ilin'," she said, squinting and backing away from his
desk defensively. "Never nothin' as big as findin' the weak spot in
Billy Joe's haid. But I _told_ you I had the power of prophecy and the
gift of healin'."

I suppose her degree of humility decided him. "She can stay," Maragon
said. "Look into this healing thing, Lefty. But, for the love of Mike,
don't waste time with her precognition."

Pheola moaned, then keened, and waved her hands in front of her face,
as if to ward off a swarm of bees. "My healin' won't do you much good,
you nasty old man!" she said in a shrill voice. "You'll git a pain,
_sich_ a pain," she insisted, pressing her hand to her heart. "It will
like to kill you, and it nearly will!"

Maragon laughed at her again. "A young witch!" he proclaimed. "I'll
bet you scared half of Posthole County into fits with dark remarks
like that. Take her away, Lefty!"

* * * * *

Pheola didn't break her silence until I showed her into the apartment
adjoining mine in the Chapter House. The Lodge Building is a hundred
stories high, and most of it is devoted to offices that we rent out to
doctors, lawyers and the like. We only use a part of the place--there
just aren't that many Psis around--and save a few floors for
apartments for members permanently assigned, as I am, to Lodge duties.

Pheola stood stiff and unseeing in the apartment, her fists clenched
at her sides, plainly in no shape to appreciate her rooms. They were
in the usual good taste I always associate with a Psi decorator.

"How could I let you down, Billy Joe!" she said to me, as soon as the
door to the corridor had closed behind us.

"Oh, stop it!" I snapped, giving her a shake. "Weren't you ever wrong
in a prophecy before?"

She squinted to see me better. "Does it make you hate me?" she asked.
"Yes, I've been wrong lots of times," she admitted. "But not about
marryin' you. How does he know I'm wrong?"

"He doesn't," I growled. "He just doesn't believe in precognition.
What little we see of it in the Lodge is so erratic that you can't
count it as a proven Psi power."

"Then maybe I _am_ right," she pressed me.

"Not if I can help it," I said sourly. "I'm in no mood to get married.
Mostly I want to give you some advice. O.K.?"

She made cow eyes at me. "You know you can, Billy Joe," she said.

"Well," I snarled, "my first suggestion is that you cut out this
'Billy Joe' stuff. My name is Wally Bupp. You can c