He opened his eyes, and it fled away to the corners of the room, where he didn’t have to look right at it. That was good enough. Stay there and let me be, he said silently.

Then he realized that it was full daylight, and Mama had laid out his black broadcloth pants and jacket and a clean shirt. His Sunday go-to-meeting clothes. He’d almost rather go back to the nightmare than wake up to this.

Alvin Junior hated Sunday mornings. He hated getting all dressed up, so he couldn’t set on the ground or kneel in the grass or even bend over without something getting messed up and Mama telling him to have some respect for the Lord’s day. He hated having to tiptoe around the house all morning because it was the Sabbath and there wasn’t to be no playing or making noise on the Sabbath. Worst of all he hated the thought of sitting on a hard bench down front, with Reverend Thrower looking him in the eye while he preached about the fires of hell that were waiting for the ungodly who despised the true religion and put their faith in the feeble understanding of man. Every Sunday, it seemed like.

And it wasn’t that Alvin really despised religion. He just despised Reverend Thrower. It was all those hours in school, now that harvest was over. Alvin Junior was a good reader, and he got right answers most of the time in his ciphering. But that wasn’t enough for old Thrower. He also had to teach religion right along with it. The other children—the Swedes and Knickerbockers from upriver, the Scotch and English from down—only got a licking when they sassed or got three wrong answers in a row. But Thrower took his cane to Alvin Junior every chance he got, it seemed like, and it wasn’t over book-learning, it was always about religion.

Of course it didn’t help much that the Bible kept striking Alvin funny at all the wrong times. That’s what Measure said, the time that Alvin ran away from school and hid in David’s house till Measure found him nigh onto suppertime. “If you just didn’t laugh when he reads from the Bible, you wouldn’t get whupped so much.”

But it was funny. When Jonathan shot all those arrows in the sky and they missed. When Jeroboam didn’t shoot enough arrows out his window. When Pharaoh kept finding tricky ways to keep the Israelites from leaving. When Samson was so dumb he told his secret to Delilah after she already betrayed him twice. “How can I keep from laughing?”

“Just think about getting blisters on your butt,” said Measure. “That ought to take the smile off your face.”

“But I never remember till after I already laughed.”