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MY GRANDPA HAD a hat, a plain old wide-brimmed straw with a red band around the crown. Strange thing was, he never wore the hat. He just kept it on a stand on his dresser, like it was something special.

One day my brother Luke and I were in Grandpa’s room, helping him sort his fishing tackle. The hat caught Luke’s eye. “Grandpa, you never wear that old straw hat,” he said. “Why do you keep it?”

Grandpa picked up the hat. “This here’s a magic hat, Luke,” he said, his voice whispery low, like in a scary movie.

Luke’s eyes almost popped out of his head. “A magic hat?”

Grandpa nodded. “It can bring things to life.”

I’m three years older than Luke and a whole lot wiser. “Come on, Grandpa. There’s no such thing as a hat that can bring things to life.”

“You know that for sure, do you, Matt?” Grandpa looked me straight in the eye so it was hard to tell if he was joking or not.

Before I could answer, Grandpa’s friend Clem hollered through the screen door, “Hurry up, Jack, the fishing crew’s waiting.”

Grandpa put the hat back on its stand. “See you tomorrow.” With a wink, he was gone.

Luke had that spacey look he gets when he’s thinking hard.

“You know that hat has no more magic in it than a burst balloon,” I said.

I could see Luke was fighting with himself. He suspected I was right, but that wasn’t what he wanted to believe.

“We’ll prove it, Matt” he said. “One way or the other. And I know just the thing to do it. Old Man Miller’s scarecrow.”

Old Man Miller lives up the road around the bend. He has a big garden, and smack in the middle of it is a scarecrow. It’s no ordinary scarecrow. Every year it gets a new set of old clothes. I’ve heard people say it’s so lifelike, it has fooled a few folks coming home late at night.

I glanced at the hat stand. “It’s nothing but a plain old hat. It’s not going to bring a scarecrow to life. The magic part is just another of Grandpa’s tall tales.”

The set of Luke’s jaw told me words alone weren’t going to work. “OK,” I said. “You want proof, we’ll get it.”

Luke nodded. “This evening, on the way to the barn dance. Mom and Dad are going early because Dad’s playing the fiddle. We’ll sneak the hat out of the house and put it on the scarecrow’s head. Then we’ll see what happens.”

I thought that over. The barn wasn’t far past Old Man Miller’s place. We could put the hat on the scarecrow’s head, watch nothing happen, sneak it back into the house, and go on to the dance. No one except Luke would be any the wiser. “OK. We’ll do it. Then you’ll see for sure that there’s no magic in Grandpa’s straw hat.”

Luke’s plan worked like a charm. Almost.

After Mom and Dad left, we got Grandpa’s hat and headed for Old Man Miller’s. The house was in darkness. Old Man Miller goes to bed with the chickens.

We sneaked into the garden. The scarecrow stood wedged on a pole between two large rocks. He was dressed in jeans and a green-and-white plaid shirt. Around his neck was a jaunty yellow bandana.

I climbed onto one of the rocks. As I put the hat on the scarecrow’s head, I looked into its pale, red-checked face. I thought my heart was going to jump right out of my chest. I could have sworn the thing winked at me.

“What’s the matter?” Luke called up.

I jumped down, too spooked to answer. That’s when Old Man Miller’s dog started barking. Lights flicked on inside the house.

“Let’s get out of here,” Luke hissed. I didn’t need a second invitation. We took off up that road, leaving dust clouds in our wake.

We didn’t stop running until we reached the barn. I was trying to catch my breath when Luke let out a groan. “Matt, we left Grandpa’s hat behind!”

I looked back. The scarecrow was shrouded in evening shadows. Grandpa’s hat was clamped on its head, just the way I’d left it.

My heart was still jumping like a crazed bullfrog. “Are you satisfied now?” I growled at Luke. “I told you there’s no magic in that hat. That scarecrow’s as dead as a doornail.”

“But what are we going to do about Grandpa’s hat?” Luke persisted.

“We’ll get it on the way home,” I said.

Fiddle music flowed from the barn, safe and sweet. I headed for the door with Luke right on my heels.

Inside, Dad was playing the fiddle while Mom called the steps. Folks clapped in time, dancing and exchanging how-do-you-dos. My spooky feeling eased away. The barn felt like the safest, friendliest place on earth.

At the back, a table was laid out with dishes of homemade food. The food and the fiddling were what Luke and I came for. We danced a bit first, just to show we could. As soon as we thought it polite, we filled our plates and found a place to sit.

I was halfway through a slice of the best pork pie I’d ever tasted when Luke whacked my elbow. He pointed to the door. A stranger had come in. He was wearing jeans and a green-and-white plaid shirt. Around his neck, below his pale, red-checked face, was a yellow bandana. On his head sat a wide-brimmed straw hat with a red band around the crown.

“Matt . . . ,” Luke choked out.

I hardly heard him. A cold, prickly feeling swept through me as I stared at the stranger.

He was dancing with Miss Betty Macon. Miss Betty is the best dancer in the county. The stranger was every bit as good as she was. Back and forth, round and round they went. Folks stood back to watch them.

The stranger was working up a sweat. I could see it, glistening on his forehead. Miss Betty must have noticed it, too. She took a dainty lace handkerchief from her pocket and handed it to him.

Luke and I didn’t have a chance to see what happened next because Mom marched over. “You two are white as paste,” she declared. “I reckon you’re coming down with something. I’m taking you home right now.” Neither of us protested.

Mom took the main road so we didn’t go past Old Man Miller’s place. It was just as well. The way I felt, I didn’t want to know.

When we got home, she sent us to bed, so there was nothing we could do about Grandpa’s hat. Luke fell asleep but I lay awake, searching my mind for a rational explanation of what we had seen.

Finally, it hit me. A word I had missed on a spelling test. Coincidence. That’s what it was. A coincidence. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. The clothes the scarecrow was dressed in weren’t unusual. They could be found in any dry goods store. Same with the straw hat. It just happened to look like Grandpa’s. Eventually the cold, prickly feeling eased and I fell into a dreamless sleep.

At the first light of dawn, I shook Luke awake. “We have to go get Grandpa’s hat back.”

Luke gave me a groggy stare. “We can’t get Grandpa’s hat back. The scarecrow man’s got it.”

I let out a hissy sigh. “Luke, Old Man Miller’s scarecrow will be right there in the garden where we left it. There’s no magic in that straw hat. The scarecrow didn’t come to life.”

“But his clothes . . . ,” Luke began.

“The stranger’s clothes just happened to look like the ones the scarecrow was wearing. You can buy clothes like that anywhere,” I snapped.

“His hat was exactly like Grandpa’s magic hat,” Luke snapped back.

“Hats like that are a dime a dozen,” I countered.

“We’ll never get Grandpa’s hat back,” Luke went on as though he hadn’t heard me. “It brought the scarecrow to life, Matt. He’ll never go back to Old Man Miller’s garden again.”

“Luke, the scarecrow did not come to life. He’ll be there in the garden like always. You’ll see.”

Outside, the grass sparkled with dew as the sun rose in a blaze of glory. As we came around the bend, I sent a whoop of joy into the quiet morning air. The scarecrow stood where he always had. On his head was Grandpa’s straw hat.

I raced ahead, scrambled up onto the rocks and grabbed the hat. I looked into the scarecrow’s face. Not a wink, not even a twitch.

But as I went to jump down, something caught my eye. To this day, I haven’t told anyone about it, not even Luke. Neither rational explanation nor coincidence can explain it. Sticking out of the scarecrow’s pocket was a dainty lace handkerchief.

So . . . is there such a thing as magic or not? I’ll let you decide.