“Billie McDaran,” she said, shortly.

“Oh!” she said, knowing immediately what Aunt Jinny meant. “Do he go to church?”

“Dunno,” her aunt said. “Don’t matter. He’d’a seed y’all a-comin’ or a-goin’, no matter what. Ain’t much in Ducktown he don’t know ’bout.”

She sighed with disappointment, and a little guilt. “It don’t seem right,” she said reluctantly.

“Fust settlers here didn’ hev no church. Cherokee don’t hev no church,” her aunt pointed out. “By my reckonin’ God don’t give two hoots iffen y’all goes an’ sits in a pew twice on Sunday, long as y’all obeys the Golden Rule.”

“But wouldn’ it be a brave thang t’face down Billie McDaran an’ go t’ church, like facin’ down th’ Romans?” She actually had only a vague idea what that meant, formed from sermons, but when the preacher had talked about it, it seemed a great thing.

Aunt Jinny snorted. “Don’t reckon God’d thank y’all was bein’ brave. Reckon He’d thank y’all was bein’ stupid, fer puttin’ yoreself in thet man’s way. An’ it’s not like other folks’d know y’all was doin’ it jest t’git t’church, neither, so y’all wouldn’t even be a good ’xample.”

“Oh.”

“’Specially when there’s been plenty of folks that done without goin’ t’church an’ was good, Godly people,” Aunt Jinny persisted. “Hermits don’t go to no church, now, do they? An’ they’re in the Bible as bein’ some of the Godliest of all!”

She had to admit that was true.

Her aunt sensed her defeat. “So, no more persterin’ me ’bout goin’ t’church?”

She sighed even more deeply. “No, ma’am.”

Her aunt chuckled. “Then I’ll tell y’all what I done decided this arternoon. Iffen y’all git yore chores done, an’ whatever else I arst y’all t’do in the mornin’, y’all c’n hev ev’ry arternoon to yoreself. Git a lesson from Granny Spider, or run all th’ way down t’Holcroft’s farm an’ palaver with Josh an’ his sister, though y’all ain’t foolin’ me, an’ I know it’s Josh yore hankerin’ t’see.”

She gasped. “Really? Truly?”

“Ayup,” her aunt agreed. “I reckon cain’t hurt, ’cause Josh ain’t a-gonna take his eyes an’ hands offen his paid work. An’—” She paused. “Wall, niver mind. Jest be back by supper, or I’ll feed it t’the pigs, an’ y’all c’n go ter bed hungry.”

She felt as if she was going to burst with happiness.

The moon rose. Coby sat down at her aunt’s feet. The other two critters sat on the steps. The piskie produced a length of thread and laced it on what passed for its fingers. It and the gnome began playing a game of cat’s-cradle. “Is hevin’ Coby an’ th’ Domovoy why y’all don’t got a cat?” Anna finally asked, “cat’s-cradle” having led her wandering mind to “cat” and then to the realization that despite her aunt taking precautions against their depredations, she hadn’t actually seen so much as a trace of a mouse around the cabin or storage areas. “Do they chase off varmints?”

Coby snorted.

“Nope. I don’t got a cat, on account’o cats go a-wanderin’ an git thesselves killt, an’ I cain’t go gettin’ fond’o somethin’ an’ have it run off t’git itself killt.” She jerked her head into the house. “Domovoy knows thet, so he runs off th’ varmints what gets inside th’ shield.” She chuckled. “Coby’ll tackle a fox or a weasel, but he’s above chasin’ mice.”