Pee-wee liked this roving, unruly wind, having its own way in that dominion of restriction.

He liked its gay disregard of all this solemn claptrap.
But now he heard clearly the sound of footsteps among the ruins, footsteps picking their way as it seemed to him, through the uncertain support of all that various disorder.

Groping, careful footfalls.
"Who's there ?" he asked.

And the only answer was a gust of wind.
Could it be those thieves in search of him?
Or might it be the ghost of some principal or teacher lingering still among these remnants and reminders of authority?
Step, step--step.
Then from around the corner of a charred, up-ended platform appeared a face.

A face with a cap drawn low over it.