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    The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place
    The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place
    The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place
    Ebook233 pages3 hours

    The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place

    By E. L. Konigsburg

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    E.L. Konigsburg revisits the town of Epiphany to tell the story of Margaret Rose Kane, Connor's older half-sister. It's about the summer when Margaret Rose turned twelve--the same year that Cabbage Patch dolls were popular, that Sally Ride became the first woman to go into space, that El Nino turned the world upside-down. Margaret Rose begins her summer with a miserable experience at camp, from which she's rescued by her beloved, eccentric uncles. Little does she know that her uncles, in turn, need rescuing themselves--from a tyrannical city council determined to tear down her uncles' life work--three spectacularly beautiful towers that her uncles have been building since before Margaret was a baby. A rousing book about intelligence, art, and the fierce preservation of individuality, from EL Konigsburg.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAtheneum Books for Young Readers
    Release dateJun 28, 2011
    ISBN9781442439719
    The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place
    Author

    E. L. Konigsburg

    E.L. Konigsburg is the only author to have won the Newbery Medal and a Newbery Honor in the same year. In 1968, From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler won the Newbery Medal and Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth was named a Newbery Honor Book. Almost thirty years later she won the Newbery Medal once again for The View from Saturday. Among her other acclaimed books are Silent to the Bone, The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place, and The Mysterious Edge of the Heroic World.

    Read more from E. L. Konigsburg

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    Reviews for The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place

