On the road to the mill, once they were out of sight of the villagers, Alvin began to chuckle.

'What's so funny?' asked Arthur Stuart.

'That fellow with his pants around his ankles and birdshot dribbling out of his blunderbuss.'

'I don't like that miller,' said Arthur Stuart.

'Well, he's giving us breakfast, so I reckon he can't be all bad.'

'He's just showing up the town folks,' said Arthur Stuart.

'Well, excuse me, but I don't think that'll change the flavour of the pancakes.'

'I don't like his voice.'

That made Alvin perk up and pay attention. Voices were part of Arthur Stuart's knack. 'Something wrong with the way he talks?'

'There's a meanness in him,' said Arthur Stuart.

'May well be,' said Alvin. 'But his meanness is better than hunting for nuts and berries again, or taking another squirrel out of the trees.'

'Or another fish.' Arthur made a face.

'Millers get a name for meanness sometimes,' Alvin said. 'People need their grain milled, all right, but they always think the miller takes too much. So millers are used to having folks accuse them. Maybe that's what you heard in his voice.'

'Maybe,' said Arthur Stuart. Then he changed the subject. 'How'd you hide the plough when you opened your poke?'

'I kind of opened up a hole in the ground under the poke,' said Alvin, 'and the plough sank down out of sight.'

'You going to teach me how to do things like that?'

'I'll do my best to teach,' said Alvin, 'if you do your best to learn.'

'What about making shot spill out of a gun that's pointed at you?'

'My knack opened the paper, but his own trousers, that's what made the barrel dip and spill out the shot.'

'And you didn't make his trousers fall?'

'If he'd pulled up his suspenders, his pants would've stayed up just fine,' said Alvin.