Free Mythology Abroad by Jody Lynn Nye Page B

suppose that would be a good example. Evidence separates fantasy from fact.”
    “Okay, I get it.” Keith smiled sweetly, feeling as if he had made a point, even if the teacher didn’t know it. “Do you want me to rewrite the paper?”
    “No, that won’t be necessary.” Miss Anderson stated. “You do understand the principles of the expedition, and your guesses are fairly intelligent, though I want you to understand that it is far too early to make such firm assumptions. It smacks of scientific irresponsibility.”
    “It won’t happen again. I’ll be as cautious as if I was walking on dinosaur eggs,” Keith promised. “Um, Miss Anderson, how do you handle the grades? I’m carrying a pretty good average at Midwestern, and I’d like to maintain it.”
    Her blue eyes twinkled up through the thick glasses, reminding Keith irresistibly of the Elf Master. “The first essay carries far less weight than the following five. It gives us a chance to know one another. Or, you can elect to have the grade recorded as Pass/Fail, if you like. If you’re the sort prone to ulcers over marks, we can make a gentleman’s agreement that you will pass so long as you do any work at all and take part in the discussions.”
    “I’m not that bad,” Keith said. “I’ll take my chances.”
    “Good for you,” Miss Anderson replied cheerily. “I thought you had the stuff of fighters in you.”
    Keith rose, and rolled up his paper. “I’m really enjoying this tour, Miss Anderson. Even the dirt feels more historical than the kind I usually get under my fingernails.”
    The teacher laughed. “I’ll look forward to what you have to tell me next week, when your muscles are really sore. Just send Alistair in on your way out, won’t you?” She swiveled her chair to face the pile of papers, and Keith slipped through the door.
    ***

C HAPTER SEVEN
    Keith bought a handful of postcards and wrote enthusiastic messages to his friends and family as the coach carried them toward the dig early on the second Monday. One for his roommate, Patrick Morgan, one for his parents, one for his resident advisor, Rick, and one for Diane, over which he lingered lovingly, crowding all the detail he could in the small message square. He had saved a special card for Ludmilla Hempert, the old woman with whom he shared the Little Folks’ secret. It was a hot, sunny morning, with just a striping of clouds arching overhead. Slung across his back was a straw coolie hat he had found in one of the souvenir shops the week before and had worn every day since burning his ears and neck. The others laughed at him for worrying about a little sun, and turned down his offer of hats for each of them. None of them wore hats, sunscreen, or even sunglasses.
    “No sense worrying about what doesn’t stay long, or hadn’t you noticed?” Edwin asked deprecatingly. “This isn’t the tropics, laddie.”
    “Americans worry too much about natural things,” Charles added.
    “Skin cancer is natural?” Keith asked pointedly.
    “Oh, come off it. In this soft light? You must be made of wax,” Edwin laughed.
    “Look at Miss Anderson,” Keith defended himself. “She’s got a hat on.”
    “I rarely stay through the afternoon,” the teacher said mildly, adjusting the confection of straw and flowers on her head, “but I concur with Keith. I feel that hot heads make for hasty judgment. But don’t take me as an example. I’m prone to sun-stroke.”
    The coach turned off the road and pulled up behind a queue of unfamiliar cars parked at the foot of the hill along the narrow lane. The driver looked quizzically over his shoulder at Miss Anderson. “No place to pull up,” he announced.
    Miss Anderson studied the line of cars and bobbed her pointed chin vigorously several times. “They must have the press or guests here today,” she said. “Reverse out, and take the small road to the left. You can let us off there. I saw another path on the leeward side of the