The young girl sat on the bench just below the window, catching the final rays of light before dusk wholly overtook the sky, a book that seemed almost as big as she was spread across her lap. She remained at her post reading carefully that forbidden book. Her father had chastened her before - anatomy was not a proper book for a young lady to read - her mother had called those pictures within ghoulish and scandalous. But they were preoccupied today; they did not notice as she climbed the ladder to the top shelf to retrieve the banished book, nor did they see her spend the entire afternoon pouring through it as though it might be her only chance. She stared at the picture of the skeleton knelt in prayer memorizing every feature, every element. She hurriedly turned back to a previous page upon which the skeleton of an infant (like the one, newly arrived, in the other room) leaned against a split leg bone. She flipped back and forth comparing the two. Behind her, she heard the rustling of the bushes below the window. She started, closing the book quickly and attempting to cover it with a throw pillow to little effect. She waited for a moment, warily scanning the bushes for signs of her brother and his friend waiting to jump out and surprise her. But no such surprise came. It was probably an animal, she concluded, reaching to pull the book from its hiding place when the sound of a sudden, sharp gasp caused her to jump. She glanced about the room but saw no one. She heard the sound again! It was coming from beyond the window - yet she saw no one there. A low, almost imperceptible moan followed - had she not sat in such complete silence these last few hours she should not have heard it at all; but her ears were tuned to even the smallest whisper. There was definitely someone there! She knelt on the bench and poked her head out over the casement, her medium brown locks cascading around her head. There, lying on the ground just below the window sill, concealed from the rest of the grounds by the thick hedges, lay a dark haired man. His shirt had been sliced and was slowly being dyed by a dark liquid she guessed to be blood.

"Sir, do you need help?" she asked in her high soprano trill.

"No, I'm fine. It looks worse than it is." he answered with a strained grin on his dashing face.

"Well it certainly looks very bad. Do you want me to call the doctor for you - he's just in the other room."

"That won't be necessary, it's only a flesh wound. Gah!" he cried out grasping his hand. She took a deep breath to call the doctor. "No!" he yelped, she let the air out slowly. "No." he repeated, regaining his composure. "You see I've been about something I was not supposed to be at and I am afraid no one can know I was here or my life might be in danger."

"Ah! So you are a thief who was caught in the act." the little girl concluded.

"No! No... I am not a thief." he said, his voice still straining from the pain of his wounds. "What I did was in service to my Queen and country. There can be no wrong in that."

"Then why would your life be in danger if you did nothing wrong?" she asked, perplexed.

"It's very complicated." the man answered.

"And you think I would not understand? You are a spy, aren't you?" she accused, her eyes gleaming with excitement.

"You are very astute."

"What were you doing spying around here? Who were you spying on? Is there anything I can do you help you?" she offered.

"Who are you talking to, Philomena?" the voice of her younger brother asked from the doorway.

"Chet!" she exclaimed in surprise. "I'm talking to-"

"Shhh! Whatever you do don't tell him about me." the man pleaded.

"the moon!" she finished, looking up at that pale orb hung low in the sky.

"The moon?" her brother asked incredulously. "Why are you talking to the moon?"

"Well," she searched her mind for a reason. "Well, it must be very lonely up there all by itself with no one to talk to. So I'm talking to it to keep it company." she said with her most sincere smile. Chet fixed her with a strange stare, as though she were some freakish creature.

"I'm going to go see the baby now." he said by way of an excuse before quickly exiting the room. Philomena looked to the man,

"Now he thinks me mad." she pouted. The man managed to prop himself up onto his elbow.

"Better to be thought mad," he winced. "Then to end a life. Here, help me inside." he said, pulling himself up.

"Why should I help you? You're a spy." Philomena answered curtly.

"Well, you shouldn't. Here, take my hand." Philomena grabbed his hand with both of hers, bracing her feet against the baseboard, as he stepped up onto the window sill and popped over the ledge sending both tumbling into the library. The man's dark eyes flew open, he sucked in air viciously in what seemed an attempt to keep from screaming from the pain of jarring his injuries.

"What happened to you?" the little girl asked, helping the man to his feet.

