On the eighth day, John Tuttle knocked. The boy was soaked. Sackcloth clung to his now pale skin. Hory greeted him with a shout, “Scurrilous RAT! Do...’t you come begging here!”“Mama tole me to come for penance, Mister. She heard from the preacher about your ma. He tole her what happened, and she looked hard at me after he went away. She knew when I came here last time. She beat me until I ‘fessed up that I tole you lies.”“What lies?” Hory angered. “My ma confessed to going into town, like you. I tried to remain composed. Could he also smell my vulnerability? Could he somehow see that my pulse was racing? ‘Would you like something to drink?’ he asked. ‘What’s there to drink?’ I asked. ‘I think it’s just beer. I hope you like beer,’ he smiled again and laughed. ‘I guess I have no choice,’ I answered and smiled back. About that time the music grew loud again and I followed him to the kitchen, where he thoughtfully bypassed the keg and opened up a bottle of Belgian beer — the name of. More

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