"Sho."

In Arrietty's memory the housekeeper was a hundred feet tall and made scary faces. She put Borrowers in jars with plastic on top and called more Human Beans to kill them. That was who Arrietty was talking to, a dangerous giantess. In Arrietty's fear-frozen mind, there was only one person who might be able to face her. "Sho, help me!"

"Sho's not here," the housekeeper said gruffly. "He's at the hospital for a check-up."

Arrietty fluttered in the wind, a piece of laundry left out to dry. Her body had changed overnight. A lifetime of fears and traditions did not change so easily. It took as much courage for her to string together her words as it would for an ordinary woman to face down a lioness.

But... Sho was alive. She had to know! "When... will he... be back?" she squeaked.

"Tomorrow." And the housekeeper hung up.

"That was rude," the operator observed.

Arrietty jumped. She hadn't realized that the operator had stayed on the line. Nor did she realize that the woman was being a bit nosy; as far as Arrietty knew, eavesdropping on a party line was the norm, to be expected, and the operator was supposed to monitor each and every conversation.

"Was it?" Arrietty said shakily.

"I'll say it was! Listen, honey, you keep calling. Sooner or later she'll have to let you talk to Sho. And if she doesn't, why, I'll talk to her."

"You will?" Arrietty wilted with relief. The thought of having an ally in this scary telephone battle was heartening. "Oh, thank you. I'll come back tomorrow."

She hung up. Then she clapped her hands over her mouth. What had she said? Come back tomorrow?

Her chin came up. Sho was alive. "I will," she said aloud. "Yes, I will."

Then she darted frightened glances through the cracks, through the open door. "I will," she whispered, trembling. "If I don't get caught."

X X X

She spent most of the trip back picking floorboard splinters out of the seat of her pajamas. The blanket, once she'd beaten the dust out of it, fit nicely into the bucket, but the bucket had a tendency to bang awkwardly against her hip. She had a bruise by the time she got home.

"Home" was announced by broken clods of dirt underfoot, pieces of roof hidden by the grass that bruised her bare feet, and an angry whine past her ear. She ran a hand through the air, trying to erase the annoying sound. "Spiller! Stop it! It's me!"

Another whine. She sighed and sat down, swinging the bucket behind her. "Look. It's me. Arrietty. Didn't Father tell you?"

There was a long silence. Arrietty sighed again and leaned back on her hands, staring up at the sky. Her whole body felt shaky - and there was a lot of it to feel shaky with, now. A flock of ravens flew overhead; she didn't duck, only followed them with her eyes. She could get used to this.

"Arrietty?"

It was her mother's voice. Arrietty followed the sound with her eyes, appreciating for the first time what restraint Sho had exercised around her. It was hard not to make sudden, sweeping movements - movements that would give her mother a heart attack.

"Mama?" Arrietty tilted her head, gently, at a clump of grass. "It's me. Tell Spiller not to shoot me."

Spiller popped out first, glaring. He looked confused when he saw her face, Arrietty's face, far above the grass tops.

"Hi, Spiller," she said softly. She wanted to wave, but her better instincts kept her hand down. "Sorry I scared you."

"Not scared," he spat, and disappeared.

Oops. She rubbed her eyes. This was probably rather difficult for him. "Mama?"

"I don't think he'll shoot at you anymore," Homily assured her. She stepped out to fill the spot Spiller had just vacated. "How did your Borrowing go?"

"It was, er, good!" Arrietty eased the bucket around to one side where her mother could see it, and reached - slowly, slowly - to lift the blanket out. Her arms quivered with the effort of holding weight out like that, awkwardly, away from her side. "I got a blanket to stay warm at night, and, um, a bucket to put over my head in case it rains. There weren't any umbrellas. Can I look at the dugout?"

Of course, she could see it from here, but she was really asking for permission to come closer.

"We've got it all patched up," Homily said proudly, and waved her in. "Come and see."

Arrietty crawled after her on all fours, trusting Spiller to stay out of her path. Now she had stained pajama knees to match the dust stains on her bottom.

The bare dirt layer Arrietty had spread over a quickly woven twig ceiling was nowhere to be seen. Instead, she spotted hints of braided grass - mulch - peeking out around and underneath the full, happy foliage of newly transplanted plants - grasses, flowers, and patches of lichen. The plants had hardly noticed that they'd been moved. Borrower fingers were clever with delicate things like roots. "No one will ever find it," she said in relief. "You're both wonderful!"

"Father dear did most of it," Homily said modestly.

"Spiller helped too." Pod appeared at the dugout door. He looked Arrietty over hopefully, trying to gauge whether she had shrunk at all, but she looked just as... big... as before. But she was still his daughter and he was glad to see her back. "So you found a blanket? That's good!"

"Yes, but I have another problem." Arrietty smiled weakly and curled up on her side, propping her chin in her palm. At the size she was now, no one could help noticing when her stomach growled; Homily jumped, Father twitched, and Arrietty distinctly heard Spiller fall out of a cowslip.

"I'm hungry."