understood the difficulties.
âWhat work do you do up there?â he asked.
âIâm cataloging some papers,â I told him, making it sound as important as I could. âFamily papers,â I added.
âDoes he pay you?â
âYes.â
âI suppose you need the money. Are your parents . . .â He looked for a word. â. . . needy?â
âIâm an orphan. I live with my aunt.â
âThatâs all right then,â he said.
I wanted him to know that it was not need but my own ability that earned me the job. âMy aunt is headmistress of a school in Cambridge. A school for girls. Mr. Thiel wrote her and asked if she knew anybody who could do the work.â
âWhat happened to your parents?â he asked.
âI donât know,â I replied.
âHow can you not know?â he asked, then he turned red under his tan and quickly changed the subject. âMy father is the doctor here. We came up from New Haven. Weâve only lived here five years.â
âHeâs not Dr. Carter, is he?â I remembered how Mrs. Bywall had spoken of the doctor.
âThat old horse doctor? Not a chance. Father practices medicine . Carterâwell, he didnât. We came here just after he died. Father bought his practice.â
âIâve heard something about Dr. Carter from Mrs. Bywall the housekeeper.â
âShe was in prison.â
âI know.â
âWhatâs she like? Does she talk about jail? Nobody ever sees her. People still sometimes talk about her, but nobody talks to her. Although they seem to feel sorry for her. The parents say sheâs not fit company for children.â
âDo your parents say that?â
âNot in so many words. They donât agree, but they donât disagree either. Aah, itâs a small town, Marlborough. People here donât have much to talk about so they talk too much about things that they donât know about. And the Callendersâwell, they keep their distance up on the hill. Maybe if they didnât, people wouldnât talk. But then theyâd just find someone else to talk aboutâmaybe even me âso I shouldnât complain. But itâs interesting how they feel about strangers. Old Dan Thiel is a local man. They donât say much about him. But they donât think much good of him.â
I wanted to ask this boy what they did say, but I didnât want to gossip. Also, I didnât know whether he could be trusted to tell the truth. I missed Aunt Constanceâs advice. I knew that she would have let me know whether or not Mac was a boy I could ask questions of. Perhaps I could write to ask whether shethought he was. But what could she tell from just my descriptions?
âYou must be smart to have work like that,â Mac said. âIâve seen you, you know.â
âSeen me?â This alarmed me, because Iâd never seen him before. âWhere?â
âI can track like an Indian,â he said. âIâve followed you.â
âI donât believe it,â I said.
âYou wouldnât hear a bear coming after you.â He laughed. âYour favorite spot is the waterfall,â he added to prove his point.
I was speechless. He had been spying on me and I hadnât known. I felt my face grow hot. And I was angry. âWhat a low and sneaky thing to do.â
âIâve told you, havenât I?â The back of his neck, however, grew red.
âItâs still sneaky.â I thought for a minute. âI know Latin,â I announced.
âAnd geometry too, I guess,â he said sarcastically.
âIâve begun geometry. I can translate Caesar.â
âHogwash.â He stared at the water. He jiggled his rod.
âSuit yourself,â I said and stood up. âBut I could probably help you study.â I donât know why Iadded that; just for extra meanness Iâm