One night as he watched Mark on his knees, scrubbing the floors in a room from which someone had been taken away, Arthur shook his head. “That’s all you’ll spend your life doing—manual labor. Bloody slave work that could be done by a zombie.”

Mark looked at his rag, then at Arthur, and shrugged. “To control one’s own destiny takes a mastermind. To execute the plans takes a fool.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows. He had not given Mark credit for such insight. But it made it all the worse, to see a mind with a spark of intelligence wasted on mindless work.

Arthur shook his head and strolled off to see his patients. He knew Mr. Torvald was dying. He went into the old man’s room and sat beside his bed, as he had done every night for the past week. Mr. Torvald talked of his youth in the old country, of coming to America and settling on the land in Ohio. Blinking his rheumy, heavy-lidded eyes, he said wearily, “I am an old man. I talk too much.”

“Not at all, sir,” Arthur said. “I have always believed that older people, who are wiser and have had much experience, should be listened to. Your knowledge, which cannot be written down in books, should be passed on to the young.”

Mr. Torvald smiled. “You’re a good boy.”

“Are you in much pain?”

“I don’t believe in complaining. I’ve lived a good life. I’m ready to die now.”

Arthur put his hand on the withered arm. “You are dying very gracefully,” he said, “with great dignity. I would have been proud to have you for a father. ” .

Mr. Torvald coughed and pointed to his empty water pitcher.

Arthur went out to fill it, and when he came back, he saw Mr. Torvald staring upward blankly. Arthur stood there silently for a moment, gazing at the serene old face. Then he brushed the hair out of the eyes and closed them.

“Allen,” he whispered, “call the nurses. Tell them Mr. Torvald is deceased.”

Allen took the spot and pressed the button over the bed. “That,” whispered Arthur, stepping back, “is proper procedure.”

Allen thought for a moment that Arthur’s voice was husky with emotion. But he knew that couldn’t be. Before Allen could question him, Arthur was gone.

The job at Homestead lasted three weeks. When the administration office discovered Milligan was only sixteen, they informed him he was too young to work the night shift, and he was discharged.

A few weeks after the fall term began, Chalmer said Billy had to go down to the farm that Saturday to help cut the grass. Tommy watched as Chalmer backed his new yellow tractor-mower up two boards onto the back of the truck.

“What do you need me for?” Tommy asked.

“Don’t ask dumb questions. You’re coming. You wanna eat, you’re gonna work. I need someone to rake up the leaves before I mow. That’s about all you’re good for, anyway.” Tommy watched as Chalmer secured the tractor in the truck by setting it in reverse gear and slipping the U-pin into place to keep the lever from popping out.