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    • 5/5
      I liked this book, but not nearly as much as other books E. L. Konigsburg wrote. I didn't particularly love the flashback, I would have liked it better if the book was straight forward. It's an enjoyable book, but I would not recommend reading it out loud as the back and forth is confusing. Also, the statements that start beginning sections, such as 'My Uncles' 'Their Garden' and 'The Towers' make it an even more difficult book to read aloud. But, again, it's a very enjoyable book, but mostly if you're reading it to yourself.
    • 4/5
      I found that this book started out really strong, and lost it a bit at the end. However, again, I'm out of the target audience, and I think a middle-school girl might feel differently about the ending than I do. If you care, I'm about to spoil the ending here; be warned. I thought the initial camp scenes were excellent. I bitterly hated the brats who tormented Margaret, I really did, and they all had faces drawn from my own elementary-school and junior high days. In the middle of the story, I pretty much forgot about them, and found myself (as a lifelong resident of a once-sleepy but still-small town) identifying heartily with the main character's frustration at uppity newcomers to her fictional hometown of Epiphany, New York, who want to raze her great-uncles' life work, an artistic trio of towers in their backyard, because of concerns about property values. So when the bratty camp girls came back into the story, I rubbed my hands a little, thinking that in some way or another they were about to Get Theirs. I wanted to see abject humiliation. I wanted to see, I dunno, maybe a little blood (me, bitter?). What I did not want was to see them become, essentially, heroes who help save the towers. No no no. Nooooo. This is not a terribly realistic reaction, because, well, isn't that what any mature, thinking, Christian person would love to see happen -- villains turning into "good guys"? And hey, real life villains, y'all have my permission to turn your lives around and save a local landmark near you, more power to you, really. It's not nearly so satisfying in fiction, though.
    • 2/5
      Grade 6-9-In Silent to the Bone (Atheneum, 2000), a grown-up Margaret Rose Kane helps her half brother, Connor, solve the mystery of why his best friend can't speak. Outcasts is her remembrance of her 12th summer. Pitched into camp by her parents while they travel in Peru, she is tormented by cliquish cabin mates and adopts a passive-aggressive stance that infuriates the overly rigid and money-grasping camp director. Rescued by her beloved elderly uncles and taken to their home, Margaret is appalled to discover that the city has ordered the soaring, artistic towers they have created in the backyard to be taken down because they don't adhere to the strictures of the now-historic district. Stung by the idea that real history and a work of art could be destroyed by profit-seeking interest groups manipulating governmental regulations, Margaret swings into action to fight an even larger tyranny than the one she had encountered at camp. Delicious irony permeates the story, with Margaret citing words from idealistic documents and then relating the reality. The plot is well paced and has excellent foreshadowing. Konigsburg's characters are particularly well motivated, from the camp director who gives herself airs to hide well-earned insecurities to her seemingly mentally challenged son who is actually an intellectual as well as an artist. Most wonderfully rendered through dialogue are the Hungarian-American Jewish uncles, crotchety with age, but full of love and life and a sure understanding of what it means to be an individual American. Funny and thought-provoking by turns, this is Konigsburg at her masterful best.
    • 3/5
      This book was cute at times and had some good characters and scenes, but it could also get boring. The towers sounded cool, the uncles were cute, but the rest was just sort of "meh."
    • 3/5
      Solid, nicely plotted, full of interesting, real characters. The main characters are quite believable and fun to read about. Some of the supporting cast is cut from cardboard, and there's a fair bit of the denouement that seems contrived, but the overall story is well worth reading. There's also a fun tie-in with Silent To The Bone.
    • 3/5
      After being rescued from a cruel summer camp, twelve-year-old Margaret Rose Kane settles in to spend the summer with her beloved great-uncles and the three amazing towers that occupy their suburban garden. Yet Margaret soon learns that these towers, constructed of steel pipes and pendants of glass and porcelain, are in danger of being demolished by the city council because they threaten the “historical integrity” of the neighborhood. Through Konigsberg’s elegant descriptions and the cast of quirky, lovable adults who share their memories of these towers, readers too will grow to love them and cheer Margaret on in her mission to save them. Weaving flashbacks of Margaret’s camp ordeal with her struggle to save the towers, Konigsberg takes on some challenging topics – authoritarianism, civil disobedience, the definition and importance of art and history – but mostly keeps these concepts grounded in the engrossing story. While some may find the ending hinges too heavily on the contributions of Margaret’s adult allies, the novel nevertheless delivers a story the celebrates the power of communal civil disobedience. Recommended for middle-school readers.
    • 3/5
      "I picked this up because I'd read several of Konigsburg's books when I was very young, and really liked them, esp. "Jennifer, Hecate, Macbeth, William McKinley, and Me, Elizabeth" and "From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler."
      What struck me though, is that although this book is marketed as a kids' book, probably because that's what the author is known for, it really isn't. Although the protagonist is 12, the story is told from the point of view of an adult looking back at being 12, not from the point of view of a 12-year-old, and I think that really shows in the themes of the book.
      The protagonist, Margaret's parents is sent to summer camp while her parents are away on a trip. She was looking forward to it, but when she turns out to be the 'new girl' in a cabin of girls who already know each other, things don't start out that well and they rapidly get worse. Luckily, one of her two eccentric bachelor uncles shows up to face down the unsympathetic camp director and rescue her from the bullying. Margaret's delighted, because she really wanted to spend the summer with her uncles anyway, helping them work on the amazing sculpture towers in their back yard. Unfortunately, neighborhood gentrification has set in, and the towers are scheduled for demolition. The uncles think the situation is hopeless, but Margaret can't just let it happen...
      This is not a perfect book. The summer camp segment at the beginning is kinda typical; and too long. And I felt that the 'redemption' of the bullying girls later in the book is too easy, and doesn't 'ring true.'
      However, I read the whole thing in one sitting - I couldn't put it down. And it really stands out as a novel for the author's refusal to make things black & white, or to go with the easy 'happy ending.' People here are nuanced, with shaded layers of motivations; we feel that they are real people, even when we only glimpse them in passing. It deals deftly and accurately with picturing a young woman's first feelings of love, shows that one can and must do something about issues that one cares about - but also acknowledges the reality that even when you 'win,' not everything is likely to be perfect.
