“Don't tell anybody that we did this all in a day,” said Alvin.

Arthur Stuart just grinned. He'd lost one of his front teeth recently ,so there was a spot where his pink gums showed up. Pink as a White person's gums, Alvin thought. Inside his mouth he's no different from a White. Then Alvin had this crazy idea of God taking all the people, in the world who ever died and flaying them and hanging up their bodies like pigs in the butcher's shop, just meat and bones hanging there by the heel, even the guts and the head gone, just meat. And then God would ask folks like the Hatrack River School Board to come in and pick out which was Black folks and which was Red and which was White. They couldn't do it. Then God would say, "Well why in hell did you say that this one and this one and this one couldn't go to school with this one and this one and this one?" What answer would they have then? Then God would say, "You people, you're all the same rare meat under thi skin. But I tell you, I don't like your flavor. I'm going to toss your beefsteaks to the dogs. "

Well, that was such a funny idea that Alvin couldn't help but tell it to Arthur, Stuart, and Arthur Stuart laughed just as hard as Alvin. Only after it was all said and the laughing was done did Alvin remember that maybe nobody'd told Arthur Stuart about how his ma tried to get him into the school and,the school board said no. “You know what this is all about?”

Arthur Stuart didn't understand the question, or maybe he understood it even better than Alvin did. Anyways, he answered, “Ma's hoping the teacher lady'll learn me to read and write here in this springhouse.”

“Right,” said Alvin. No point in explaining about the school; then. Either Arthur Stuart already knew how some White folks felt about Blacks, or else he'd find out soon enough wiihout Alvin telling him now.

“We're all the same rare meat,” said Arthur Stuart. He used a funny voice that Alvin had never heard before.

“Whose voice was that?” asked Alvin.

“God, of course,” said Arthur Stuart.

“Good imitation,” said Alvin. He was being funny.

“Sure is,” said Arthur Stuart. He'wasn't.

Turned out nobody came to the springhouse for a couple of days and more. It was Monday of the next week when Horace ambled into the smithy. He came early in the morning, at a time when Makepeace was most likely to be there, ostentatiously “teaching” Alvin to do something that Alvin already knew how to do.

“My masterpiece was a ship's anchor,” said Makepeace. “Course, that was back in Newport, afore I come west. Them ships, them whaling ships, they weren't like little bitty houses and wagons. They needed real ironwork. A boy like you, you do well enough out here where they don't know better, but you'd never make a go of it there, where a smith has to be a man.”

Alvin was used to such talk. He let it roll right off him. But he wits grateful anyway when Horace came in, putting an end to Makepeace's brag.

After all the good-mornings and howdy-des, Horace got right to business. “I just come by to see when you'll have a chance to get started on the springhouse.”

Makepeace raised an ey ebrow and looked at Alvin. Only then did Alvin realize that he'd never mentioned the job to Makepeace.

“It's already done, sir,” Alvin said to Makepeace– for all the world as if Makepeace's unspoken question had been, “Are you finished yet?” and not, “What is this springhouse job the man's talking about?”

“Done?” said Horace.

Alvin turned to him. “I thought you must've noticed. I thought you were in a hurry, so I did it right off in my free time.”

“Well, let's go see it,” said Horace. “I didn't even think to look on my way down here.”

“Yes, I'm dying to look at it myself,” said the smith.

“I'll just stay here and keep working,” said Alvin.

“No,” said Makepeace. “You come along and show off this work you done in your free time.” Alvin didn't hardly notice how Makepeace emphasized the last two words, he was so nervous to show off what be done at the springhouse. He only barely had sense enough to drop the keys he made into his pocket.

They made their way up the hill to the springhouse. Horace was the kind of man who could tell when somebody did real good work, and wasn't shy to say so. He fingered the fancy new hingework and admired the lock afore he put in the key. To Alvin's pride it turned smooth and easy. The door swung open quiet as a leaf in autumn. If Horace noticed the hexes, he didn't let on. It was other things he noticed, not hexery.

“Why, you cleaned off the walls,” said Horace.

“Arthur Stuart did that,” said Alvin, “Rasped it off neat as you please.”

“And this stove– I tell you, Makepeace, I didn't figure the price of a new stove in this.”

“It isn't a new stove,” said Alvin. “I mean, begging your pardon, but it was a brokedown stove we kept for the scrap, only when I looked it over I saw we could fix it up, so why not put it here?”

Makepeace gave Alvin a cool look, then turned back to Horace. "That don't mean it's free, of course.'

“Course not,” said Horace. “If you bought it for scrap, though–”

“Oh, the price won't be too terrible high.”

Horace admired how it joined to the roof. "Perfect work," he said. He turned around. To Alvin he looked a little sad, or maybe just resigned. "Have to cover the rest of the floor, of course.

“Not our line of work,” said Makepeace Smith.

“Just talking to myself, don't mind me.” Horace went over to the east window, pushed against it with his fingers, then raised it. He found the pegs on the sill and put them into the third hole on each side, then let the window fall back down to rest against the pegs. He looked at the pegs, then out the window, then back at the pegs, for a long time. Alvin dreaded having to explain how he, not trained as a fine carpenter, managed to hang such a fine window. Worse yet, what if Horace guessed that this was the original window, not a new one? That could only be explained by Alvin's knack– no carpenter could get inside the wood to cut out a sliding window like that.

But all Horace said was, “You did some extra work.”

“Just figured it needed doing,” said Alvin. If Horace wasn't going to ask about how he did it, Alvin was just as happy not to explain.

"I didn't reckon to have it done so fast," said Horace. "Nor to have so much done. The lock looks to be an expensive one, and the stove– I hope I don't have to pay for all at once. "

Alvin almost said, You don't have to pay for any of it, but of course that wouldn't do. It was up to Makepeace Smith to decide things like that.

But when Horace turned around, looking for an answer, he didn't face Makepeace Smith, he stood square on to Alvin. “Makepeace Smith here's been charging full price for your work, so I reckon I shouldn't pay you any less.”

Only then did Alvin realize that he made a mistake when he said he did the work in his free time, since work a prentice did in his official free time was paid for direct to the prentice, and not the master. Makepeace Smith never gave Alvin free time– whatever work anyone wanted done, Makepeace would hire Alvin out to do, which was his right under the prentice contract. By calling it free time, Alvin seemed to be saying that Makepeace had given him time off to earn money for himself.

“Sir, I-”

Makepeace spoke up before Alvin could explain the mistake. “Full price wouldn't be right,” said Makepeace. “Alvin getting so close to the end of his contract, I thought he should start trying things on his own, see how to handle money. But even though the work looks right to you, to me it definitely looks second rate. So half price is right. I figure it took at least twenty hours to do all this– right, Alvin?”

It was more like ten, but Alvin just nodded. He didn't know what to say, anyway, since his master was obviously not committed to telling the plain truth about this job. And the job he did would have been at least twenty hours– two full days' labor– for a smith without Alvin's knack.