"We're not done with you yet, Pertwee!" Tony yelped, shaking his fist at Jon while running away. The boy had caught Tony and his cousins-sibling-whoever red-handed while torturing a stray cat they found somewhere. Luckily they hadn't managed to do too much harm: the cat received some scratches apart from horror, which was seen from its fur sticking up and fangs out.

"You did the right thing, Jon," Miss Foreman appreciated.

"You said that we should be nice to everyone, and this means 'em being nice to animals too," Jon shrugged.

When Tony and his gang were gone from sight, Tom decided to check on the cat's condition, crawled under the bush and in a second darted outside:

"Yowwwww! Almost scratched my eye out!"

"In his case staying two-eyed was almost im-po-ba-bell," John 'Simmy' Simm loudly whispered and snickered evil-like - he was one of Tony's cousins-siblings-whoever, and shared the evil-like character as well. The next was said out loud. "Better get along with your... Kit-10!"

"It's K-9, Simmy," Tom murmured. K-9 was the name of his Aunt Sarah's dog.

By the sound of rustle it came clear that someone else decided to try out the fate and calm the poor animal down. And it proved to be true and deja vu: Jon got out of the bushes (his fancy-like clothes all in leaves and twigs), carrying the animal in his arms (which were hardly enough to provide the comfort).

There was an astonished pause. Even Miss Foreman was taken aback and didn't know what to say.

"He's so brave!" Patrick whispered to Matt, who nodded.

"Miss Foreman, is there a doctor for cats?" Jon asked. "I fink she needs some help."

"How do you know that it is 'she'?" Simmy put in.

"Kitties," Jon pointed at the bushes and showed his fist to Simmy. "See this?"

"All that you did was completely right, Dandelion."

"I hear that for the second time, Dad," Jon confessed and showed two fingers as a proof. "And don' call me Dandelion."

"Why not? Someone still calls me Dandy. Dandy and Dandelion. Doesn't it sound good? And besides," the large hand with quick long fingers patted Jon on his head full of almost white puffy hair in large loops, "this gives me an additional reason."

"Patrick thought I was brave, but I did all like you taught me."

"What did you do?"

"I didn't hess-see-tate." It took Jon a bit of time to recall the word. "You said animals understand who is the adult and who is the kid. I thought the cat knew I was a kid. And I asked Miss Foreman 'bout animal doctor."

"And you wanted to do something else, didn't you?"

"Yes," Jon confessed. "I was... I wanted..."

"To let Tony know what he did to the cat? Beat him, or scratch him?"

Jon swallowed a lump in his throat and shakily nodded.

"That's completely all right to feel rage. You're not a whole-positive cadaver, and neither am I."

"What's cadaver?"

"Something HIGHLY unnatural," Mr. Pertwee raised his forefinger. "But, Jon, the most important is to keep yourself together. If you feel enraged, you should not jump onto the opponent immediately, or you could make it even worse. Take some deep breaths and calm down. Trust me, Dandelion, I've been in such situation."

Jon didn't even bother about being called 'Dandelion' once again. When the storm in his head calmed down, he recalled another thing.

"Ganny."

"What?"

"Ganny. He looked sick. I'm worried about him."

"Who's Ganny?"

"Paul's twin brother. Paul got ill, and Ganny looks... lost," Jon confessed. "He not talks a lot, and now he's..." he moved his finger along his lips. "Complee-te-ly."

"Not wishing to talk?"

"Mm-hmm. He was such when he appeared. Then he got cheerfuller. And now he's not talking again. Maybe he got sick."

"Whoever decided to call him Ganny? That's not even a name."

"He wants every-single-one to call him so. His real name is John, and he says 'bout lots of Johns."

"What did you say? Paul caught an illness?"

Jon nodded.

"I suppose you should tell me where they live, Dandelion."

Ganny wasn't worried that 'mama Grace', as Paul called her, was not helping him. She was in another room, asleep in her outside clothing. And this meant she should not be disturbed. Ganny knew it well, and he didn't want to be punished. Though 'mama Grace' never punished Paul... No. Paul was not Ganny. Paul was a sweet 'little adult', as grown-ups love calling such calm and confident kids. And Ganny was more of a 'little walking trouble', as the family which used to raise him said.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no. This all wasn't bothering Ganny, but the state of his twin bro was.

Knock knock knock.

For the first time feeling that his feet got tired of running from one room to another, Ganny lowered the temperature of the cooker part under the pot of boiling rice and toddled to the doors, pulling a high stool after him (for he was too tiny to reach the spyhole).

"Anybody in there?"

Ganny climbed onto the stool and stood on his toe tips to see who was there.

"Hello?" the same voice repeated. That was the voice of Jon, the most protective and the most confident of all the kids from the preschool group which Ganny and Paul attended. "Hello? Anyone here?"

"Me here," Ganny muttered in confusion.

"Ganny? That you? Open, please!"

"Jon?"

"Yes! Open, okay?"

Ganny turned the key and regretted it twice. First: the rule of not opening the door to strangers was valid at all times. Second: Jon wasn't alone, and he wasn't a prisoner. He was accompanied by an enormously tall man dressed in a frilly shirt and a large floppy bowtie. The image was completed with a fluffy mass of ash-colored hair, just like Jon's.

"So you're Ganny, aren't you?" the adult asked, critically examining the kid from tips of wavy reddish brown curls sticking to all sides to the toes seen through holes in his socks. "Why are you this sweaty, like a boiling kettle? No, not like that. Where's Ms. Holloway?"

"It's okay, Ganny, he's my dad," Jon interfered.