    • 4/5
      It starts at summer camp, where Margaret Rose decides not to participate and Tillie Kaplan just can't understand why, and moves to Margaret's uncles' house, where something isn't right - and when Margaret finds out what it is, she just has to find a way to fix it!This is a great story. The writing is wonderful, of course, and the characters are charming and varied.It wasn't perfect, though. I never understood why Margaret was at Camp Talequa in the first place. She supposedly carefully selected which summer camp she wanted to go, and yet declines to participate in anything right from the start? I certainly agreed with that decision later, but she didn't even give it a chance.The end made me sad. But that's not necessarily a flaw.
    • 5/5
      I adored this book. Even though it's really a middle grade read and told through the perspective of a twelve year old girl, I ate it up. While her parents are in Peru, Margaret Rose Kane finds herself stuck in a summer camp, hating everything. Determined to not be swayed the "Queen" camp director, Margaret decides not to do anything. Whenever she's asked to participate she replies, "I prefer not to." Fed up, the director calls her uncles who are temporary guardians for her while her parents are out of the country. The uncles whisk her out of camp and take her back to their whimsical house., complete with art towers, on 19 Schuyler Place, which is exactly where Margaret Rose Kane wanted to be in the first place. Things aren't all hunky dory though, Margaret finds out that the towers have been condemned and will be torn down in weeks. Armed with her incorrigible attitude, she determines that her summer project will be to save the,. Great fun and narrated beautifully by Molly Ringwald.
    • 5/5
      E.L. Konigsburg is the writer I want to be when I grow up. She paints her characters so beautifully, and so realistically. There is always a realisticcenter that the books center around, whether it's 3 towers built by Margaret Rose Kane's two uncles, an academic bowl (The View from Saturday), or my very favorite From the Mixed Up Files of Mrs Basil E Frankweiler, where two children run away, and end up living in a museum.Like her other books, this one deals with a 12 year old beginning to understand her world, and come to terms with some of the things life brings, finding answers to questions etc. How this kid deals with arrogance and ignorance, both in the form of various adults (though she stumbles on some great ones, too, and with some adolescent bullies, was well handled. My big complaint? As a folk artist, I loved the idea of the towers Margaret Rose's uncles built but wish I could see them in reality, not just my mind's eye.PS Noticed that Charleston SC, my hometown, is actually mentioned in the story! Twice!
    • 4/5
      Margaret Rose must be rescued from summer camp by grand-uncle albert and his dog Tartouffle, because "she prefers not" to participate in most camp activities. Margaret returns to her uncle's house for the summer while her parents are on an archaeological expedition in Peru to see if they can salvage their marriage. The city condemns the towers that the Hungarian brothers have built and the neighborhood has taken into its own, an plans to demolish them. Forbidden by law to be on the premises of the towers, Margaret's cabinmates show up to prevent the demolition.
    • 4/5
      Margaret Rose is a young girl that finds herself spending the summer with her quirky great-uncles after a failed attempt at summer camp. There is tremendous history in the neighborhood where her great-uncles have lived for decades. When she discovers that the homeowner's association is about to remove towers that her uncles have built, she begins her crusade to save the towers. The reader will definitely be drawn into the perseverance one little girl demonstrates for a cause she really believes in. Art is lifted in this book from the eyes of a child, a lawyer, a billboard painter, investors, and former watch makers. There is humor in Margaret's behavior and in the interactions among the characters.
    • 4/5
      Margaret Rose "prefers not to participate" at camp and is rescued by her grand uncle who brings her to 19 Schuyler Place where the towers her grand uncles have built are about to be destroyed. Margaret, her uncles, and Jake, the camp directors son, are the most developed characters and are easy to love. The story has a plot that flows to a peak that climaxes almost at the end, but leaves enough time to allow for closure. The setting is a small, dying town called Epiphany, where most of the people have moved into the suburbs and want to preserve the downtown as historic. The person reading the book on the cd is alright, but leaves the listener with the desire to actually read the book instead of listen to it. This is a great book about growing up and would be great in a public library.
    • 4/5
      This is the story of Margaret Rose's transformative summer. I throughly enjoyed the story. The characters are enjoyably eccentric and realistic.
    • 4/5
      Margaret Rose is sent off to summer camp while her parents go to Peru for a month. She finds she is not interested in the activities and constantly tells her counselors that she "prefers not to" do whatever it is she is supposed to be doing. She is put in a cabin with 4 clique girls who are return campers who bully her by "wetting" her bed and playing other pranks to get her in trouble. The camp calls her uncle who is her guardian as her parents are away. He comes to camp to find out what is going on and ends of taking her out of the camp to come and stay with he and his brother, her other hungarian uncle. Margaret is excited to see her uncles and glad to leave camp. Her uncles live in a small town called Epiphany in an old house where they built several tall towers in their backyard that the "historical district" homeowners association wants to tear down. Margaret researches the case to try to help her uncles saves the towers. Also, the janitor (also the son of the camp owner) befriends Margaret and paints a rose on the ceiling of her bedroom for her.
    • 4/5
      This was a lovely take on a coming of age story. Not at all predictable and wonderfully worded. I loved getting to know all of the characters, especially the precocious and charming 12 year old, Margaret Rose.  
    • 4/5
      Margaret Rose has been sent away to camp for the first time. She is not sure why she couldn't go to Peru with her parents, or stay with her beloved uncles as she usually did. Camp did not go well for Margaret - she did not enjoy the company or the activites. Upon her return home, she discovered why her uncles had not wanted her to stay.
    • 4/5
      I picked this up today and finished it today - the main character is so amusingly 'incorrigible' and different from the status quo, as well as her uncles. She is an 'old soul' in a young girl's body, and her strength of character/principles are refreshing. The plot flows effortlessly, and the ending could become a good conversation topic - is it truly a good ending for all? Konigsburg's characters are different - but the differences make them unique and interest-grabbing.
    • 3/5
      Frame is a memoir of young girl's experience (12 years old) when she helped her great-uncles save their "outsider art" constructions. Funny episodes, and tender emotions. It would do well as a DreamWorks movie, but there are some inconsistencies and elisions in the writing irritated me. Young people today would not get the historical references but would respond to the "outsider bullied by clique" aspect.

