"So," said Makepeace, "between Al's labor at half price and the cost of the stove and the iron and all, it comes to fifteen dollars.

Horace whistled and rocked back on his heels.

“You can have my labor free, for the experience,” Alvin said.

Makepeace glared at him.

“Wouldn't dream of it,” said Horace. “The Savior said the laborer is worthy of his hire. It's the sudden high price of iron I'm a little skeptical about.”

“It's a stove,” said Makepeace Smith.

Wasn't till I fixed it, Alvin said silently.

“You bought it as scrap iron,” said Horace. “As you said about Al's labor, full price wouldn't be right.”

Makepeace sighed. "For old times' sake, Horace, cause you brought me here and helped set me up on my own when I came west eighteen years ago. Nine dollars. "

Horace didn't smile, but he nodded. “Fair enough. And since you usually charge four dollars a day for Alvin's hire, I guess his twenty hours at half price comes to four bucks. You come by the house this afternoon, Alvin, I'll have it for you. And Makepeace, I'll pay you the rest when the inn fills up at harvest time.”

“Fair enough,” said Makepeace.

“Glad to see that you're giving Alvin free time now,” said Horace. “There's been a lot of folks criticizing you for being so tight with a good prentice, but I always told them, Makepeace is just biding his time, you'll see.”

“That's right,” said Makepeace. “I was biding my time.”

“You don't mind if I tell other folks that the biding's done?”

“Alvin still has to do his work for me,” said Makepeace.

Horace nodded wisely. “Reckon so,” he said. “He works for you mornings, for himself afternoons– is that right? That's the way most fair-minded masters do it, when a prentice gets so near to journeyman.”

Makepeace began to turn a little red. Alvin wasn't surprised. He could see what was happening– Horace Guester was being like a lawyer for him, seizing on this chance to shame Makepeace into treating Alvin fair for the first time in more than six years of prenticing. When Makepeace decided to pretend that Alvin really did have free time, why, that was a crack in the door, and Horace was muscling his way through by main force. Pushing Makepeace to give Alvin half days, no less! That was surely too much for Makepeace to swallow.

But Makepeace swallowed. “Half days is fine with me. Been meaning to do that for some time.”

“So you'll be working afternoons yourself now, right, Makepeace?”

Oh, Alvin had to gaze at Horace with pure admiration. He wasn't going to let Makepeace get away with lazing around and forcing Alvin to do all the work at the smithy.

“When I work's my own business, Horace.”

“Just want to tell folks when they can be sure to find the master in, and when the prentice.”

“I'll be in all day.”

“Why, glad to hear it,” said Horace. “Well, fine work, I must say, Alvin. Your master done a good job teaching you, and you been carefuler than I ever seen before. You make sure to come by this evening for your four dollars.”

“Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

“I'll just let you two get back to work now,” said Horace. “Are these the only two keys to the door?”

“Yes sir,” said Alvin. “I oiled them up so they won't rust.”

“I'll keep them oiled myself. Thanks for the rerninder.”

Horace opened the door and pointedly held it open till Makepeace and Alvin came on out. Horace carefully locked the door, as they watched. He turned and grinned at Alvin. “Maybe first thing I'll have you do is make a lock this fine for my front door.” Then he laughed out loud and shook his head. “No, I reckon not. I'm an innkeeper. My business is to let people in, not lock them out. But there's others in town who'll like the look of this lock.”

“Hope so, sir. Thank you.”

Horace nodded again, then took a cool gaze at Makepeace as if to say, Don't forget all you promised to do here today. Then he ambled off up the path to the roadhouse.

Alvin started down the hill to the smithy. He could hear Makepeace following him, but Alvin wasn't exactly hoping for a conversation with his master just now. As long as Makepeace said nothing, that was good enough for Alvin.

That lasted only till they were both inside the smithy.

“That stove was broke to hell and back,” said Makepeace.

That was the last thing Alvin expected to hear, and the most fearful. No chewing-out for claiming free time; no attempt to take back what he'd promised in the way of work schedule. Makepeace Smith had remembered that stove better than Alvin expected.

“Looked real bad, all right,” said Alvin.

“No way to fix it without recasting,” said Makepeace. “If I didn't know it was impossible, I would've fixed it myself.”

“I thought so, too,”' said Alvin. “But when I looked it over–”

The look on Makepeace Smith's face silenced him. He knew. There was no doubt in Alvin's mind. The master knew what his prentice boy could do. Alvin felt the fear of being found out right down to his bones; it felt just like hide-and-go-find with his brothers and sisters when he was little, back in Vigor Church. The worst was when you were the last one still hid and unfound, all the waiting and waiting, and then you hear the footsteps coming, and you tingle all over, you feel it in every part of your body, like as if your whole self was awake and itching to move. It gets so bad you want to jump out and scream, “Here I am! I'm here!” and then run like a rabbit, not to the haven tree, but just anywhere, just run full out until every muscle of your body was wore out and you fell down on the earth. It was crazy– no good came of such craziness. But that's how it felt playing with his brothers and sisters, and that's how it felt now on the verge of being found out.

To Alvin's surprise, a plow smile spread across his master's face. “So that's it,” said Makepeace. “That's it. Ain't you full of surprises. I see it now. Your pa said when you was born, he's the seventh son of a seventh son. Your way with horses, sure, I knew about that. And what you done finding that well, sense like a doodlebug, I could see that, too. But now.” Makepeace grinned. “Here I thought you were a smith like never was born, and all the time you was fiddling with it like an alchemist.”

“No sir,” said Alvin.

“Oh, I'll keep your secret,” said Makepeace. “I won't tell a soul.” But he was laughing in the way he had, and Alvin knew that while Makepeace wouldn't tell straight out, he'd be dropping hints from here to the Hio. But that wasn't what bothered Alvin most.

“Sir,” said Alvin, “all the work I ever done for you, I done honest, with my own arms and skill.” i

Makepeace nodded wisely, like he understood some secret meaning in Alvin's words. “I get it,” he said. “Secret's safe with me. But I knew it all along. Knew you couldn't be as good a smith as you seemed.”

Makepeace Smith had no idea how close he was to death. Alvin wasn't a murderous soul– any lust for blood that might have been born in him was driven out of him on a certain day inside Eight-Face Mound near seven years ago. But during all the years of his prenticeship, he had never heard one word of praise from this man, nothing but complaints about how lazy Alvin was, and how second-rate his work was, and all the time Makepeace Smith was lying, all the time he knew Alvin was good. Not till Makepeace was convinced Alvin had used hidden knackery to do his smithwork, not till now did Makepeace ever let Alvin know that he was, in fact, a good smith. Better than good. Alvin knew it, of course, knew he was a natural smith, but never having it said out loud hurt him deeper than he guessed. Didn't his master know how much a word might have meant, even half an hour ago, just a word like, “You've got some skill at this, boy,” or, “You have a right good hand with that sort of work”? But Makepeace couldn't do it, had to lie and pretend Alvin had no skill until now, when Makepeace believed that he didn't have a smith's skill after all.