won't be the last."

Herby was feeling very sleepy and his head was bumping off the back of the cab, to the corner post, and then rolling over on Broily's shoulder, where it finally remained until the flatbed pickup came to a gritty stop next to an old bat-and-board building. There was a log cabin with an expansive front porch adjoining. Smoke was coming from the stack and the sliding barn door was open just enough to see a fire glowing in a great metal fire barrel. Broily said, "We're here. I'll help you with the ball, Herby."

As they were unloading the ball, a man appeared in the doorway, stroking his beard. His other hand was cozied in the side of his vest. He just stood there, watching Broily and Herby at work. Herby noticed him. He wasn't sure if it were okay to say anything about him to Broily or just what he should do. The big man just stood silhouetted in the doorway.

"Herby Arthur," the big, old man said, with a great grin,

"You have finally arrived and I want you to feel at home."

Herby said, "Hello, Grandpa. I'm glad to meet you. I often thought I never would and here you are, just like your picture on the shelf at our house." Herby watched his Grandpa's eyes follow him as he moved from side to side, just like the eyes in the picture used to follow him. Then, Herby said, "Grandpa. I have a big problem with this ball you gave me. My sister, my mother, and your son are all stuck inside of it, somewhere. I was told you were the only one who could help me with this." Herby pushed the ball, as best he could, over the mud to the feet of his grandfather.

Grandpa Herbert slid the door to his shop back, and easily rolled the large ball into the center of the wood-plank floor.

He said, "Herby, we'll take care of this in the morning. Broily and you are coming in for dinner, first, and you are going to have a very good night's sleep in a warm bed." This distressed Herby some, because he hadn't been out of sight of this ball in well over two years. "I can't leave them out here, Grandpa," Herby said.

"No trouble with this, Herby, we'll take care of it all tomorrow. You don't know what tomorrow is, I guess," said Grandpa Herbert.

"No, I guess not," answered Herby. "Tomorrow is the Sixth of January. Tomorrow is Epiphany, Herby, the most important day I know about, Herby," said the old gentleman.

"Hmmm," Herby said, as they walked up the front steps into the house. Broily followed the two of them, getting two final spits out before entering through the stained-glass front door.

The inside of this house was magical to Herby. There were varnished wood beams, parts of trees as corners in the big room, and a great fireplace with a petrified, polished log as a mantle. There were several mounted heads of deer and an antlered moose on the walls and five guns just to the side of the fireplace. There were fishing poles in the corner and a table with a wonderful square-rigger ship model in progress. Herby saw his grandpa's telescope and the Ham Radio gear in another corner and was mesmerized by the wonders of this room. Grandpa Herbert was at the end of the great room, stirring something on the black-iron-wood burner, and told Herbert to wash up and sit down next to Broily. It was the first time Herby had seen Broily without a lump in his cheek and he looked thinner. He talked better, too.

The dinner was elk, potatoes, and blackbean soup. There was fresh goats' milk, which Herby managed to drink. Herby fell asleep at the table, just after finishing some blackberry pie. Broily and Grandpa Herbert were telling stories and their voices faded into oblivion. Grandpa eventually carried Herby to a bed in the loft, overlooking the great room. Herby was to awaken looking into the eyes of a bear. He jumped straight up in bed, only to realize he was on a wonderful, soft mattress on the floor and the bear's head belonged to a bearskin rug. It was light out, already, but not very light, because it was winter and they were very far north latitude. There were only a few hours of light and no sun at all.

Grandpa Herbert shouted up to Herby in the loft, having heard the boy's feet on the floor, "Hello, Herby. You slept until noon. You musta been tired," his grandpa observed.

Grandpa Herbert consented to go out after breakfast and look at the ball with Herby. He could hardly restrain Herby and had to promise him several times that everything would be alright. Herby felt very guilty not tending to the ball, right away. But, he had already succumbed to his grandfather's assurances and his confidence. Grandpa Herbert didn't seem eccentric, crazy, or anything else Herby had been told about him.

Herby was feeling more secure and peaceful than he had ever felt his whole life. He almost felt guilty because he wasn't sure if he ever wanted to see that ball again. For the first time in over two years, he wasn't feeling responsible for its contents.

After the noon breakfast, goose-egg, sourdough toast, goats' milk on a small piece of blackberry pie, Herby and his Grandpa went through the large doorway into the shop. There was something Herby had never imagined, in his wildest dreams, and he had had some very wild dreams. There in the middle of the shop were pieces of the ball, split into sections, like a great green grapefruit cut in sections. In each section, lying there, apparently asleep, were the cat, the dog, his sister, his mother, and his father. They looked just exactly like they looked when the ball sucked and slurped them inside of it. Herby's Grandfather watched Herby watching the sections of the ball, like cradles, each holding its sleeping life. Herby's mouth was open and he just stood there. Gradually, he began to walk towards the "cradle" with his father in it. He reached out and touched his father. But nothing happened. His father was sleeping very soundly.

Grandpa Herbert stood beside Herby and said, "Herby, do you want them to wake up?"

Herby said, "Yes. Sure. Why wouldn't I? Yeah. Don't you?"

Grandpa Herbert said, "The only way it will work is for you to rub one foot while I rub the other, slowly and gently. While we do that, we have to hum this tune." Grandpa Herbert began to hum a tune, much like "Amazing Grace" mixed in, at times, with "She'll be Comin' Round the Mountain, When She Comes." Herby listened and began to catch on to the tune, humming it over and over again, while rubbing, gently, his father's foot, and Grandpa Herbert rubbing the other foot.