"Oh, PLEASE be quiet! Well, Ganny?"

"I-in there," Ganny hesitated, pointing at the end of the corridor.

"And why isn't she helping you? I see that you've been doing something... not too childish all alone. Why, Master McGann?"

"I'm not any Master," Ganny muttered. "She's sleeping. She's adult, and she needs sleep."

"A-ha. Jon, be a good boy and listen here..." The next words were quick and said in half-whisper, so Ganny didn't hear anything exact. But Jon understood and scampered to the other side than Grace's room. "Now, where's your bro?"

Ganny pointed at the needed direction with trembling hand. Mr. Pertwee understood, grabbed Ganny by the back of his hoodie and walked upstairs with him. The sight of the twins' room made him click his tongue:

"Oh my. Oh my, oh my. Were only you taking care of him, Master McGann?"

"Mama Grace was out. I had to," Ganny confessed, having pulled the hoodie out of the adult's grasp. Mr. Pertwee opened the window (which was half-closed) and sat down onto Paul's bed where the second twin was. He looked awfully - all sweaty and pale, and obviously feverish.

"What exactly did you do?" Mr. Pertwee asked, and Ganny felt as if a lump of ice rocked inside him.

"I-I gave him a lot of liquid. Warm water mostly. And also milk. Mama Grace told me that sick people are to drink a lot. And I kept the air fresh. And..."

"I hope you did not give him any medications, huh?" Mr. Pertwee's intonation turned strict, and Ganny shook his head. "Clever boy. Now bring me a thermometer."

Ganny obeyed, but did that as quickly as he could, for he didn't want to leave his brother alone or with someone not from their family.

"P-Paul was ill all week long, an' Mama Grace took care of him when I could not. H-he was getting better, an-and today..." Ganny hiccuped, but continued, "he couldn't even eat today. Yesterday h-he - hic - was a'most okay. Mam Grace thought he was ready to go to preschool again. An-and today..."

"What happened?"

"In the morning Paul was all fine, but later he got compl... fully sick."

"Hmm, you say he couldn't eat? What did he eat in the morning?"

"Dunno." Ganny scratched the back of his head. "Cheese or something, I didn' watch him..."

Mr. Pertwee stood up and walked to the kitchen, Ganny following him (he was to know what was going on, though Jon was here, and it was good news). Jon was ready to present the results of his investigation, though he was doing his best to keep himself from grimacing and tossing what he found away: it was a carton of cottage cheese, the smell of which left no doubts.

"Yeah, smell of vomit leaves you to search for source," Mr. Pertwee summed up. "Toss that away, Jon, it's no good... I'm afraid your bro got a food poisoning."

"What he got? An-an-and he's gonna die now?"

"No, he's not, Master McGann. But he still needs care. Once spoiled food is out of his digestive system, it's going to get better than... Why did you think he's going to die?"

"Cuz poisoning," Ganny confessed, digging the floor with his foot tip. "Those who cared 'bout me before offen said they would poison me and then it turns better... Whatssa dee-gess-teev?"

"Seems like they didn't care about you at all. And digestive system is everything between mouth and backside," Mr. Pertwee pointed at Paul's belly as a proof.

"As I said, I smelled vomit when I came in."

"Mm." Ganny nodded, approving that it had taken place. "Paul ate dat cheese and... What I gonna do?"

"I will take care of that." This was put in by Grace, upon the sight of whom Ganny curled up in a little ball. "Hey, Ganny, what is going on?"

Ganny hummed something unintelligible.

"What did you say, Ganny? I can't hear you."

"I all wrong," Ganny replied.

"Who made you think so?" Grace crouched next to him and ran her hand through his hair. Ganny flushed:

"All. I dunno what to do, an'... You tired of me."

"Listen up, John McGann: I am never going to get tired of you. Never and ever. You understood that?" Grace's tone was solemn, so even such 'wrong-searcher' as Ganny couldn't find anything wrong in this.

"But you slept there."

"It was not because of you. Stop blaming yourself for things you have not done." Grace scooped Ganny up and kissed him on the top of his head. "I know that the first group you got in could not become your family. But I promise I'll do my best for you to feel home here..."

"I see, young Master McGann loves his brother," Mr. Pertwee put in. "Doesn't he?"

"Oh, great. First we lacked the longhair, now we lack the blackface," Mels summed up after the ending of another preschool day. Today Paul and Ganny finally had come together, and now the latest one was missing.

"Mels, YOU are blackface! NOW!" Chris yelped at her. He knew that teasing others for their outer special features (Mels was the only dark-skinned child of the group) was no good, but here it was just unfair, and he hated anything unfair.

Soon all the kids, having abandoned waiting for their guardians to take them home, were scampering around the preschool yard in the search. Finally Billy shouted that he found the escaper: Ganny was sitting in the corner between the school building and the fence, muttering something to a grey dog which was happy to have such mate. Otherwise it wouldn't wave all of its back part so insanely.

"Oh, K-9! Auntie Sarah was worried about you!" Tom exclaimed and whistled to the dog. "Looks like you made friends with Ganny... Ganny? What..."
It was unpleasant, but Mels was right about the 'blackface': Ganny's face was covered in dirt, and it smelled like burnt hair (though the kid's hairstyle was undamaged, though messier than usually).

"Calmed your doggy down, Tom. Tony was tryin' to burn him."

"BURN?!" the kids parroted.

Ganny nodded:

"Mm-hmm. He finks it's funny."

"Me - not." Jon grabbed a stick from the ground and hit it against his palm. "I know what Tony doesn't like. Heheheh, hahahahah!"