“That you don’t,” said the Irish voice, teasingly, “as I’ve no doubt you well know. It’s an entirely artificial way of speech you’ve got there, copied out of th’ late movies you’ve been watchin’ on the TV… yikes!”

The deep voice growled again, but this time it was a real growl.

“Now, now—no need to be hasty,” cried the Irish voice, suddenly seeming to come from a position higher up. “Indeed, no offense meant. None whatsoever, Mr. Sheperton.”

Rolf cracked an eyelid open to see what was going on. And immediately wished he hadn’t.

He saw Shep, with bared teeth and curled upper lip, staring up at a small bush. Floating slightly above the bush, in midair, was an impossible little man no more than a foot tall, with large pointed ears and big white eyebrows, like wings. He was dressed in a close-fitting, long-sleeved green jacket and tight green pants that ended in small black boots with pointed, curled toes.

And Shep was talking? “TV? Blasted impertinence! Talk the way I do because I am what I am. What if it’s a bit old-fashioned? No harm in that.”

“None whatsoever, Mr. Sheperton. None at all!” said the little man, still floating above the bush. “It’s a darling way of speaking you have, indeed it is, when all’s said and done. And if they speak the same way in old movies on the TV, now, why sure it must be that they’re trying to catch the proper grand manner of speech belonging to gentlemen such as yourself.”

Shep backed off from the bush. His lip uncurled.

Rolf closed his eyes again. It couldn’t be—what he thought he was seeing and hearing. Shep talking like a human being and a little man in green answering him? He must have hit his head on a rock when he fell off the bike… There, the voices had stopped. No doubt when he opened his eyes again he would see no one but good old Shep whining like an ordinary dog and trying to lick his face.