The afternoon rolled on, as hot as the day before, maybe hotter. He found some food: summer berries barely ripe, some wild garlic to chew on to keep the hunger pangs at bay. He wasn't that hungry these days, though. Not like when he was younger and first out on the road, when the deep, spiking pains of hunger would keep him awake at night. The girl looked like she could use feeding up, though, so he tried.

They passed a couple of farms, and, after he'd told the girl about his plan to stop and find some work, she began pointing them out to him in the distance.

"Nope," he'd said to the first two. They'd looked well-kept, and men were in the outbuildings. There'd be no work in these places, not for someone like him.

The third place looked pretty hopeful, and Kell had let himself in through the gate, carefully closing it behind him, walking around the yard and looking. But when he came out, he shook his head again.

"Why not this time?" the girl said. She didn't sound impatient, though Kell thought that her legs were probably aching and she needed to stop for a while.

"Couldn't see anything needed doing." Kell shrugged.

"You could ask," said the girl.

He chuckled. "That's one of the first lessons of being on the road," he told her. "So listen carefully. If you go up and knock on a door looking like I do and ask for work, you're giving people a choice. And mostly they're gonna say no. Think about it. If you lived in one of these nice places, would you want hobos hanging around your yard? 'Course not."

They'd walked back to the road now, leaving the driveway of the farm, and Kell's knees were glad to be off the rocky track and back on tarmac.

"What you have to do instead is scout around a bit. Find something that looks like it needs doing, and then offer to do that. That way you're taking all the work out of their decision. Some are still gonna say no, of course. But then there's those that think: 'Hmm, I wouldn't mind that barn finally painted.' Or: 'Yes, that fence is looking a bit rickety.' And you've planted the idea in their heads. Plus, you've shown some initiative, shown that you're willing to work, willing enough that you've even already planned something to do. And folks like that."

"I see," said the girl.

"You need to prove yourself, always. We all need to prove ourselves, every day. And every little bit you do towards that makes you not just appear a better person, but be a better person, too. Leastways, that's the way I see things."

They kept walking, and Kell kept telling his knees just to make it to the next tree, just make it to that bend, make it to where that rock's sitting, and then pushing it a little further. He didn't know why he was so achy today; he wasn't usually like this. Just another sign, he supposed.

Another couple of miles and the girl pointed out another farm. Kell nodded, and they made their way there, turning into the driveway.

"This one looks pretty good," Kell said, wanting to give the girl some hope that there was a chance of getting something today. "They've got a barn where we could sleep."

"We could wait until it was dark and just sleep in there anyway," she said. "No one would know, probably."

"We could," said Kell. "But we won't. We'll work honest for our keep. You take nothing when you're on the road with me."

Again he felt the weight of the Zippo in his pocket.

He'd already decided that this was the place. It looked good. He scanned around as he made his way to the front door, looking for something that needed to be done. Craning his neck, he could see inside the large barn, its door half open.

"Best stay here," he told the girl when they reached the stone wall surrounding the house. "One is less threatening than two, even if you are a girl. And some people don't like couples. Let me do the talking."

He had a feeling she'd make herself scarce anyway; she didn't seem to like being around people. Couldn't blame her, he supposed. It seemed better to leave her here, where he knew he could find her, than to have her disappear off somewhere.

Steeling himself, he went to the front door alone. This isn't begging, he had to remind himself. He was prepared to do an honest afternoon's work in return for what he asked. He knocked and took a step back so he'd be clearly visible through the peephole.

"Yes?"

A woman answered the door. Older, maybe fifty or so, her hair streaked with grey but held back in a bun, wearing jeans and a t-shirt. She had a smudge of flour on her cheek, and Kell guessed that she was baking.

"Ma'am," he said, "I was wondering if I could do a little work for you this afternoon in return for being able to sleep in your barn tonight."

She was about to interrupt him, but he didn't let her.

"I noticed that the barn was kinda messed up, so I thought maybe I could make some kind of order in there for you. I'll be staying just the one night, be assured. I'll be on my way in the morning before you're even up."