    Book preview

    The Outcasts of 19 Schuyler Place - E. L. Konigsburg

    This book is for David and for Jean, who cheered its conception but sadly left it an orphan before birth.

    Contents

    Part I: Bartleby at Talequa

    Chapter One

    Chapter Two

    Chapter Three

    Chapter Four

    Chapter Five

    Chapter Six

    Chapter Seven

    Part II: Inside the Crypto-Cabin

    Chapter Eight

    Part III: The Towers and the Town

    Chapter Nine

    Chapter Ten

    Chapter Eleven

    Part IV: Perfidy in Epiphany

    Chapter Twelve

    Chapter Thirteen

    Chapter Fourteen

    Chapter Fifteen

    Chapter Sixteen

    Chapter Seventeen

    Chapter Eighteen

    Chapter Nineteen

    Chapter Twenty

    Chapter Twenty-One

    Part V: Nine Points

    Chapter Twenty-Two

    Chapter Twenty-Three

    Part VI: Back Inside the Crypto-Cabin

    Chapter Twenty-Four

    Chapter Twenty-Five

    Part VII: Phase One, Part B, and Phases Two and Three

    Chapter Twenty-Six

    Chapter Twenty-Seven

    Chapter Twenty-Eight

    Chapter Twenty-Nine

    Part VIII: Beyond Phase Three

    Chapter Thirty

    Bartleby at Talequa

    The year that I was twelve:

    Sally Ride became the first American woman in space

    and

    El Niño, a warming of the ocean water off the coast of Peru, affected weather worldwide and caused disasters on almost every continent on planet Earth. At El Niño’s peak the day was 0.2 milliseconds longer because the angle of Earth shifted

    and

    President Ronald Reagan signed legislation declaring that Martin Luther King Jr. had been born on the third Monday of every January, and henceforth the day(s) of his birth would be a legal holiday in our nation

    and

    AT&T, the giant telephone company called Ma Bell, broke up and gave birth to several independent low-cost long-distance communications companies

    and

    The Federal Communications Commission authorized Motorola to begin testing cellular phone services in Chicago

    and

    Cabbage Patch dolls were selling so fast, merchants couldn’t keep them on the shelves.

