Alvin went into the little room he shared with Calvin and just set there, waiting for Matilda to come and kill him. But she didn’t come and didn’t come, and he realized that she was probably waiting till after the candies were all out, so that no one would know which of his sisters snuck in and snuffed him out. Heaven knew he’d given them all ample reason to want him dead in the last two months alone. He was trying to guess whether they’d stifle him with Matilda’s goosedown pillow—which would be the first time he was ever allowed to touch it—or if he’d die with Beatrice’s precious sewing scissors in his heart, when all of a sudden he realized that if he didn’t get outside to the privy in about twenty-five seconds he’d embarrass himself right in his trousers.

Somebody was in the privy, of course, and Alvin stood outside jumping and yelling for three minutes and still they wouldn’t come out. It occurred to him that it was probably one of the girls, in which case this was the most devilish plan they’d ever come up with, keeping him out of the privy when they knew he was scared to go into the woods after dark. It was a terrible vengeance. If he messed himself he’d be so ashamed he’d probably have to change his name and run away, and that was a whole lot worse than a poke in the behind. It made him mad as a constipated buffalo, it was so unfair.

Finally he was mad enough to make the ultimate threat. “If you don’t come out I’ll do it right in front of the door so you’ll step in it when you come out!”

He waited, but whoever was in there didn’t say, “If you do I’ll make you lick it off my shoe,” and since that was the customary response, Al realized for the first time that the person inside the privy might not be one of his sisters after all. It was certainly not one of the boys. Which left only two possibilities, each one worse than the other. Al was so mad at himself he smacked his own head with his fist, but it didn’t make him feel no better. Papa would probably give him a lick, but even worse would be Mama. She might give him a tongue-lashing, which was bad enough, but if she was in a real vile temper, she’d get that cold look on her face and say real soft, “Alvin Junior, I used to hope that at least one of my boys would be a born gentleman, but now I see my life was wasted,” which always made him feel about as low as he knew how to feel without dying.