“Why didn't you open the door and set the bucket inside? The door isn't locked,” she said.

“Begging your pardon, Miss Larner, but this is a door that asks not to be opened, whither it's locked or not.”

So, she thought, he wants to make sure I know about the hidden hexes he put in the locks. Not many people could see a hidden hex– nor could she, for that matter. She wouldn't have known about them if she hadn't watched him put the hexes in the lock. But of course she couldn't very well tell him that. So she asked, “Oh, is there some protection here that I can't see?”

“I just put a couple of hexes into the lock. Nothing much, but it should make it fairly safe here. And there's a hex in the top of the stove, so I don't think you have to worry much about sparks getting free.”

“You have a great deal of confidence in your hexery, Alvin.”

“I do them pretty good. Most folks knows a few hexes, anyway, Miss Larner. But not many smiths can put them into the iron. I just wanted you to know.”

He wanted her to know more than that, of course. So she gave him the response he hoped for. “I take it, then, that you did some of the work on this springhouse.”

“I done the windows, Miss Larner. They glide up and down sweet as you please, and there's pegs to hold them in place. And the stove, and the locks, and all the iron fittings. And my helper, Arthur Stuart, he scraped down the walls.”

For a young man who seemed artless, he was steering the conversation rather well. For a moment she thought of toying with him, of pretending not to make the connections he was counting on, just to see how he handled it. But no– he was only planning to ask her to do what she came here to do. There was no reason to make it hard for him. The teaching itself would be hard enough. “Arthur Stuart,” she said. “He must be the same boy that Goody Guester asked me to teach privately.”

“Oh, did she already ask you? Or shouldn't I ask?”

“I have no intention of keeping it a secret, Alvin. Yes, I'll be teaching Arthur Stuart.”

“I'm glad of that, Miss Larner. He's the smartest boy you ever knew. And a mimic! Why, he can hear anything once and say it back to you in your own voice. You'll hardly believe it even when he's a-doing it.”

"I only hope he doesn't choose to play such a game when I'm teaching him.

Alvin frowned. “Well, it isn't rightly a game, Miss Larner. It's just something he does without meaning to in particular. I mean to say, if he starts talking back to you in your own voice, he isn't making fun or nothing. It's just that when he hears something he remembers it voice and all, if you know what I mean. He can't split them up and remember the words without the voice that gave them.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

In the distance,, Peggy heard a door slam closed. She cast out and looked, finding Father's and Mother's heartfires coming toward her. They were quarreling, of course, but if Alvin was to ask her, he'd have to do it quickly.

“Was there something else you wanted to say to me, Alvin?”

This was the moment he'd been leading up to, but now he was turning shy on her. “Well, I had some idea of asking you– but you got to understand, I didn't carry the water for you so you'd feel obliged or nothing. I would've done that anyway, for anybody, and as for what happened today, I didn't rightly know that you were the teacher. I mean maybe I might've guessed, but I just didn't think of it. So what I done was just itself, and you don't owe me nothing.”

“I think I'll decide how much gratitude I owe, Alvin. What did you want to ask me?”

“Of course you'll be busy with Arthur Stuart, so I can't expect you to have much time free, maybe just one day a week, just an hour even. It could be on Saturdays, and you could charge whatever you want, my master's been giving me ftee time and I've saved up some of my own earnings, and–”

“Are you asking me to tutor you, Alvin?”

Alvin didn't know what the word meant.

“Tutor you. Teach you privately.”

“Yes, Miss Larner.”

“The charge is fifty cents a week, Alvin. And I wish you to come at the same time as Arthur Stuart. Arrive when he does, and leave when he does.”

“But how can you teach us both at once?”

“I daresay you could benefit from some of the lessons I'll be giving him, Alvin. And when I have him writing or ciphering, I can converse with you.”

“I just don't want to cheat him out of his lesson time.”

“Think clearly, Alvin. It would not be proper for you to take lessons with me alone. I may be somewhat older than you, but there are those who will search for fault in me, and giving private instruction to a young bachelor would certainly give cause for tongues to wag. Arthur Stuart will be present at all your lessons, and the door of the springhouse will stand open.”

“We could go up and you could teach me at the roadhouse.”

“Alvin, I have told you the terms. Do you wish to engage me as your tutor?”

“Yes, Miss Larner.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out a coin. “Here's a dollar for the first two weeks.”

Peggy looked at the coin. “I thought you meant to give this dollar back to Dr. Physicker.”

“I wouldn't want to make him uncomfortable about having so much money, Miss Larner.” He grinned.

Shy he may be, but he can't stay serious for long. There'll always be a tease in him, just below the surface, and eventually, it will always come out.

“No, I imagine not,” said Miss Larner. “Lessons will begin next week. Thank you for your help.”

At that moment, Father and Mother came up the path. Father carried a large tub over his head, and he staggered under the weight. Alvin immediately ran to help– or, rather, to simply take the tub and carry it himself.

That was how Peggy saw her father's face for the first time in more than six years– red, sweating, as he puffed from the labor of carrying the tub. And angry, too, or at least sullen. Even though Mother had no doubt assured him that the teacher lady wasn't half so arrogant as she seemed at first, still Father was resentful of this stranger living in the springhouse, a place that belonged only to his long-lost daughter.

Peggy longed to call out to him, call him Father, and assure him that it was his daughter who dwelt here now, that all his labor to make a home of this old place was really a gift of love to her. How it comforted her to know how much he loved her, that he had not forgotten her after all these years; yet it also made her heart break for him, that she couldn't name herself to him truly, not yet, not if she was to accomplish all she needed to. She would have to do with him what she was already trying to do with Alvin and with Mother– not reclaim old loves and debts, but win new love and friendship.

She could not come home as a daughter of this place, not even to Father, who alone would purely rejoice at her coming. She had to come home as a stranger. For surely that's what she was, even if she had no disguise, for after three years of one kind of learning in Dekane and another three of schooling and study, she was no longer Little Peggy, the quiet, sharp-tongued torch; she had long since become something else. She had learned many graces under the tutelage of Mistress Modesty; she had learned many other things from books and teachers. She was not who she had been. It would be as much a lie to say, Father, I am your daughter Little Peggy, as it was to say what she said now: “Mr. Guester, I am your new tenant, Miss Larner. I'm very glad to meet you.”

He huffed up to her and put out his hand. Despite his misgivings, despite the way he had avoided meeting her when first she arrived at the roadhouse an hour or so past, he was too much the consummate innkeeper to refuse to greet her with courtesy– or at least the rough country manners that passed for courtesy in this frontier town.

“Pleased to meet you, Miss Larner. I trust your accommodation is satisfactory?”