“Oh, we wrassle like that all the time,” said the older boy. “Put her there, friend. My name’s Alvin, same as my pa.” The boy’s grin was contagious. Scared as he’d been, with so much dark dealing going on today, Taleswapper had no choice but to smile back and take the proffered hand. Alvin Junior had a handshake like a grown man, he was that strong. Taleswapper commented on it.

“Oh, he gave you his fish hand. When he gets to wringing and wrenching on you, he like to pops your palm like a razzleberry.” The younger boy shook hands, too.

“I’m seven years old, and Al Junior, he’s ten.” Younger than they looked. They both had that nasty bitter body stench that young boys get when they’ve been playing hard. But Taleswapper never minded that. It was the father who puzzled him. Was it just a fancy in his own mind, that Taleswapper thought he meant to kill the boys? What man could take a murderous hand to boys as sweet and fine as these?

The man had left the pitchfork in the loft, clambered down the ladder, and now strode toward Taleswapper with his arms out as if to hug him. “Welcome here, stranger,” said the man. “I’m Alvin Miller, and these are my two youngest sons, Alvin Junior and Calvin.”

“Cally,” corrected the younger boy.

“He doesn’t like the way our names rhyme,” said Alvin Junior. “Alvin and Calvin. See, they named him like me hoping he’d grow up to be as fine a specimen of manhood as I am. Too bad it ain’t working.”

Calvin gave him a shove of mock anger. “Near as I can tell, he was the first try, and when I came along they finally got it right!”

“Mostly we call thern Al and Cally,” said the father.

“Mostly you call us ‘shutup’ and ‘get over here,’” said Cally.

Al Junior gave him a whack on the shoulder and sent him sprawling in the dirt. Whereupon his father placed a boot on his backside and sent him head over heels out the door. All in fun. Nobody was hurt. How could I have thought there was murder going on here?

“You come with a message? A letter?” asked Alvin Miller. Now, that the boys were outside, yelling at each other across the meadow, the grown men could get a word in.

“Sorry,” said Taleswapper. “Just a traveler. A young lady in town said I might find a place to sleep up here. In exchange for whatever good hard work you might have for my arms.”

Alvin Miller grinned. “Let me see how much work those arms can do.” He thrust out an arm, but it wasn’t to shake hands. He gripped Taleswapper by the forearm and braced his right foot against Taleswapper’s right foot. “Think you can throw me?” asked Alvin Miller.