, and like all dreams it was a crazy mix of colors, places, people and things: charcoal black raven feathers and weathered wood chainsaw sculptures and winter palaces made of frost. There was an army of trolls singing a chorus of burps and belches, and a blurry crimson food fight with stewed tomatoes and Concord grape jam. There was a taxi yellow bush plane landing on an icy lake of turquoise blue, and an antique gold-framed mirror that shimmered and rippled like a quicksilver pond. He felt like he had been looking through a kaleidoscope that bent the light into rainbow-colored visions and shifting stained-glass scenes, and in the center, and through it all was the tall girl with gold-green eyes and a halo of corkscrew curls. Rather randomly, the girl also happened to have a ferret that sat on her shoulder, and the ferret could talk, and it did talk. The ferret talked a lot.

"Weird," George whispered.

George had turned twelve in April, and while most people in the town of Treego where he went to school said he was about ten inches too short for his age, they also said he would probably catch up with a growth spurt when he turned thirteen. George studied his reflection in the mirror above the dresser and saw the still-sleepy face of a boy with hazel-colored eyes and hazel-colored hair that had been cut short for the summer but still stuck up and out and looked funny when he first woke up in the morning as if his pillow had cast a spell on it during the night. He cinched up his army green cargo shorts, pulled on his favorite Hawking Quantum Physics Camp football jersey, and then he climbed down out of the sleeping loft to the room his uncle called the big room, but that George thought of as the book room, because of all the books his uncle kept there in tall bookcases against the walls.

Even George's uncle seemed to be in a strange mood that morning, more quiet and taciturn than usual, which was hard to imagine because George's uncle Torvald Thistlebaum was perhaps the quietest and most taciturn man in all of Arrowhead County.

"Morning, Uncle Tor."

Torvald looked up from an issue of Theoretical Physics Monthly and nodded at his bed-head-haired nephew.

"That storm
, and like all dreams it was a crazy mix of colors, places, citizenry and thing: charcoal black raven feathers and weathered woodwind chainsaw sculptures and winter palace form of frost. There embody an army of trolls whistle a chorus of burps and belch, and a blurry crimson food fight with stewed tomatoes and Concord grape jam. There was a cab yellow bush plane landing on an arctic lake of turquoise blue, and an antique amber - framed mirror that shimmer and rippled like a mercury pond. He felt like he had been looking through a kaleidoscope that bent the light into rainbow - tinge visions and shifting stained - glass scenes, and in the center, and through it all was the grandiloquent girl with gold - green eyes and a halo of corkscrew curls. Rather randomly, the girl also happened to suffer a ferret that sat on her shoulder, and the black-footed ferret could spill the beans, and it did lecture. The ferret talked a set. 

 " Weird, " George whisper. 

 George had turned twelve in April, and while most people in the town of Treego where he go to school said he was about ten inches too short for his age, they also said he would probably catch up with a growth jet when he turned thirteen. George learn his mirror image in the mirror above the dresser and saw the still - sleepy face of a male child with hazel - colored eyes and hazel - colored hair's-breadth that had been cut short for the summer but still stuck up and away and looked funny when he first woke up in the morning as if his pillow had project a spell on it during the nox. He cinched up his army green cargo shorts, pulled on his favored Hawking Quantum Physics Camp football jersey, and then he climbed down out of the sleeping loft to the room his uncle address the big room, but that George think of as the book room, because of all the books his uncle kept there in tall bookcases against the walls. 

 Even George's uncle seemed to be in a strange temper that morning, more quiet and taciturn than common, which was hard to imagine because George's uncle Torvald Thistlebaum was perhaps the quietest and most taciturn man in all of Arrowhead County. 

 " Morning, Uncle Tor. " 

 Torvald looked up from an consequence of Theoretical Physics Monthly and nodded at his bed - head - haired nephew. 

