stasy of longing. He thought wistfully that if you could know what
time it was there, you could imagine what everyone was doing and it
wouldn't seem so far away. Haltingly, he tried to explain.

"Look, Mom," he said breathlessly. "It's almost five o'clock at home.
Douwie will be coming up to the barn to be fed. Gosh, do you suppose old
Pete will remember about her?"

His mother smiled at him reassuringly. "Of course he will, silly. Don't
forget he was the one who caught and tamed her for you."

Tommy gulped as he thought of Douwie. Scarcely as tall as himself; the
big, rounded, mouselike ears, and the flat, cloven pads that could carry
her so swiftly over the sandy Martian flatlands. One of the last
dwindling herds of native Martian douwies, burden-carriers of a vanished
race, she had been Tommy's particular pride and joy for the last three
years.

Behind him, Tommy heard his mother murmur under her breath, "Tom ... the
watch; _could_ we?"

And his Dad regretfully, "It's a pretty expensive toy for a youngster,
Helen. And even a _rabbara_ raiser's bank account has limits."

"Of course, dear; it was silly of me." Helen smiled a little ruefully.
"And if Mr. Krumbein has your watch ready, we _must_ go. Bee and some of
her friends are coming over, and it's only a few hours 'till you ...
leave."

Big Tom squeezed her elbow gently, understandingly, as she blinked back
quick tears. Trailing after them, Tommy saw the little by-play and his
heart ached. The guilt-complex building up in him grew and deepened.

He knew he had only to say, "Look, I don't mind staying. Aunt Bee and I
will get along swell," and everything would be all right again. Then the
terror of this new and complex world--as it would be without a familiar
face--swept over him and kept him silent.

His overwrought feelings expressed themselves in a nervously rebelling
stomach, culminating in a disgraceful moment over the nearest gutter.
The rest of the afternoon he spent in bed recuperating.

In the living room Aunt Bee spoke her mind in her usual, high-pitched
voice.

"It's disgraceful, Helen. A boy his age.... None of the _Bentons_ ever
had nerves."

His mother's reply was inaudible, but on the heels of his father's
deeper tones, Aunt Bee's voice rose in rasping indignation.

"_Well!_ I never! And from my own brother, too. From now on don't come
to me for help with your spoiled brat. Good-_bye_!"

The door slammed indignantly, his mother chuckle