Then she laughed. "It'll be tough to do that; we're up around five in these parts. Just a night in the barn, you say?"

Kell nodded. "And maybe the use of your outside tap, if you wouldn't mind. You can see I've gone a while without a bath."

She looked him up and down and then she nodded. "I'll throw in a meal too, if you get the barn done first."

"I thank you," said Kell.

"It's my Christian duty," she said. "Besides, you look trustworthy. I've been on and on at my husband to get that barn sorted out for years. Somebody's going to do themselves an injury in there one day."

"Hope it's not me, then." Kell grinned.

"Go on, then, get yourself started. There's a tap round the back, and if you knock on the door back there when you're through, I'll give you something to eat for your trouble."

Kell was so used to doing things this way that he almost forgot the girl. He half-turned to go, then turned back.

"I'm sorry, ma'am, I should have mentioned. I'm not travelling alone; I've got a friend with me. She's a good girl, no drugs or anything. She'll help me with the cleaning and sleep out in the barn too if that's all right with you."

The woman shrugged. "I guess. Ain't much more trouble with two of you than with one, I suppose. Tell her she's welcome, too, and I'll put two plates aside to keep warm."

"Thank you, ma'am," Kell said.

But when he got back to the wall, the girl was gone.

He had to school himself to think charitable thoughts, but he couldn't help himself; shirking work wasn't a good thing in his book, though he supposed he'd done it himself more than once in the past. She didn't return either, and he wondered if maybe she'd gone for good, scared off by being around people. Maybe she'd been kidnapped or something, abused, maybe she had some kind of mental thing. He'd seen that before—the schizos so paranoid that they couldn't be next to another person.

The work was hard; the barn was crammed full of old tractor parts, feed bags, and all kinds of junk and Kell's muscles weren't what they used to be. He started at the door and worked his way inwards, pulling rusty metal to one side in a pile for recycling and such, and making another pile of items that were obviously trash. It was hot and dusty inside the barn, with spiders skittering around as he moved things. He cut his hand on a sheet of metal and had to wrap it in a piece of rag he found. It wasn't too deep, and at this point he wasn't worried too much about tetanus.

Deeper inside the barn, he found shelving on one of the walls and emptied it out so he could use it to organise everything else. He stopped only for a drink every thirty minutes or so, when the sting of sweat in his eyes got too much.

It was getting dark by the time he was done, and he used the last of the daylight to straighten up the shelves. Then he looked around. Looked good, even if he did say so himself. The majority of the barn was cleared out, and there was room enough now to park a tractor and trailer if necessary. He hoped the woman would be satisfied with the job he'd done. He didn't like to leave an unsatisfied customer.

Scratching at his neck where the sweat had dried thick and salty, Kell wandered out of the barn and into the cool of twilight. He was tired now, and everything was starting to hurt. But he wanted to wash before he injected. No point in risking an infection, after all.

The house was bigger than it looked from the front, with grey siding stretching out the length of two or three rooms before Kell got to the back of the building. There was a yard there, chickens cooped up for the night, and the normal detritus of farm life: a shovel against the wall, a milk can by the door. He tapped lightly on the back door and saw the silhouette of the woman moving closer.

"I'm finished, ma'am, if you'd like to take a look," Kell said politely.

The woman smiled at him. "I don't think I need to check the barn. From the looks of you, I can tell the job's done. Want to wash up before you eat?"

He nodded.

"Tap's over there," she said, pointing to the far corner of the yard. "I put some soap out there for you and shampoo too, if you want it."

It was more than he'd expected, and he thanked the woman profusely.

"Don't mention it. It's nothing to me," was all she said. "The water in the rain bucket should be warm after the day; the tap's only got cold. Come back when you're done."

He walked over to the tap, a pipe stand in the corner of the yard, with a rain barrel next to it. He saw the white of the bar of soap, a bottle of shampoo, and a beaker too. Pulling off his shirt and pants, he turned on the tap and began to pour beakers of cold water over his tired body. He didn't worry about his undershorts; they could use a wash anyway, he figured. He used the warmer rain barrel water to lather the soap up, then started to scrub at his skin, feeling the slippery sliding of the soap bubbles as he did so. He'd always liked water, liked being clean. Which was ironic, really, given how things had turned out. Up in the mountains he'd bathed every day. Even when the river was frozen in the deep of winter, he'd taken a rock and bashed himself a hole in the ice so he could be clean.

