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their house sets. He had his musket up to his shoulder. What do you think he was doing? Drawing sights on something?”
    I shrugged. How would I know?
    We passed on by Goody Baxter’s but were stopped at Goody Turner’s, three houses down. “Do you know where I saw the king’s captain yesterday?”
    I jounced the babe to keep him from complaining.
    “He was down to the river, climbing all over the bridge. His breeches were wet. Do you think he fell in?”
    “If he did, it was his own fault.”
    “Mary!” Though propriety made me scold her, she had only said what I had been thinking. And good thing, for if she had not said it, the words might have slipped right off my tongue. And then I would have been known for what I truly was.
    Mary turned from Goody Turner to me. “If it was not his fault, then whose was it?”
    The child began to squawk and so we turned away and continued on. But not long, for we were slowed once more as we reached Goody Hillbrook’s.
    “That captain sure gets around. I sent my girl to the pond for scouring plants after her lessons and she said the man was there, ducking behind trees and then wading right into the water. What do you suppose he was doing?”
    This time we had not truly stopped, and so, walking backward, we both pled ignorance.
    Once Goody Hillbrook had gone back inside, we set our faces toward Abigail’s and picked up our pace. But the questions galled me. “If this is the thanks we get for boarding that man . . . ! Now everyone will know our business.”
    A frown set a crease between Mary’s eyes. “And what will have changed? They have always known our business.”
    Perhaps I should have kept my sentiments to myself.
    As we approached the next house, Goody Blake stepped out.
    Mary linked an arm through mine. “Quick! Turn your head.
    Pretend you do not see her.”
    But it was too late. I lowered the child to the ground, keeping tight hold of its leading strings. Since Goody Blake was a gentle soul, we paused. But we were soon joined by Goody Ellys and her daughter Goody Metcalf, who were walking toward us down the road.
    “That captain has been skulking through the wood. Nearly frightened Goodman Ellys to death.”
    “My boy told me he saw him down to blueberry barren where he first appeared.”
    “And I heard he was down to the brook.”
    I smiled, nodded, and tried to disentangle ourselves from their conversation. “If we’re to see Goody Clarke before our mother needs us, we should be about the doing of it.”
    “Abigail? She has a pale look to her.”
    “That babe of hers might be teething. He’s gone red in the face and drippy in the nose.”
    “ ’Tis about the time for it.” Goody Blake turned to me and reached out to pat our babe. She reached wide and I turned so that her hand could fall on its head. “Still and all, don’t let your little one linger there too long.”
    “Tell her to spread some ale on the babe’s gums.”
    “Or press her thumb up to the top of the child’s mouth at night.”
    A none-too-gentle tug on my arm from Mary led to us taking our leave.
    “If one more person asks me what the captain might be doing, I might just tell them he’s getting ready to kill them all. And I know it because I watch him clean his musket every night while Father reads the Bible!”
    I could not save myself from laughing at Mary’s words.
    The rest of the length of road we received reports on the captain’s whereabouts. He had been to the brook and down to the pond. He had visited the minister’s way down at the end of the south road and had been seen at the top of Newham Road. It was evident that in all his wanderings, he had walked the extreme limits of the township. From the swamp in the north, to the brook in the south; the river and the blueberry barren to the west and the sawmill to the east.
    And then, finally, there was only one house left to pass: Smallhope Smyth’s. We slowed our step, expecting at any moment to be stopped, though I