"

"But she isn't making this up," George said. "You asked her to tell you
and she--"

George's sister had jumped out of her chair and she was waltzing over
the patio. She began humming as she danced. "Can't you just see it?
Everyone dancing around, listening to music in their heads? No orchestra
or records or anything?"

Mr. Kenington stood very tall. "Are you taking the word of your mother,
or this ... this ..." He motioned curtly at Gistla.

George licked his lips, looking defensively at each one of his family.
"It isn't a matter of taking anyone's word at all. It's just something
we don't understand."

George's sister whirled and then suddenly she stopped, putting her hand
against her mouth. "My God, what if everyone got the music different? I
mean, does everyone hear the same music, dear? Because if they didn't,
what a mess!" She began dancing again, her skirt swirling over the
bricks of the patio.

Mr. Kenington's voice was louder. "I think we understand, all right,
George. There isn't anything about this we don't understand!"

George's lips were paling.

His sister dipped and turned. "We could call it a Music In The Head
dance. Everybody brings his own head!" She laughed merrily. "My God!"

George noticed then that Gistla was disappearing out of the rear gate.
He stood, clenching his fists and glaring at his family. His sister had
stopped dancing but she was still laughing.

"I didn't think, George," his mother said resolutely, "that you were
going to invite someone who lied."

George turned and ran after Gistla.

* * * * *

They sat again in the clearing. George could still feel the anger
churning inside him, and he held his hands together so tightly that his
fingers began to ache. "I hate them for that," he said.

Gistla touched his arm. "No, George. It is all right. It is the way
things are."

"But they don't need to be! My family did that on purpose."

"They just don't understand. My race is very different from yours and it
seems strange."

"So does mine," George said, standing and beginning to pace back and
forth.

It had been what he really had expected. But still he had hoped,
somehow, that his family might have understood. He looked at Gistla,
sitting quietly, her large eyes watching him. He knew he loved her very
much just then, more in fact than he ever had before, because she had
been refused by his family.

"Listen, Gistla," he said, kneeling on