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 thing which will work for people, do you understand?”

“You mean,” muttered Prokop, “some sort of cheap energy, eh?”

“Cheap, cheap,” agreed the old man, delighted. “So that it could be very useful. And shine, and warm, you understand?”

“Wait,” said Prokop reflectively, “I don’t know—that would mean experimenting all over again from the other end.”

“That’s it. Start from the other end and there you are. There, you see, you’ve something to begin with right away. But leave that other. I’ll get your bed ready.” He got up and limped off to the cart. “Hato hot ma-ly,” he sang, “we’re going to bed.” He returned with a rough mattress. “Come along,” he said, took the lantern and led the way into the wooden shed. “There’s straw enough,” he croaked as he made the bed ready, “‘for all three of us. Praise be to God.”

Prokop sat down on the straw. “Grandfather,” he cried, amazed, “look!”

“What?”

“There, on the wall.” On each of the planks forming the side of the hut there had been written large letters in chalk. Prokop read them by the flickering light of the lantern: K R  A  K  A  T

“That’s nothing, that’s nothing,” muttered the old man reassuringly and quickly rubbed them out with his cap. “That’s all over. Just lie down and I’ll cover you with a sack. So.”

He went to the doorway. “Dadada ma-ly,” he