    All of that is history now. And, fortunately, so is the story I am about to tell. It begins when Uncle Alex retrieved me from summer camp.

    one

    Uncle Alex was sweating when he arrived at Camp Talequa. No wonder. The Greyhound bus had left him off at the point where the camp road meets the highway, and it was all uphill from there. The camp road was not paved but laid with rough gravel. It was July, and it had not rained for three weeks. Uncle walked those three dusty miles wearing wing-tip, leather-soled oxfords; a long-sleeved, buttoned-up shirt; suit jacket; necktie; and a Borsalino hat. Tartufo, his dog, walked at his side. He had bought his hat, his shoes, and his dog in Italy. His hat was tan, his shoes brown, and his dog was white with brown spots, but by the time they arrived at the office, all were gray with gravel dust.

    Not until he was standing in front of the camp office did Uncle remove his Borsalino or put a leash on Tartufo. He stood on the bottom of the three steps leading to the office door and flicked the dust from his hat and, as much as he could, from Tartufo’s paws. With his handkerchief, he wiped first his forehead and then his shoes. Having a shine on his shoes was an Old World point of pride.

    Holding his hat against his chest and Tartufo’s leash with one hand, he knocked on the office door with the other.

    Mrs. Kaplan, the camp director, called, Who is it? and Uncle stepped inside. He told her that he was Alexander Rose and that he had come to take Margaret home.

    For the best part of a minute, Mrs. Kaplan was speechless. At last she said, "And just who are you?"

    I am Margaret’s uncle, Alexander Rose. Don’t you remember? We spoke on the phone last night.

    Mrs. Kaplan had called shortly before nine. After introducing herself she had said, We are calling, Mr. Rose, because Margaret seems to be having a bit of a problem adjusting to camp life.

    What have you done? he had asked.

    Everything, she replied. We have done everything we know how to do, but she is totally unresponsive. When we ask her to do something—anything—she says,‘I prefer not to.’

    Let me talk to her.

    We can’t do that, Mr. Rose. Campers are to have no contact with their caregivers until the two-week adjustment period is over. We cannot make exceptions.

    Then how can I possibly help?

    "We would like your input on how we can help her want to participate. We do not like to force our campers to participate."

    I suggest you change your activities.

    We can’t do that, Mr. Rose. We cannot tailor our activities to every single child in this camp. As a matter of fact, it is the very nature of the activities we offer that sets Talequa apart from all the other camps. We want Margaret to fit in, Mr. Rose.

    Let me think about this, he said. I’ll be in touch.

    Uncle had thought about it and decided that the best thing he could do would be to go directly to Camp Talequa and bring me back with him.

    Staying with my uncles—Alex, who was an old bachelor, and Morris, his brother, a widower—had been one of my two first choices of What to do with Margaret while my parents were in Peru. The Uncles lived in an old house on Schuyler Place. I loved them, their house, and their garden.

    —them

    I loved their Old World habits. Like wearing a Borsalino hat from Italy instead of a baseball cap. Neither one of them owned a baseball cap. Or blue jeans. Or sneakers. Or a sports shirt. They never watched sports on TV and had never been to a football game, even when the home team, Clarion State University, was playing. They could speak three languages besides English. They had wine with dinner every night and ate so late that sometimes it was midnight when they finished. They served coffee with real cream and lump sugar that they dropped into the cup with a tiny pair of tongs. They had never eaten at a McDonald’s or standing up. Even in the summer when they ate in their garden, they still covered their table with a white linen cloth, served their wine in crystal goblets, and their food on china dishes. And they never hurried through dinner. If it got to be too late when they finished eating, they would leave unwashed dishes in the sink and go to bed.