"I had managed to sneak into the Duke's office and had just come upon the object of my search when I felt a sharp pain in my hand and looked up to find the Duke standing in front of me,his hand wrapped around a letter opener cruelly embedded in my own. He drew a scabbard from his cane and made to do me in but he only managed to slash my gut before I was able to escape through the open window. Let that be a lesson, espionage is best accomplished in the summer." he said wryly, attempting a charming smile that all too quickly turned to a grimace. He produced an envelope from within his waistcoat "But I got the letter." he waved it tantalizingly about.

"What does it say?"

"It is a plot to overthrow the queen." Philomena gasped.

"But that's treason!" she cried.

"That it is."

"Will you turn him in?" The man tucked the letter back into its hiding place.

"No, I think not. The letter does not say anything definitive to the plot beyond a mere piece of the puzzle. It would be better to maintain the illusion of undivided loyalty and order in the country than to upend it - I doubt he would dare to carry it out now that his perfidy has been discovered." he winced, clutching his side. "Though it will all be for naught if I am caught." A few crimson drops fell to the floor.

"Here, let me see." Philomena spoke, turning up the man's shirt to reveal his stomach.

"I never knew a little girl who did not faint at the sight of blood." the man remarked, mildly impressed by the precocious being examining him.

"I don't like it, but it doesn't seem a thing to be afraid of." she took his wounded hand in her and held it close to her eyes. "You were right about the slash, it will only need a bandage, but your hand will need to be stitched."

"I suppose we will just have to wrap it and hope for the best." he smiled weakly.

"The nearest town beyond this one is not for at least a dozen miles - by then you may lose the hand. I can stitch it." she suggested, her mien serious. The man let out a sharp laugh.

"Have you ever stitched a wound before?"

"No." she answered. "But what choice do you have?"

"Surgery from a child. This has been a poor day for me." he sighed.

"Stay there while I get some supplies." she ordered, running from the room.

"Where else would I go?" he mumbled taking another look at his hand as if to try to contradict the girl's diagnosis. He let it drop with a deep sigh. Blood trickled down the fingers and pooled on the floor below.

A few minutes later the child proudly returned with a steaming bowl of water in which sat a bar of soap. Draped in the crook of her arm was a number of long scraps of fabric and rags. She wasted little time setting her efforts upon the injuries. She gave him a rag soaked in the boiling water,

"Here - wrap this around your hand." she ordered. He rolled his eyes but obeyed. "Pull up your shirt so I can clean you up before I wrap it." He did as he was told, lifting his shirt and his eyes as if praying to be delivered from the indignity of the situation. The little hands scrubbed the slash diligently. "Hold this." she said, placing his good hand on the edge of a piece of cloth, she walked around him, winding the rest around his slender body, pausing to occasionally tie another strip on until she had circumvented him four times - then she tied the end together. Finally she took a needle from the sewing basket near the chair and, threading it, she dangled it over the candle until it had blackened, then she wiped it clean with a wet cloth. He winced as she stitched his hand. Looking at it, both could see it was far from an expert surgeon's job. The black stitches were wide and jagged, but they held - the bleeding ceased. She took a handkerchief from her dress and tied it primly around the injury.

"Thank you for your services, doctor." the man condescended. "I believe I am now in a much better place than I was when you found me."

"Here is some bread and cheese for your journey." she said thrusting a small package into his hands. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

"Your Queen and country owe you a great debt of gratitude." he said, quickly stepping from the window. She saw him stop short as he hit the ground, heard the sharp intake of air before the sound of barking dogs in the distance caused him to dart from the lawn like a hind with the hunter in hot pursuit.

"Take care." she waved as the shadowy figure melted into the trees.

"So has the moon talked back yet?" came the mocking voice of a young boy. She turned to see two blond boys, almost identical in many ways, standing in the doorway.

"Arthur, I'll have you know if it did I would never reveal its secrets to you!" she scolded the future Duke.

"You're right Chet." Arthur said to Philomena's younger brother. "She's a loony."

"Better a loony than the son of a-" she stopped herself before the word "traitor" could cross her lips.

"The son of a what?" Arthur dared.

"The son of a..." she searched her mind. "Dastardly cat hater!" Arthur broke out into laughter.

"Mad Mina, Mad Mina." he taunted. Philomina could feel her temper rising, her small hands balled into fists. Chet was quick to notice the growing danger to his friend,

"Artie, come off it. Come on Philomina, let's go see Elizabeth."