“Oh, never you mind,” said Martin. “He's our pet pickaninny. We won't do him no harm.”

“I'm not a pickaninny,” said Arthur Stuart. “I'm a mixup boy.”

“Well, ain't that the truth!” Daisy's voice went so loud and high that his voice cracked.

Alvin was just about fed up with them. He spoke real soft, so only Vanderwoort could hear him. “One more whoop and I'll fill that boy's ears with snow.”

“Now don't get riled,” said Vanderwoort. “They're harmless enough.”

“That's why I won't kill him.” But Alvin was smiling, and so was Vanderwoort. Daisy and Martin were just playing, and since Arthur Stuart was enjoying it, why not?

Martin picked something off a shelf and brought it over to Vanderwoort. “What's this word?” he asked.

“Eucalyptus,” said Vanderwoort.

“Spell 'eucalyptus,' mixup boy.”

“Eucalyptus,” said Arthur. “E-U-C-A-L-Y-P-T-U-S.”

“Listen to that!” cried Daisy. “That teacher lady won't give time of day to us, but here we got her own voice spelling whatever we say.”

“Spell 'bosoms,'” said Martin.

“Now that's going too far,” said Vanderwoort. “He's just a boy.”

“I just wanted to hear the teacher lady's voice saying it,” said Martin.

“I know what you wanted, but that's behind-the-barn talk, not in my general store.”

The door opened and, after a blast of cold wind, Mock Berry came in, looking tired and half-froze, which of course he was.

The boys took no notice. “Behind the barn don't got a stove,” said Daisy.

“Then keep that in mind when you decide how to talk,” said Vanderwoort.

Alvin watched how Mock Berry took sidelong glances at the stove, but made no move to go over there. No man in his right mind would choose not to go to the stove on a day like this– but Mock Berry knew there was worse things than being cold. So instead he just walked up to the counter.

Vanderwoort must've known he was there, but for a while he just kept on watching Martin and Daisy play spelling games with Arthur Stuart, paying no mind to Mock Berry.

“Suskwahenny,” said Daisy.

“S-U-S-K-W-A-H-E-N-N-Y,” said Arthur.

“I bet that boy could win any spelling bee he ever entered,” said Vanderwoort.

“You got a customer,” said Alvin.

Vanderwoort turned real slow and looked at Mock Berry without expression. Then, still moving slow, he walked over and stood in front of Mock without a word.

“Just need me two pounds of flour and twelve feet of that half-inch rope,” said Mock.

“Hear that?” said Daisy. “He's a-fixing to powder his face white and then hang himself, I'll bet.”

“Spell 'suicide,' boy,” said Martin.

“S-U-I-C-I-D-E,” said Arthur Stuart.

“No credit,” said Vanderwoort.

Mock laid down some coins on the counter. Vanderwoort looked at it a minute. “Six feet of rope.”

Mock just stood there.

Vanderwoort just stood there.

Alvin knew it was more than enough money for what Mock wanted to buy. He couldn't hardly believe Vanderwoort was raising his price for a man about as poor but hard-working as any in town. In fact, Alvin began to understand a little about why Mock stayed so poor. Now, Alvin know there wasn't much he could do about it– but he could at least do what Horace Guester had once done for him with his master Makepeace– make Vanderwoort put things out in the open and stop pretending he wasn't being as unfair as he was being. So Alvin laid down the paper Vanderwoort had just written but for him. “I'm sorry to bear there's no credit,” Alvin said. “I'll go fetch the money from Goody Guester.”

Vanderwoort looked at Alvin. Now he could either make Alvin go fetch the money or say right out that there was credit for the Guesters, just not for Mock Berry.

Of course he chose another course. Without a word he went into the back and weighed out the flour. Then he measured out twelve feet of half-inch rope. Vanderwoort was known for giving honest measure. But then, he was also known for giving a fair price, which is why it took Alvin aback to see him do otherwise with Mock Berry.

Mock took his rope and his flour and started out.

“You got change,” said Vanderwoort.

Mock turned around, looking surprised though he tried not to. He came back and watched as Vanderwoort counted out a dime and three pennies onto the counter. Then, hesitating a moment, Mock scooped them off the counter and dropped them into his pocket. “Thank you sir,” he said. Then he went back out into the cold.

Vanderwoort turned to Alvin, looking angry or maybe just resentful. “I can't give credit to everybody.”

Now, Alvin could've said something about at least he could give the same price to Blacks as Whites, but he didn't want to make an enemy out of Mr. Vanderwoort, who was after all a mostly good man. So Alvin grinned real friendly and said, “Oh, I know you can't. Them Berrys, they're almost as poor as me.”

Vanderwoort relaxed, which meant it was Alvin's good opinion he wanted more than to get even for Alvin embarrassing him. “You got to understand, Alvin, it ain't good for trade if they come in here all the time. Nobody minds that mixup boy of yours– they're cute when they're little– but it makes folks stay away if they think they might run into one of them here.”

“I always knowed Mock Berry to keep his word,” said Alvin. “And nobody ever said he stole or slacked or any such thing.”

“No, nobody ever told such a tale on him.”

“I'm glad to know you count us both among your customers,” said Alvin.

“Well, lookit here, Daisy,” said Martin. “I think Prentice Alvin's gone and turned preacher on us. Spell 'reverend,' boy.”

“R-E-V-E-R-E-N-D.”

Vanderwoort saw things maybe turning ugly, so of course he tried to change the subject. “Like I said, Alvin, that mixup boy's bound to be the best speller in the county, don't you think? What I want, to know is, why don't he go on and get into the county spelling bee next week? I think he'd bring Hatrack River the championship. He might even got the state championship, if you want my opinion.”

“Spell 'championship,'” said Daisy.

“Miss Larner never said me that word,” said Arthur Stuart.

“Well figure it out,” said Alvin.

“C-H-A-M-P,” said Arthur. “E-U-N-S-H-I-P.”

“Sounds right to me,” said Daisy.

“Shows what you know,” said Martin.

“Can you do better?” asked Vanderwoort.

“I'm not going to be in the county spelling bee,” said Martin.

“What's a spelling bee?” asked Arthur Stuart.

“Time to go,” said Alvin, for he knew full well that Arthur Stuart wasn't a regular admitted suident in the Hatrack River Grammar School, and so it was a sure thing he wouldn't be in no spelling bee. “Oh, Mr. Vanderwoort, I owe you for two crackers I ate.”

“I don't charge my friends for a couple of crackers,” said Vanderwoort.

“I'm proud to know you count me one of your friends,” said Alvin. Alvin meant it, too– it took a good man to get caught out doing something wrong, and then turn around and treat the one that caught him as a friend.

Alvin wound Arthur Stuart back into his scarves, and then wrapped himself up again, and plunged back into the snow, this time carrying all that he bought from Vanderwoort in a burlap sack. He tucked the sack under the seat of the sleigh so it wouldn't get snowed on. Then he lifted Arthur Stuart into place and climbed up after. The horses looked happy enough to get moving again– they only got colder and colder, standing in the snow.

On the way back to the roadhouse they found Mock Berry on the road and took him on home. Not a word did he say about what happened in the store, but Alvin knew it wasn't cause he didn't appreciate it. He figured Mock Berry was plain ashamed of the fact that it took an eighteen-year-old prentice boy to get him honest measure and fair price in Vanderwoort's general store– only cause the boy was White. Not the kind of thing a man loves to talk about.