    —their house

    I loved 19 Schuyler Place. It was within walking distance of Town Square, a city bus stop, the main library, and the pedestrian mall downtown. I loved sleeping over. Two years before, when I was only ten, they had allowed me to pick out the furniture for the bedroom that they told me would be mine whenever I came to visit. They took me to Sears in the Fivemile Creek Mall and let me choose. I chose a bedroom suite with only one twin bed (the room was small) in genuine French provincial style, white with gold-tone accents. When it was delivered, Uncle Morris had said, Very distinguished, and Uncle Alex proclaimed it, Quite elegant. I was so convinced that they approved of everything I did that I believed them.

    —their garden

    Their garden was unlike any other in the neighbor-hood—or the world. Like all the others nearby, theirs had started out as a long, narrow yard that stretched from the service porch in back of the house to the alley, but the resemblance stopped where it started.

    The Uncles had unevenly divided their backyard space lengthwise into two thirds and one third. They further divided the narrower, one-third section, in half, crosswise. In the narrow third closest to the house, Uncle Morris raised peppers. They grew in shapes from bell to cornucopia and in flavors from sweet to jalapeno. Their colors were red, yellow, purple, and every shade of green from lime to pine. The other half of the narrow third was planted with roses. Entirely with roses. Some were trained to grow along the iron pipe fence that separated their yard from their neighbor’s at number 17. Others grew in their own hoed crater of earth. Some blossoms were quiet and tiny as a bud; others were loud and six inches wide. There were many varieties, many sizes, but they were a symphony of a single chord, for all of them were rose colored—blooming in every shade from delicate to brazen, from blush to Pepto-Bismol.

    In the larger section, the two-thirds, wider strip, were the towers. There were three of them. They zigged and zagged along the perimeter of the fence that separated my uncles’ yard from their neighbor’s at number 21. They soared over the rooftop of their house and every other house in the neighborhood. The tallest was Tower Two, so called because it was the second one built, and it was closest to the house. Tower Three was in the slant middle.

    My uncles had been building them for the past forty-five years.

    Even though all of the towers were taller than any of the two-story houses in the neighborhood, even though they were made of steel, they did not darken the space around them. They were built of a network of ribs and struts that cast more light than shadow. Like a spiderweb, they were strong but delicate. From each of the rungs, from each section of each of the rungs, dangled thousands—thousands—of chips of glass and shards of porcelain and the inner workings of old clocks. Some of the pendants were short and hugged the horizontal ribs, while others dangled on long threads of copper. In some places, a single wire held two drops of glass, one under the other; in other places, there were three—dangling consecutively, one beneath the other. Some of the pendants were evenly spaced in groups of three or four. Some were bunched together like the sixteenth notes on a musical staff followed by a single large porcelain bob—a whole note rest. On another rung, or perhaps at a distance on the same rung, a series of evenly spaced glass drops dangled in a rainbow of colors.

    Like gypsy music (my uncles were Hungarian), the pendants hung in a rhythm that is learned but cannot be taught.

    The towers were painted. Not solemnly but astonishingly. Astoundingly. There were carnival shades of mauve and violet, ochre and rose, bright pink and orange sherbet, and all the colors were stop-and-go, mottled into a camouflage pattern. Lavender pink met lime green in the middle of a rung, or cerulean blue climbed only halfway up a vertical axis until it met aquamarine.

    On top of the tallest tower, fixed in place, were four clock faces, none of which were alike. Atop the other two towers was a single clock face on a swivel that rotated with the wind. The clock faces had no hands.

    I loved standing under the towers—choose any one, depending on the time of day—looking up and farther up, until the back of my head rested on my shoulders. I would hang there until a certain slant of light caught the pendants and made them refract an endless pattern of colors. And then, and then I would spin around and around, making myself the moving sleeve of a kaleidoscope. And when I stopped, I would look down and watch their still-spinning shadow embroider the ground.

    I had always loved spending time at 19 Schuyler Place, and I thought that my uncles loved having me. I expected them to jump at a chance to have me spend the four summer weeks that my parents would be gone. But they had not.

