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stretch out showin’ you around for the rest of the day, and I mean to enjoy it."
      Pup kept his promise. Evan got a careful tour of the Blanc frog farm, including a detailed demonstration of how to scramble up a tree in time to avoid Master Ting, a short man dressed in yellow who came up the path with a purposeful stride. The slaves bent more closely over their work, and even the frog song seemed to diminish as he passed. Evan’s heart pounded as he noticed the small control on the man’s belt and wondered how much pain it would cost them if they were caught, but the manager took no notice of them. Once Pup decreed it safe, they climbed down and resumed the tour.
      By the end of the day, Evan’s head was swimming with facts about frogs and his ears longed for silence instead of the incessant croaks and peeps. His feet were wrinkled and waterlogged from the mud and his stomach rumbled. Rebecca’s meat roll seemed long ago and far away. The sun had made considerable progress toward the horizon, but it wasn’t anywhere near sunset yet. Just as he was about to ask Pup about food, a chime sounded from their wristbands.
      "Suppertime," Pup announced. "Come on."
      He took Evan’s arm and pulled him toward the barn-like structure in which Evan had awoken. Other slaves were moving in from the ponds and swamps, tools and baskets in hand. One outer wall of the barn was lined with a series of faucets set at knee level. Pup rinsed feet and hands and splashed water on his face. Evan did the same. The cool water felt wonderful on his sweaty, mud-streaked face, and it felt fine to have clean feet again.
    A series of long trestle tables and benches lined up across the grass beneath a series of tall shady trees. At the end of each table was a kettle, several large serving bowls, and stacks of deep-dish plates. A slave armed with a ladle stood at each kettle. Pup and Evan, who had a head start, arrived at one of the tables before any of the other muckers did. Evan took up a plate, and the kettle slave filled it with what looked like a soupy stew. Pup also caught up several pieces of flat bread, and Evan did the same. They took up places further down the table and ate in silence, using the flat bread to scoop up the stew. It was bland and filling. Evan wondered if the meat was frog but didn’t ask. Instead, he scanned the kettle slaves, looking for his mother. He didn’t see her.
      "Mistress Blanc must have been hard up for kitchen help," Pup said, as if reading Evan’s mind. "Your ma got put in the house kitchen instead of cooking for the slaves first."
      "Mom’s a good cook," Evan said. "My dad, though, can’t even ...even ..." He trailed off. The mention of his family brought an unexpected lump to his throat. Tears welled up and he looked away so Pup wouldn’t see them.
      "Sucks," Pup said.
      "What?" Evan continued to stare at the ground. Bowls thumped on the table around them, competing with the noise of conversation. Sweaty brown shirts and tired, tanned bodies streamed steadily toward the food and tables. The air was a bit cooler under the trees, though it was still humid.
      "Sucks getting sold away from your family. Least you got your ma here."
      "You have any family?" Evan surreptitiously wiped at his eyes as if there were something in them.
      "Older sister. She’s a house slave, so I don’t see her much. My ma and dad are gone."
      "Hi! Pup! Where you been all day?"
      Evan looked up and was abruptly surrounded by eight or nine boys and girls his age all dressed in brown. They took up places on the benches, bowls and bread in newly-washed hands. The question came from a dark-haired boy with the biggest brown eyes Evan had ever seen.
      "Got an easy duty today showin’ round a newbie," Pup said, flashing a grin. "Everybody, this is Lizard. Lizard, this is Flint and Jackie and Vera and Leaf and Keri and Zell and Cat and Bird and Jess. They’re all muckers, too."
      Evan, who had been braced for