chatterer

The Chatterer came directly to the tree—I remember it was an oak tree—and began to climb up.

My mother and the Chatterer and I, and a few other simple bodies, were what might be termed suburban residents.

Lop-Ear and his mate were in possession, and she was none other than my sister, the daughter of my step-father, the Chatterer.

I did not see what became of my mother, but I did see the Chatterer shot down out of the old home-tree.

I see,” she said with an acid little laugh, “you have the Chatterer up here in your unholy of unholies.