    My other first choice of What to do with Margaret had been to go with my parents to Peru. They had always taken me with them before. I had assumed they would want me along because as an only child, I had spent a great deal of time among adults, and I was an excellent traveling companion. I never required extra bathroom stops—my mother always carried empty cottage cheese containers as an emergency portable potty—never demanded special foods, and regardless of how endless the car ride was, I never asked, Are we there yet?

    Since I was not given either of my two first choices, the only remaining alternative was summer camp. That being the case, I decided that the choice of camp would be mine and mine alone. So it was with a bruised heart and wounded pride that I set about making my selection. I decided that I would choose such a wonderful camp and have such a wonderful time that my parents and my uncles would be sorry that they had not come, too.

    I invested many hours in making my decision. I sent away for thirty-six brochures, read them all, and sent away for thirty-two tapes, of which I watched a total of nineteen all the way through. I chose Talequa.

    After recovering from the shock of Uncle’s unannounced appearance, Mrs. Kaplan asked, Why, Mr. Rose, did you not give us notice of your arrival?

    Because if I had, Mrs. Kaplan, he replied, you would have told me not to come.

    That was true, but she did not have to admit or deny it. How did you get here? she asked.

    I walked.

    No one walked into Camp Talequa. Visitors arrived by car or minivan and by invitation. Mrs. Kaplan had heard that once, long before she had bought the camp, an elderly couple had arrived in a taxi, but there were no living witnesses to that story, so she placed it into the category of creation myth. But even if there really had once been a couple who had arrived in a taxi, no one had ever walked into Camp Talequa. There was no rule against it because who would have dreamed that such a rule would be necessary? Actually, there were no rules at all about how to arrive, but the Talequa handbook made it clear that there were definite rules about when. One strict rule was: No visits from friends or relatives for the first two weeks of a session, which, in Mrs. Kaplan’s interpretation, made Alexander Rose a trespasser. There were other rules—rules about what you could bring with you. Alcohol and drugs were explicitly forbidden, of course, but it was just as clearly written, so were dogs. The punishment for bringing a dog was not as well defined as that for alcohol or drugs (immediate, nonrefundable expulsion), but the basic animal rule was: Dogs were not allowed in camp. Never. Paper trained, potty trained, K-9 trained: No. Even if they were trained to flush, they were not allowed. There was to be no Lassie, no Pluto, no Scooby-Doo. Never. Not as visitors. Not with visitors.

    And this man had brought a dog!

    Collecting her wits, Mrs. Kaplan presented Uncle with her best varnished smile. We are most willing to discuss Margaret’s problem with you, she declared, but, Mr. Rose, we cannot permit dogs on our premises.

    Alexander Rose knew that any smile that registered as high on the gloss meter as Mrs. Kaplan’s came from well-practiced insincerity. Uncle also knew that Mrs. Kaplan did not object to Tartufo as much as she objected to his disobeying one—no, really two—of her rules. He could have told her that Tartufo was a working dog and allowed to go where no dog had gone before. He could have asked her, Would an ordinary dog be allowed on a Greyhound? But, wisely, he didn’t tell, and he didn’t ask. Instead, he said, Tartufo is here, Mrs. Kaplan. I’m not a magician. I cannot make him disappear.

    With her smile lashed to her teeth, Mrs. Kaplan replied, Then we must insist that it wait outside.

    Uncle had learned long ago that obeying a rule in fact but not in spirit was very hard on people who say we for I and who do not allow dogs on their premises. So without hesitation, he led Tartufo to a spot just outside the front door of the office cabin. With the door open so that Mrs. Kaplan could hear, he told Tartufo to sit. Then he removed Tartufo’s leash and carried it back into the office.

    When he reentered, Mrs. Kaplan had her back to him. She was removing a file folder from a cabinet behind her desk. Uncle stood in front of the desk, conspicuously holding the empty leash in his hand. When she turned around and saw the leash, she realized that not only was there a dog on her premises, but it was not tethered. The smile left her face, and her mouth formed a Gothic O. She started to say something, thought better of it, and didn’t. Instead, she sat down, opened the file, and began studying it. The file was all about me, Margaret Rose. Considering that this was only my ninth day at camp, the folder was quite

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