“If you think it ought to be done,” said Faith, “then I don’t see how you’d be willing to have anyone but yourself cut into him.”

“Not me,” said Miller.

It struck Thrower that the man was afraid. Afraid to lay the knife against his own son’s flesh.

“He asked for you, Pa. He said he’d draw the marks for cutting, right on his own leg. You just cut a flap of skin and peel it back, and right under it there’s the bone, and you just cut a wedge in the bone that takes out the whole bad place.”

“I’m not the fainting kind,” said Faith, “but my head is getting light.”

“If Al Junior says it’s got to be done, then do it!” said Miller. “But not me!”

Then, like a rush of light into a dark room, Reverend Thrower saw his redemption. The Lord was clearly offering him exactly the opportunity that the Visitor had prophesied. A chance to hold a knife in his hand, to cut into the boy’s leg, and accidently sever the artery and spill the blood until the life was gone. What he had shrunk to do in the church, thinking of Alvin as a mere boy, he would do gladly, now that he had seen the evil that disguised itself in child-shape.

“I’m here,” he said.

They looked at him.

“I’m no surgeon,” he said, “but I have some knowledge of anatomy. I am a scientist.”

“Head bumps,” said Miller.

“You ever butchered cattle or pigs?” asked Measure.

“Measure!” said his mother, horrified. “Your brother is not a beast.”

“I just wanted to know if he was going to throw up when he saw blood.”

“I’ve seen blood,” said Thrower. “And I have no fear, when the cutting is for salvation.”

“Oh, Reverend Thrower, it’s too much to ask of you,” said Goody Faith.

“Now I see that perhaps it was inspiration that brought me up here today, after so long being away from this house.”

“It was my pebble-headed son-in-law brought you here,” said Miller.

“Well,” said Thrower, “it was just a thought. I can see that you don’t want me to do it, and I can’t say that I blame you. Even if it means saving your son’s life, it’s still a dangerous thing to let a stranger cut into your own child’s body.”

“You’re no stranger,” insisted Faith.

“What if something went wrong?. I might slip. His previous injury might have changed the path of certain blood vessels. I might cut an artery, and he could bleed to death in moments. Then I’d have the blood of your child on my hands.”

“Reverend Thrower,” said Faith, “we can’t blame you for chance. All we can do is try.”