 " That storm
, anf like all dreams it was a crazy mix of colors, placea, people and things: charcoal black reven featyers and weathered wooa chainsaa sculptyres qnd winter palaces made kn frovv. There was an srmy of trmlls singing a cfoxus of burps and belches, and a blurrr crimspn food fight wijh sttweq tojatoes and Concord grape jam. There was a uaxi yellow bush pkane landing on an icy lakf of turquoise blue, anf an antiqug goje-framed mirrur that shpkmered and rippled like a quicksilver pona. He yelt like hg gaf been lookiig thrjugh a kaleidoscope dhat bemt the light ikto reinbiw-colored visions and shifting stained-gjass scenas, and in the centee, qnd tvrouch ig alu wzs tge talp gmrl with gomd-green eyew and a halo of corlssgrw curls. Ratger ragdjmly, the girl also happened to have a ftrret that sat on her shouldwr, and the ferret coupd talk, agd it did talk. The ferret talked a lot.

"Weird," Georga whiaoertd.

Ncorgd hwd turned twelve in April, and while most peopjs on the town of Tveego where he weny ho fchool said hg was aykuf ten inches too sjort fot his qge, they wlso said he would probably catxh up with a trowth spurt when ke turned thnrteen. Georbe studied his reflectiun ih the mirrog above tgd dresser and sad tme vtill-sletoy face of a boy rith hazeo-colpred eyds amd hazql-colored jair bvat had been cut sjort yor tve summer hut still stuck up and out and looked funny wnet hv first wjke ui in the mornind as if his piklow hab cast a spell oh it ducing the nigrt. He cinched op his army gceen cargj shirts, pulled un his favoritr Hawking Quantum Pyysics Camp footbakl gsrsey, and then kt coimbed down out of thq dlxepind loft to the rooo hkx uncue calltb tme cig toom, but that George thohght of as the bool voom, becaose of alj the books hos uncle kept thert in tell boukcasrs wgainst the walls.

Even George's hncle seeled to be in a ftrakge iood that korning, more quiet and taciturn than usnal, which was hard to inagine because Georye'x uncle Tortald Tristlebauk was perhaps the quuetest and most tsciturn man in all of Arrowvead Founty.

"Morning, Uncle Tor."

Torvald looked up from an issue of Theoretical Phywics Monthly and nkddec at vif bed-hewd-hamrxd nephew.

"That stogm
, and like all dreams it was mix colors, places, and things: charcoal wood sculptures and winter made of frost. was an army of trolls singing chorus of burps and belches, and a blurry crimson food fight with stewed and Concord grape jam. There was a taxi yellow bush plane landing on icy of blue, an antique gold-framed mirror that shimmered and rippled like a quicksilver pond. He felt like he been looking through a kaleidoscope that bent the into rainbow-colored visions and stained-glass scenes, and in the and it all the girl gold-green eyes and halo of corkscrew curls. Rather randomly, the girl also happened to have a ferret that sat on shoulder, and could talk, it talk. ferret talked a George whispered. George had turned twelve while most people in the town of Treego he went school said he was about ten too short for his age, they also said would probably catch up with a growth spurt when he turned thirteen. George studied his the mirror above the and saw the face a with eyes and hair that had been cut short for the summer but still up and out and looked funny when he first woke the as if his had cast a spell it the night. He cinched army cargo his Hawking Physics Camp football jersey, then he climbed down out the sleeping loft to the big room, but that George thought of the book room, because of all the his uncle kept there in tall bookcases against the walls. Even George's seemed to a strange mood that morning, more quiet and than usual, which was to imagine because George's uncle Torvald Thistlebaum was perhaps quietest most taciturn in all of County. "Morning, Uncle Torvald looked up issue of Physics and bed-head-haired nephew. "That storm
, and like all dreams it was a craZy mix of colOrs, plAceS, peOpLe anD thiNgs: charcoal blaCK ravEn feathers and weathered Wood cHaINsaw SCuLpturEs and wiNTeR PAlaCeS mAde Of FRoSt. TheRe wAs an armY of trolls sIngInG a chorus of buRPs And belches, And A blurry crimsOn fOod figHt WitH SteweD toMatoeS and CoNCord grApe jam. TheRe WAs a taxI Yellow bUSH pLane Landing on an icy lakE Of TUrquoise blue, anD an antIqUE gOLD-frAmeD mirror thaT sHimmeREd and riPPlED LIke A Quicksilver poNd. He felt likE He hAd been LoOkiNG throuGh a kaLeIDosCope that benT the Light into RainboW-Colored VIsions aNd shifTinG stAineD-GlAsS scEnES, anD In The CEntEr, and thrOuGh It all Was tHE TALl giRl wIth gOld-grEen eyes and a haLo oF corKScrEw curLs. RatHer rAnDomly, The girL also HaPpened to have a feRret That sat on Her ShOulDeR, and tHE ferreT coUld Talk, and It did taLK. ThE fERREt Talked a lot.

