I was frustrated because I knew I hadn't found a way to speak Tree's language, I didn't know what would really interest him. I felt that he would trust me only if I could tell him about the world, just as my father had done for me. I had already figured out who could help me, I just didn't know how to persuade her.

Her name was Sister Mary and she was the gardener at Brush Creek. I knew it wasn't going to be easy. While the other nuns went out of their way to chat with me, Sister Mary kept to herself. Whatever you asked her, whether it was if she'd like more tea or what time it was, her answer was always the same: "Hmmmm." She was usually outside, either working or wandering around talking to herself.

She was also a bit of a mess. She always had a smudge of dirt on her forehead, and strands of hair kept popping out from under her veil, no matter how often she tucked them in. I had noticed something else. Whenever the faintest sound came from the sky, Sister Mary would automatically say the name of the bird, then begin pointing upward, all the while rotating like a human telescope. The other nuns used to say, "Sister Mary's a little distracted." But she kept the flowers and bushes beautifully tended and everyone agreed her tomatoes were the best they'd ever tasted.

She was eccentric and would have seemed frightening except for one thing. She had the most engaging eyes I had ever seen. They were deep blue and crinkly at the edges. They were smiling eyes.

I began to secretly follow Sister Mary wherever she went. When she wasn't outdoors, she was studying in the library, always in the same section, where the books about plants and birds were.

As soon as she left, I would retrieve the book she'd been reading and open it. Most of the words were too difficult for me, so I looked at the pictures. They were lovely, but I wanted to know more.

One day I was sitting on the floor staring at one of these drawings when I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped straight up in the air. I hadn't heard a footstep!

Then I looked up and saw Sister Mary looking at me.

"Why have you been following me around?" she asked.

I was so surprised I couldn't speak. Sister Mary sounded . . . normal.

She didn't wait for an answer. "Let me show you something," she said, walking over to the corner of the library where there were some books in a glass case I'd never noticed. She opened the door and motioned for me to join her.

I didn't see anything special. Just a row of slender books bound in what looked like heavy brown paper.

Sister Mary pulled one of the books out. Someone had pasted a square of paper onto the front and written the title in neat letters.

"The Uninvited Guest," read Sister Mary.

She opened the book and showed me the first page. There was a little pencil drawing of a kitchen sink filled with dishes and a tiny splotch of gray. I thought it was charming.

Sister Mary read. "First, a gray shadow."

On the next page a bright green foot and tail appeared at the edge of the sink.

"Then a foot and a tail," said Sister Mary, continuing to read. Finally an entire green lizard made his appearance. He was a sleek little fellow, who seemed to dance off the page. In the story, he played, had a snack and then decided to stay.

When the story was finished I laughed and clapped and wanted to see the rest of these funny little books--"Never Underestimate the Cunning of a Fly" and "How the Sour Apple Tree Learned to Smile," are two I remember.

I asked where they had come from. They seemed so perfect for children.

"The old man who built this place made them for his children," Sister Mary told me.

I remember her sighing and looking a bit sad. "It's a shame none of them chose to take these books with them," she said.