At this rate, I'll never build the Crystal City, cause I'll never be able to teach Making to another soul.

It was a few weeks after that when Alvin finally tried again to talk to somebody, to see if he really could teach Making. It was on a Sunday, in Measure's house, where Alvin and Arthur Stuart had gone to take their dinner. It was a hot day, so Delphi laid a cold table– bread and cheese and salt ham and smoked turkey– and they all went outside to take the afternoon in the shade of Measure's north-facing kitchen porch.

“Alvin, I invited you and Arthur Stuart here today for a reason,” said Measure. “Delphi and me, we already talked it over, and said a few things to Pa and Ma, too.”

"Sounds like it must be pretty terrible, if it took that much talking. I I

“Reckon not,” said Measure. “It's just– well, Arthur Stuart, here, he's a fine boy, and a good hard worker, and good company to boot.”

Arthur Stuart grinned. “I sleep solid, too,” he said.

“Fine sleeper,” said Measure. “But Ma and, Pa ain't exactly young no more. I think Ma's used to doing things in the kitchen all her own way.”

“That she is,” sighed Delphi, as if she had more than a little reason for knowing exactly how set in her ways Goody Miller was.

“And Pa, well, he's tiring out. When he gets home from the mill, he needs to lie down, have plenty of quiet around him.”

Alvin thought he knew where the conversation was heading. Maybe his folks just weren't the quality of Old Peg Guester or Gertie Smith. Maybe they couldn't take a mix-up boy into their home or their heart. It made him sad to think of such a thing about his own folks, but he knew right off that he wouldn't even complain about it. He and Arthur Stuart would just pack up and set out on a road leading– nowhere in particular. Canada, maybe. Somewhere that a mix-up boy'd be full welcome.

“Mind you, they didn't say a thing like that to me,” said Measure. “In fact, I sort of said it all to them. You see, me and Delphi, we got a house somewhat bigger than we need, and with three small ones Delphi'd be glad of a boy Arthur Stuart's age to help with kitchen chores like he does.”

“I can make bread all myself,” said Arthur Stuart. “I know Mama's recipe by heart. She's dead.”

“You see?” said Delphi. “If he can make bread himself sometimes, or even just help me with the kneading, I wouldn't end up so worn out at, the end of the week.”

“And it won't be long before Arthur Stuart could help out in my work in the fields,” said Measure.

“But we don't want you to think we're looking to hire him on like a servant,” said Delphi.

“No, no!” said Measure. “No, we're thinking of him like another son, only growed up more than my oldest Jeremiah, who's only three and a half, which makes him still pretty much useless as a human being, though at least be isn't always trying to throw himself into the creek to drown like his sister Shiphrah– or like you when you were little, I might add.”

Arthur Stuart laughed at that. “Alvin like to drowned me one time,” said Arthur Stuart. “Stuck me right in the Hio.”

Alvin felt pure ashamed. Ashamed of lots of things: The fact dud he never told Measure the whole story of how he rescued Arthur Stuart from the Finders; the fact that he even thought for a minute that Measure and Ma and Pa might be trying to get rid of a mixup boy, when the truth was they were squabbling over who got to have him in their home.

“It's Arthur Stuart's choice where to live, once he's invited,” said Alvin. “He came home along with me, but I don't make such choices for him.”

“Can I live here?” asked Arthur Stuart. “Cal doesn't much like me.”

“Cal's got troubles of his own,” said Measure, “but he likes you fine.”

“Why didn't Alvin bring home something useful, like a horse?” said Arthur Stuart. “You eat like one, but I bet you can't even pull a two-wheel shay.”

Measure and Delphi laughed. They knew Arthur Stuart was repeating something Cal had said, word for word. Arthur Stuart did it so often, folks came to expect it, and took delight in his perfect memory. But it made Alvin sad to hear it, because he knew that only a few months ago, Arthur Stuart would have said it in Cal's own voice, so even Ma couldn't've known, without looking that it wasn't Cal himself.

“Is Alvin going to live down here too?” asked Arthur Stuart.

“Well, see, that's what we're thinking,” said Measure. “Why don't you come on down here, too, Alvin? We can put you up in the main room here for a while. And when the summer work's done, we can set to fixing up our old cabin– it's still pretty solid, since we ain't moved out of it but two years now. You can be pretty much on your own then. I reckon you're too old now to be living in your pa's house and eating at your ma's table.”

Why, Alvin never would've reckoned it, but all of a sudden he found his eyes full of tears. Maybe it was the pure joy of having somebody notice he wasn't the same old Alvin Miller Junior anymore. Or maybe it was the fact that it was Measure, looking out for him like in the old days. Anyway it was at that moment that Alvin first felt like he'd really come home.

“Sure I'll come down here, if you want me,” Alvin said.

“Well there's no reason to cry about it,” said Delphi. “I already got three babies crying every time they think of it, I don't want to have to come along and dab your eyes and wipe your nose like I do with Keturah.”

“Well at least he don't wear diapers,” said Measure, and he and Delphi both laughed like that was the funniest thing they ever heard. But actually they were laughing with pleasure at how Alvin had gotten so sentimental over the idea of living with them.

So Alvin and Arthur Stuart moved on down to Measure's house, and Alvin got to know his best-loved brother all over again. All the old things that Alvin once loved were still in Measure as a man, but there were new things, too. The tender way Measure had with his children, even after a spanking or a stiff talking to. The way Measure looked after his land and buildings, seeing all that needed doing, and then doing it, so there was never a door that squeaked for a second day, never an animal that was off its feed for a whole day without Measure trying to account for what was wrong.

Above all, though, Alvin saw how Measure was with Delphi. She wasn't a noticeably pretty girl, though not particular ugly either, she was strong and stout and laughed loud as a donkey. But Alvin saw how Measure had a way of looking at her like the most beautiful sight he ever could see. She'd look up and there he'd be, watching her with a kind of dreamy smile on his face, and she'd laugh or blush or look away, but for a minute or two she'd move more graceful, walking partly on her toes maybe, like she was dancing, or getting set to fly. Alvin wondered then if he could ever give such a took to Miss Larner as would make her so full of joy that she couldn't hardly stay connected to the earth. Then Alvin would lie there in the night, feeling all the subtle movements of the house, knowing without even using his doodlebug what the slow and gentle creaking came from; and at such times he remembered the face of the woman named Margaret who had been hiding inside Miss Larner all those months, and imagined her face close to his, her lips parted, and from her throat those soft cries of pleasure Delphi made in the silence of the night. Then he would see her face again, only this time twisted with grief and weeping. At such times his heart ached inside him, and he yearned to go back to her, to take her in his arms and find some place inside her where he could heal her, take her grief away, make her whole.

And because Alvin was in Measure's house, his wariness slipped away from him, so that his face again began to show his feelings. It happened, then, that once when Measure and Delphi exchanged such a look as they had between them, Measure happened to look at Alvin's face. Delphi was gone out of the room by then, and the children were long since in bed, so Measure was free to reach out a hand and touch Alvin's knee.