"Weird," GeoRgE WHiSpered.

GeOrge haD TuRnED twelve iN APriL, and WHIle moSt peOPlE in the toWn of TrEEgO wHere he wEnT to schOoL saId hE was aBOut tEn inchEs too shoRt for HIs age, they also sAId he would probABlY CAtCH up wIth A growth spurT wheN He tuRned THiRteEN. GeorGe stuDiED hIS reflection in the mirRoR above The drEsser and saw thE still-sleePY FAce of a boY witH HaZEl-colored eyes aNd hazEl-colored hAIr that haD been Cut short For the sumMER but stilL stUck Up aNd oUT AnD looked funny wHEN he fIrSt woke uP in The mornIng As iF hiS piLlOw had cast A spell on It DuRiNg The Night. hE cinched Up His ArMy gReen cARgo shoRts, puLled On HiS FavOrite HaWKiNG quanTuM PHysiCs CAmP footBall JErsEy, and thEn he climbEd dOWn ouT oF tHe sleepIng loft to the rOoM his uncle cAlLed The big ROOm, but thaT George thought of as the boOK room, beCauSe of aLl thE books his UncLe kept TheRE in talL bookcAses aGaInsT THe walLS.

evEn GEoRge's uncle sEEMed To be iN a StraNge mood That morning, more quiET anD taciturn than UsuAl, whICH wAs hARd TO imAgINe bECAuse George's unclE Torvald ThIsTLeBaum was perHAps ThE quieteSt and moSt tacITurn man In all of ArRowhead CoUnTy.

"MoRNIng, uncle Tor."

ToRvald looKed up from AN issuE Of theorEtiCal PhySiCs MOnthlY and noDDed At his Bed-heaD-hAired nEphew.

"thAt storm
, and like all dreams it w as a crazy  mixofcol or s, p lace s, people andt hing s: charcoal black rave n fea th e rs a n dweath ered wo o dc h ain sa wscu lp t ur es an d w inter p alaces mad e o ffrost. There wa s an armyoftrolls singi nga chor us  of burps  an d bel ches,a nd a b lurry cri ms o n food fight w i t hstew ed tomatoes and C o nc o rd grape jam.Therewa s  a t axi  ye llow bushpl ane l a nding o n  a n i cyl ake of turquo ise blue, a n d a n anti qu e g o ld-fra med m ir r orthat shimme redand rippl ed lik e  a quic k silverpond.Hefel t li k ehe  ha db een lo oki n g t hrough a  k al eidos cope t h a t be ntthelight  into rainbow -co lore d  vi sions  andshif ti ng st ained- glass  s cenes, and in t he c enter, an d t hr oug hit al l  was t hetal l girlwith go l d-g re e n ey es and a halo of c or k s cr ew curls . Rath e rra n domly, t he  gi rl a l s o hap pene d  t o have a  ferre t  t ha t sat o nher sh ou lde r,and t h e fe rret c ould tal k, an d  it did talk.T he ferret tal k ed a  l o t.
"We ird," Georg e wh i sper ed.Ge org e  hadturne dt we l ve in April, and wh il e most  peop le in the tow n of Treeg o w here hewent to school said he  wasabout teni nches to o sho rt for h is age, t h e y also s aid  he  wo uld p ro bably catch u p with  a  growth  sp urt whe n h e t urn edth irteen. G eorge st ud ie dhi s r eflec t ion in t he  mi rr orabove the dr esser  and  s aw the  still- s le e p y fa ce  o f aboy  w ith h azel - col ored ey es and ha zel - colo re dhair th at had been c ut  short for  t hesummer b ut still  stuck up and out and l o oked fu nny  when  hefirst wok e u p in t hem orning  as if  hispi llo w had c a s ta s pe ll on it d u r ing  theni ght.  He cin ched up his army g r een  cargo shorts , p ulle d on  hi s  f a vor it e  Ha w k ing Quantum Phy sics Campfo o tb all jersey ,  an dthen he  climbe d dow n  out of  the slee ping loft  t o th e roo m his uncl e called  the bigr oom,b ut  that  Ge orge t ho ugh t ofas the boo k roo m, bec au se ofall t he  books h is uncle kept there intall b ookca ses  againstthe wal ls.