Well, you know the rest. Herby's sister, mother, and father all awakened. The dog and the cat had their paws rubbed and had to listen to the tunes, too. It is nightfall, now, and the whole family is sitting in the large room of Grandpa Herbert's house and they are talking a mile a minute. Herby's sister, father, and mother don't seem too sure whether or not Herby is who he is. He has changed a lot since they went to sleep. But, Herby knew who they were. The firelight made their faces beautiful and the shadows danced all over the great, varnished room.

Grandpa Herbert said to Herby, "Son, I'm needing some help around here and your folks and your sister aren't going to be staying around too long. How'd you like to stay with me, Herby?"

Herby, looking at the expressions on his sister's face, his mother's face, and then, his father's face, thought for a long time. He felt fear and guilt, but something was becoming clear to him. When he looked at his Grandpa's face, he didn't feel fear and guilt at all. He felt lighter, happier, and freer.

His grandpa said, "I can see your decision in your eyes, Herby. I think you want to stay here. I want you to live here with me."

There was much conversation, that evening and the next day, but the tension was growing. Herby's father said, for the last time, "It is time for us to go home. There is a lot to do and Herby has school, his music lessons, and his chores at home. Don't know what you've been doing all this time, son, but you must learn responsibility."

That did it for Herby. It was the best thing his father could ever have said. Herby said, "Goodbye Dad. Goodbye Mother. Goodbye, Sylvan. The dog and the cat can live here with us. I like it here with Grandpa and I feel better here than I have ever felt. I know I'll miss you all, but it'll be okay. You know where I am and can come visit any time."

It was then the full power of this green, mushy ball, now in fragments, became evident. Grandpa Herbert went out to the workshop. He cut off about a golf-ball-sized piece of the green, mushy material, three of these in all. He took them back into the house and gave one to his son, to his daughter-in-law, and to Sylvan. He smiled and gave each one a hug as he gave them the little balls. He said, "Now listen closely. These instructions are extremely important. This will require great concentration, or it may not work right." Grandpa Herbert paused, getting their attention and curiosity up to speed. "These little balls are very special. I got them from the meteor crater that is up on Jenkins' Mill Road. That is where the meteorite fell, just five years ago. This is marvelous stuff. I want you just to trust me. You'll need a glass of milk. Just put these in your mouths, concentrate on your home, back in Tulsa, and don't think about anything else. These balls will dissolve and you'll feel sleepy, just for a few seconds. Now, do as I say, but give us hugs goodbye, first. We won't be seein' you till you come visit. I'll send more of these little green things to you, when you want to come visit." Grandpa Herbert was smiling. The others were all looking at one another and to humor him, decided to go along with what they thought was his craziness. It would be over, soon, they thought. Then, they could get a ride to Campbellton and catch a bus, or something.

Sylvan swallowed hers first. There was a puff of smoke and vibrations that made the lamp swing, just above where she had been. Herby's mother and father looked at one another, doubtful and a bit afraid.

Grandpa Herbert said, with some forceful tones, "Now don't keep Sylvan waiting. She'll worry. You do what I told you and do it now!" With some trepidation, both downed the little, mushy green golf-ball-sized things, while concentrating on their house in Tulsa. There were simultaneous poofs of smoke, where each had been standing and the same vibrations in the room.

Herby and his grandfather looked at one another. After a moment, they smiled. Grandpa Herbert said, "Son, we're going to have a great time. I got projects galore and I need a man around to help me with them. I can teach you some things, too, if you want. We can do some hunting and fishing, when we want."

Herby was looking around the room. The cat and the dog were near the hearth, sleeping. Herby felt at home, whatever that means, for the first time in his life. Herby inspected the room and ended up at the kitchen, next to the stove, smelling some hot apple cider and cinnamon. He said, "Grandpa, I'm the luckiest almost eleven-year-old in the world. Thank you for my Christmas present. There were times when I was pretty mad at you, but I'm glad now for everything that has happened. When can we go see that meteor crater, Grandpa?"

Grandpa poured them both cups of steaming apple cider and stuck the cinnamon sticks in the cups. He winked at Herby, saying, "We have a lot of trips to that meteor crater, Herby, but we only can go there when no one's around. I'm the only one who knows about what really landed up there on Jenkins' Mill Road. Don't say anything. People around these parts will think we're nuts. There's stuff in that hole that will change this world. But, we gotta use our heads and be sure our hearts are in the right place." He stood with one hand in his vest, his other holding the cup of cider. He seemed to twinkle and grin at Herby everytime he spoke.

Herby thought he understood, somehow. One thing he knew was he was in the right place and he felt he could do anything, if his grandpa was around. He took a swallow of the hot-spiced-cider and sat down beside the dog on the rug, next to the fire. Grandpa Herbert sat down in the big, leather chair and got out his pipe. "How'd you like to hear a story about a place that has no space and a time that has no clocks, Herby?"

The firelight danced shadows on the walls and the story began. Herby stretched out on the hairy rug, in front of the fire and listened as long as he could. As he listened, he felt like he was floating. The next thing he knew, he was waking up in his loft, looking into the eyes of the bear. Or, was the bear looking into his? with the bear staring at him. One thing he did know, it was another wonder day for Herby. # ##

I hope you enjoyed the story of the Magic Ball. It has no other purpose, no moral, no hidden messages, and was fun to write. I cut it way down, so it would fit here. If you want the unexpur- gated version, send $50.00, and the top of your grandmother's piano, and I will send you the copy of the original.