“And that didn't bother you?” said Cooper. “That she knew what she could not possibly know?”

“We all know things we shouldn't know,” said Smith.

“But until she came along, we were doing a pretty good job of keeping it to ourselves!” Cooper rounded on Purity, loomed over her. “In Puritan country, people hide their knacks or they die. It's a secret they all keep, that they have some special talent, and as soon as they realize what it is they also learn to hide it, to avoid letting anyone know what it is that they do so much better than other people. They call it 'humility.' But this girl has been flaunting her knack.”

Only then did Purity realize what she had been doing. Cooper was right– she had never let anyone see how easily she understood their feelings. She had held it back, remaining humble.

“By this time tomorrow I expect this girl will be in jail, and in a month she'll be hanged. The trouble is, when they put her to the question of other witches she's consorted with, whom do you imagine that she'll name? A friend? A beloved teacher? She seems to be a decent person, so it won't be an enemy. No, it'll be strangers. A papist. A journeyman blacksmith. A barrister who seems to be living in the woods. An American riverman.”

“I'd never accuse you,” she said.

“Oh, well, since you say so,” said Cooper.

Suddenly she was aware of Mike Fink standing directly behind her. She could hear his breathing. Long, slow breaths. He wasn't even worried. But she knew that he was capable of killing.

Smith sighed. “Well, Very, you're a quick thinker and you're right. We can't just go on with our journey as if it were safe.”

“Yes, you can,” she said. “I don't normally act like this. I was careless. In the surprise of meeting you here.”

“No,” said Cooper, “it wasn't meeting us. You were out here walking alone. Oblivious. Blind and deaf. You didn't hear Al and Arthur splashing like babies in the water. You didn't hear Mike howling miserable river ballads in his high-pitched hound-dog voice.”

“I wasn't singing,” said Mike.

“I never said you were,” said Cooper. “Miss– what's your name again?”

“She never said,” Fink answered.

“Purity,” she said. “My parents named me.”

“Miss Purity, why after all these years of living in humility are you suddenly so careless about showing your knack?”

“I told you, I wasn't, or I'm not usually, and it's not a knack anyway, it's a talent, I'm simply observant, I–”

“Today,” said Cooper. “This hour. Do you think I'm a fool? I grew up in one of the most witch-ridden parts of England. Not because more people had knacks but because more people were watching for them. You don't last an hour if you're careless. It's a good thing you ran into us and not someone you knew. This place is thick with ministers, and you were going to show your knack no matter whom you met.”

Purity was confused. Was he right? Was that why she had fled the college, because she knew that her knack could no longer be hidden? But why couldn't it be hidden now? What was driving her to reveal it?

“I believe you may be right,” she said. “I thank you for waking me up to what I was doing. You have nothing to fear now. I'm going to be careful now.”

“Good enough for me,” said Smith.

“No, it isn't,” said Cooper. “Al, I yield to you on most things, but not on something that's going to get us caught up in some witch trial.”

Smith laughed. “I've done my time setting around waiting for lawyers. There ain't no jail can hold me or any of my friends.”

“Yes, there is,” said Cooper. “It's six feet long, and they nail it shut and bury it.”

They all looked thoughtful. Except Arthur Stuart. “So what are you going to do to her?” he demanded. “She ain't done nothing wrong.”

“She hain't done nothing,” said Mike Fink.

Arthur looked at the river rat like he was crazy. “How can you correct me? You're even wronger than I was!”

“You left out the h in haint.”

“I won't be accused myself, and I won't accuse you,” said Purity.

“I think you will,” said Cooper. “I think you want to die.”

“Don't be absurd!” she cried.

“More specifically, I think you want to be hanged as a witch.”

For a moment she remained poised, meaning to treat this idea with the scorn it deserved. Then the image of her parents on a gallows came to her mind. Or rather, she admitted that it was already in her mind, that it was an image that had dwelt with her ever since she made the connections and realized how they had died. She burst into tears.

“You got no right to make her cry!” shouted Arthur Stuart.

“Hush up, Arthur,” said Smith. “Verily's right.”

“How do you know this?” said Audubon.

“Look at her.”

She was sobbing so hard now that she could hardly stand. She felt long, strong arms around her, and at first she tried to flinch away, thinking it was Mike Fink seizing her from behind; but her movement took her closer to the man who was reaching for her, and she found herself pressed against the fine suit of the barrister, his arms holding her tightly.

“It's all right,” said Cooper.

“They hanged my mother and father,” she said. Or tried to say– her voice could hardly be understood.

“And you just found out,” said Cooper. “Who told you?”

She shook her head, unable to explain.

“Figured it out for yourself?” said Cooper.

She nodded.

“And you belong with them. Not with the people who killed them and put you out to an orphanage.”

“They had no right!” she cried. “This is a land of murderers!”

“Hush,” said Cooper. “That's how it feels, but you know it isn't true. Oh, there are murderers among them, but that's true everywhere. People who are glad to denounce a neighbor for witchcraft– to settle a quarrel, to get a piece of land, to show everyone how righteous and perceptive they are. But most folks are content to live humbly and let others do the same.”

“You don't know!” she said. “Pious killers, all of them!”

“Pious,” said Cooper, “but not killers. Think about it, just think. Every living soul has some kind of knack. But how many get hanged for witchcraft? Some years maybe five or six. Most years none at all. The people don't want to surround themselves with death. It's life that they want, like all good people everywhere.”

“Good people wouldn't take me away from my parents!” Purity cried.

“They thought they were doing good,” said Verily. “They thought they were saving you from hell.”

She tried to pull away from him. He wouldn't let her.

“Let me go.”

“Not yet,” he said. “Besides, you have nowhere to go.”

“Let her go if she wants,” said Arthur Stuart. “We can get away from here. Alvin can start up the greensong and we'll run like the wind and be out of New England before she tells anybody anything.”

“That ain't the problem,” said Smith. “It's her. Very's worried about keeping her from getting herself killed.”

“He doesn't need to worry,” Purity said. This time when she pulled away, Cooper let her. “I'll be fine. I just needed to tell somebody. Now I have.”

“No,” said Cooper. “It's gone. You're not afraid of death anymore, you welcome it, because you think that's the only way you can get home to your family.”

“How do you know what I think?” she said. “Is that your knack? I hope not, because you're wrong.”

“I didn't say you were thinking those things. And no, that's not my knack at all. But I'm a barrister. I've seen people at the most trying moments of their lives. I've seen them when they've decided to give up and let the world have its way. I recognize that decision when I see it. You've decided.”

“What if I have?” she asked defiantly. “And anyway I haven't, so it doesn't matter.”

Cooper ignored her. “If we leave her here, she'll die, sooner or later. She'll do it just to prove she's part of her family.”