He shampooed his hair, smelling the scent of something strangely familiar, then used a few more beakers of rainwater to rinse himself off. He finished off with some more of the chilling tap water; lathering a hand and sticking it down his shorts to make sure he was clean everywhere.

When he was finished, he felt reborn. He always did. His muscles still hurt; the pain was still there, but he felt immeasurably better. Quickly, he picked up his jeans. They were dirty, but they'd do. Didn't smell too bad, even with his clean nose. His shirt, on the other hand, was a disaster. Rolling it up, he managed to cram it into the beaker full of water. Then he lathered it and rinsed it, wringing it out over the dirt of the farmyard. When it was as dry as he could make it, he put it back on, feeling the material clinging to his skin. It'll dry soon enough, he thought. If it didn't, he'd take it off before he went to sleep.

Clean and fresh, he went back to the door, and the woman nodded approvingly.

"You look much better," she observed, handing him two plates covered in foil.

"Feel better, too," he said, smiling.

"Just leave the plates on the step before you leave. I'll pick 'em up," she said.

Kell thanked her again, and, delicately balancing the two plates, he turned to take them back to the barn. If the girl wasn't there, he'd eat hers. Hell, if the girl was there, he might eat hers anyway.

"What's your name?" the woman shouted after him, surprising him enough that he almost dropped the plates.

"Er ... Kell. Kellion Mocking," he said, turning back to her.

She smiled, her teeth even and white and reflecting the light from inside the kitchen. "I'm Moira," she said. "It was nice to meet you, Kellion Mocking."

"You too, ma'am," he said, still surprised by her courtesy. "And thank you again."

"Drop by again if you're in these parts," she said. "There's always work to be done 'round here."

"I will, thank you," said Kell, knowing he wouldn't. Knowing he'd never be in these parts again.

He went back to the barn. The foil covering the plates was hot, so he guessed they'd been kept in the oven and would hold on to their heat a little longer. Finding his pack, he dug through it until he got to the metal box. It had been a long time since he'd had a home-cooked meal, and he wanted to enjoy it. He knew he'd enjoy it more without the pain, so it was worth taking the few minutes to have his injection first.

He pulled out a flashlight, a rare commodity and one he didn't use unless there was no choice. But the chances of his finding a vein in the dark of the barn were pretty slim, no matter how good he was at it these days. Propping the light up on the ground, he could see what he was doing well enough, and it took less than five minutes to get the job done. Then he spat the end of the elastic tie out of his mouth, alleviating the pressure around his arm, and took a deep breath. Arm still tingling from the needle, he packed everything away again and then took the plates back outside, where he could sit and eat in the dusky half-light, leaning against the back of the barn and looking out over the fields.

He'd already opened up the first plate, finding fried chicken, mashed potatoes, greens, and corn bread. A real meal. And then she appeared again, coming quietly to sit beside him. Kell was angry—angry at her and angry at himself. This wasn't fair, but since when was life fair? He knew he couldn't sit there and eat in front of her without giving her a plate too, but he'd been the one who had worked. He was the one who needed the food after a long, hot, sweaty afternoon in the barn.

Silently, he passed over a plate, and the girl accepted it wordlessly, tearing the foil off. He'd expected her to at least say something, at least put up a show of resistance about taking the plate, but she didn't. On the contrary, she began eating immediately.

"That's not right, you know," he couldn't help but say, mad that she'd destroyed his contentedness, that she was spoiling this meal for him. "It's not right at all."

She looked up at him, surprised. "What's not right?" she asked, swallowing a mouthful of chicken.

"It's not right that you disappear when there's work to be done and then come back to reap the rewards," he said, trying not to let his temper get the better of him. "That's not how life on the road should be. Not at all."

The girl put down the fork she was holding, and without a word she handed the plate back to him, but he wouldn't take it.

