When they were as close as they would probably come, I leaped up and shouted, "Boo!" and they went running away like wildfire. One fell head over heels and rolled away down the mouth of the burrow.

That totally cheered me up.

I found a grocery store in the afternoon and bought some meat and vegetables. I made a fire when I got back to the church, then grabbed the pots and pans bag from underneath Mr. Crepsley's pew. I looked through the contents until I found what I was looking for. It was a small pot. I carefully laid it upside down on the floor, then pressed the metal bulge on the top.

The pot mushroomed out in size, as folded-in panels opened up. Within five seconds it had become a full-sized pot, which I filled with water and stuck on the fire.

All the pots and pans in the bag were like this. Mr. Crepsley got them from a woman called Evanna a long time ago. They weighed the same as ordinary cook-ware, but because they could fold up small, they were easier to carry around.

I made a stew like Mr. Crepsley had taught me. He thought everybody should know how to cook.

I took leftover pieces of the carrots and cabbage outside and dropped them by the rabbit burrow.

Mr. Crepsley was surprised to find dinner — which was breakfast from his point of view — waiting for him when he awoke. He sniffed the fumes from the bubbling pot and licked his lips.

"I could get used to this." He smiled, then yawned, stretched, and ran a hand through the short crop of orange hair on his head. Then he scratched the long scar running down the left side of his face. It was a familiar routine of his.

I'd always wanted to ask how he got his scar, but I never had. One night, when I was feeling brave, I would.

There were no tables, so we ate off our laps. I got two of the folded-up plates out of the bag, popped them open, and grabbed knives and forks. I served the food and we ate.