le other person。 You just go to that place for a while。 As long as it's a safe place； not out in the woods where a Red might take your pretty hair； and not a high place where you might fall off； and not a tiny place where you might get stuck。〃
〃It's big and it's low and it ain't in the woods；〃 said little Peggy。
〃Then you go there； Maggie。〃
Little Peggy made the face she always made when Oldpappy called her that。 And she held up Bugy and in Bugy's squeaky high voice she said； 〃Her name is Peggy。〃
〃You go there； Piggy； if you like that better〃
Little Peggy slapped Bugy right across Oldpappy's knee。
〃Someday Bugy'll do that once too often and have a rupture and die；〃 said Oldpappy。
But Bugy just danced right in his face and insisted； 〃Not piggy； Peggy！〃
〃That's right； Puggy； you go to that secret place and if anybody says； We got to go find that girl； I'll say； I know where she is and she'll e back when she's good and ready。〃
Little Peggy ran for the cabin door and then stopped and turned。 〃Oldpappy； you're the nicest grown…up in the whole world。〃
〃Your papa has a different view of me； but that's all tied up with another hazel rod that I laid hand on much too often。 Now run along。〃
She stopped again right before she closed the door。 〃You're the only nice grown…up！〃 She shouted it real loud； halfway hoping that they could hear it clear inside the house。 Then she was gone； right across the garden； out past the cow pasture； up the hill into the woods； and along the path to the spring house。
Chapter Two Wagon People
They had one good wagon； these folks did； and two good horses pulling it。 One might even suppose they was prosperous； considering they had six big boys； from mansize on down to twins that had wrestled each other into being a good deal stronger than their dozen years。 Not to mention one big daughter and a whole passel of little girls。 A big family。 Right prosperous if you didn't know that not even a year ago they had owned a mill and lived in a big house on a streambank in west New Hampshire。 e down far in the world； they had； and this wagon was all they had left of everything。 But they were hopeful； trekking west along the roads that crossed the Hio； heading for open land that was free for the taking。 If you were a family with plenty of strong backs and clever hands； it'd be good land； too； as long as the weather was with them and the Reds didn't raid them and all the lawyers and bankers stayed in New England。
The father was a big man； a little run to fat； which was no surprise since millers mostly stood around all day。 That softness in the belly wouldn't last a year on a deepwoods homestead。 He didn't care much about that； anyway he had no fear of hard work。 What worried him today was his wife； Faith。 It was her time for that baby； he knew it。 Not that she'd ever talk about it direct。 Women just don't speak about things like that with men。 But he knew how big she was and how many months it had been。 Besides； at the noon stop she murmured to him； 〃Alvin Miller； if there's a road house along this way； or even a little broken…down cabin； I reckon I could use a bit of rest。〃 A man didn't have to be a philosopher to understand her。 And after six sons and six daughters； he'd have to have the brains of a brick not to get the drift of how things stood with her。
So he sent off the oldest boy； Vigor； to run ahead on the road and see the lay of the land。
You could tell they were from New England； cause the boy didn't take no gun。 If there'd been a bushwhacker the young man never would've made it back； and the fact he came back with all his hair was proof no Red had spotted him the French up Detroit way were paying for English scalps with liquor and if a Red saw a White man alone in the woods with no musket he'd own that White man's scalp。 So maybe a man could think that luck was with the family at last。 But since these Yankees had no notion that the road wasn't safe； Alvin Miller didn't think for a minute of his good luck。
Vigor's word was of a road house three miles on。 That was good news； except that between them and that road house was a river。 Kind of a scrawny river； and the ford was shallow； but Alvin Miller had learned never to trust water。 No matter how peaceful it looks； it'll reach and try to take you。 He was halfway minded to tell Faith that they'd spend the night this side of the river； but she gave just the tiniest groan and at that moment he knew that there was no chance of that。 Faith had borne him a dozen living children； but it was four years since the last one and a lot of women took it bad； having a baby so late。 A lot of women died。 A good road house meant women to help with the birthing； so they'd have to chance the river。
And Vigor did say the river wasn't much。
Chapter Three Spring House
The air in the spring house was cool and heavy； dark and wet。 Sometimes when little Peggy caught a nap here； she woke up gasping like as if the whole place was under water。 She had dreams of water even when she wasn't here that was one of the things that made some folks say she was a seeper instead of a torch。 But when she dreamed outside； she always knew she was dreaming。 Here the water was real。
Real in the drips that formed like sweat on the milkjars setting in the stream。 Real in the cold damp clay of the spring house floor。 Real in the swallowing sound of the stream as it hurried through the middle of the house。
Keeping it cool all summer long； cold water spilling right out of the hill and into this place； shaded all the way by trees so old the moon made a point of passing through their branches just to hear some good old tales。 That was what little Peggy always came here for； even when Papa didn't hate her。 Not the wetness of the air； she could do just fine without that。 It was the way the fire went right out of her and she didn't have to be a torch。 Didn't have to see into all the dark places where folks hid theirselfs。
From her they hid theirselfs as if it would do some good。 Whatever they didn't like most about theirself they tried to tuck away in some dark corner but they didn't know how all them dark places burned in little Peggy's eyes。 Even when she was so little that she spit out her corn mash cause she was still hoping for a suck； she knew all the stories that the folks around her kept all hid。 She saw the bits of their past that they most wished they could bury； and she saw the bits of their future that they most feared。
And that was why she took to ing up here to the spring house。 Here she didn't have to see those things。 Not even the lady in Papa's memory。 There was nothing here but the heavy wet dark cool air to quench the fire and dim the light so she could be just for a few minutes in the day a little five…year…old girl with a straw poppet named Bugy and not even have to think about any of them grown…up secrets。
I'm not wicked； she told herself。 Again and again； but it didn't work because she knew she was。
All right then； she said to herself； I am wicked。 But I won't be wicked anymore。 I'll tell the truth like Papa says； or I'll say nothing at all。
Even at five years old； little Peggy knew that if she kept that vow； she'd be better off saying nothing。
So she said nothing； not even to herself； just lay there on a mossy damp table with Bugy clenched tight enough to strangle in her fist。
Ching ching ching。
Little Peggy woke up and got mad for just a minute。
Ching ching ching。
Made her mad because nobody said to her； Little Peggy； you don't mind if we talk this young blacksmith feller into settling down here； do you？ Not at all； Papa； she would've said if they'd asked。 She knew what it meant to have a smithy。 It meant your village would thrive； and folks from other places would e； and when they came there'd be trade； and where there was trade then her father's big house could be a forest inn； and where there was a forest inn then all the roads would kind of bend a little just to pass the place； if it wasn't too far out of the way little Peggy knew all that； as sure as the children of farmers knew the rhythms of the farm。 A road house by a smithy was a road house that would prosper。 So she would've said； Sure enough； let him stay； deed him land； brick his chimney； feed him free； let him have my bed so I have to double up with Cousin Peter who keeps trying to peek under my nightgown； I'll put up with all that just as long as you don't put him near the spring house so that all the time； even when I want to be alone with the water； there's that whack thump hiss roar； noise all the time； and a fire burning up the sky to turn it black； and the smell of charcoal burning。 It was enough to make a body wish to follow the stream right back into the mountain just to get some peace。
Of course the stream was the smart place to put the blacksmith。 Except for water； he could've put his smithy anywheres at all。 The iron came to him in the shipper's wagon clear from New Netherland； and the charcoal well； there was plenty of farmers willing to trade charcoal for a good shoe。 But water； that's what the smith needed that nobody'd br