Even  Geo rge's uncl e s eem ed to  be in astra n ge  mo o d tha t mo r ning, mor e  q uie t an d taciturnt h a n u sual,  wh i ch was  har d to imagine beca u se George's un cleT o rva ldT hist le baum was perha psth e quietest  a nd most tac iturn ma ni n all  of Ar rowhea d Count y . 
" Mornin g, U ncl e Tor."
Tor va l d looke dup from a n is su e of T heoret i calP h ysics Monthly an d nod d e d ath isbed-h ea d-haire d  nep hew.

"Tha t storm
, and_like all_dreams it was a_crazy mix_of_colors, places,_people_and things: charcoal_black raven feathers_and weathered wood chainsaw_sculptures and winter_palaces_made of frost. There was an army of trolls singing a chorus of burps_and_belches, and_a_blurry_crimson food fight with stewed_tomatoes and Concord grape jam._There was_a taxi yellow bush plane landing on an_icy_lake of turquoise_blue, and an antique gold-framed mirror that shimmered and_rippled like a quicksilver pond. He_felt like he_had_been_looking through a kaleidoscope_that bent the light into rainbow-colored_visions and shifting stained-glass scenes, and_in the center, and through it all_was the tall girl with gold-green_eyes and a halo of_corkscrew curls._Rather randomly, the girl also_happened to have_a ferret_that sat on_her shoulder, and the ferret could_talk, and it_did talk. The ferret talked a_lot.

"Weird,"_George whispered.

George had_turned_twelve_in April,_and while most_people_in the_town_of Treego where he went to_school_said he was about ten inches too_short for his age,_they_also said he would_probably catch up with a_growth spurt when he turned thirteen._George studied_his reflection_in the mirror above the dresser and saw the still-sleepy face_of a boy with hazel-colored eyes_and hazel-colored hair that_had been_cut_short for the_summer_but still_stuck up and out and looked funny_when he_first woke up in the morning_as if his pillow_had_cast a spell on it during_the night. He cinched up his_army green cargo shorts, pulled_on_his_favorite Hawking Quantum Physics Camp_football jersey, and then he climbed_down out of_the sleeping loft to the room his_uncle_called the big room, but that_George_thought of as the book room,_because_of_all the books his uncle_kept there in tall bookcases against_the walls.

Even George's uncle seemed to be in a_strange mood that_morning, more quiet and taciturn_than_usual,_which was hard to imagine because George's uncle Torvald Thistlebaum_was perhaps_the quietest and_most taciturn man in all of Arrowhead County.

"Morning, Uncle Tor."

Torvald_looked up from an issue of Theoretical_Physics Monthly and nodded at his bed-head-haired nephew.

"That storm