"No, I'm not going to let you starve. I'm just saying that it's wrong, that you can't do that. You can't expect to benefit from someone else's work. There's two ways of living—the easy way and the hard way, and the easy way'll always come back and bite you on the behind. You can trust me on that. And I'm not working for you; you'll need to do your own work." He was becoming breathless now, carried away with his anger. He knew he should stop but didn't. "You don't get by in life freeloading and taking the easy way out, and you don't take the benefits of someone else's work. It's as simple as that."

His hands were shaking with anger now, and this time he did manage to stop himself, not wanting to say something he was going to regret, and still seeing, even through his red-tinged eyes, that she was a girl. He recognised somewhere deep down that she was fragile, and he didn't want to be the one to break her. So he stood up and took his plate, leaving hers lying on the sandy, grassy ground in front of her, and took himself off to the other side of the barn so he could eat in peace.

The meal tasted bland. Anger had taken his taste away, he guessed, or maybe it was the morphine. Who knew? He forced himself to eat it, washing it down with cold water and wishing he'd held his tongue. There would have been a better way to get his point across. And if she couldn't be around people, for whatever reason, then it was hardly her fault. Still, she could have joined him in the barn for a while, done a little organising—there'd been no one there but him.

There was a breeze in the air drying his shirt against his body, and he sighed and put his plate down beside him. He should go apologise. Go and make amends and make sure she was all right. He rubbed his face with his hands, smelling chicken and soap, but didn't get up.

The next time he looked up, she was there, as silent as always.

"I'm sorry," she said, sitting down beside him. "Here."

She handed him a piece of corn bread and a hunk of chicken, and he took them, not knowing what else to do.

"You were right," she said. "I was wrong. You must have worked hard today."

He nodded, still feeling the strain in his arms from lifting junk.

She sat with him in the quiet, watching the bats flitting around the barn and eating insects.

Kell cleared his throat. "You know, in life there's two ways of doing things. The easy way and the tough way. And choosing the easy way is ... easy. But it'll come get you in the end. Trust me."

***

The town school was small but decent enough. All the kids from the orphanage went there, up until they were old enough to try to get into the high school in the next town over. And if they didn't get in, well, the old school would keep them for a few more years, teaching woodwork, plumbing, things of use. It wasn't a bad deal, all in all. It meant that the smart ones got a good start, and the not-so-smart ones learned something practical to do.

"You'll have to work," Angelius said.

She was sitting at one of those chairs that had a shelf to make it a desk too, and was twirling a strand of dark hair around her finger trying to figure out an algebra problem.

Kell sighed. "I know that, Ange. But you can help me. Besides, I don't wanna stick around here all my life. I got things I wanna do."

"But you could do things just as well if you were a plumber or something. And there's always money to be had if you've got a trade," she pointed out.

He knew that. And it had crossed his mind that the big high school might not be his best option. Kell didn't like working hard. Well, that wasn't quite true. He could work hard for what he wanted, but schooling wasn't really what he wanted. What he did want, however, was two things. First, he wanted to stay with Angelius, and he knew damn well that six months from now she'd be up at the high school. And second, he wanted a bigger playground to play in. He wanted out of this small town and up to the slightly bigger town where the high school was at, which had a Dairy Queen, not to mention a couple of bars and a stretch of road where the bigger guys raced their cars late at night. That was the action that Kell wanted a piece of.

Plus, he could get in. He knew he could. Okay, so his grades were borderline, but, if Ange helped him with his big English assignment and he could get his math grade up from a C- to a B-, then he'd be a shoo-in.

"Come on, Ange, I need your help. If you just go over my English paper with me and show me the mistakes and I fix 'em, it'll be fine."

She grinned at him, showing her small white teeth, and he fell in love with her all over again. Because that was what it was, he'd come to realise. He loved her and had been since the first time he'd seen her. Not that he'd told her yet, but he would, in time. And she felt the same way—he was certain of it.

"Fine, but I'm only showing you the mistakes. I'm not fixing everything up for you, okay?"

"Deal," he said, grinning back.

***

He got the paper back with an A-. Best grade he'd ever had, bar none. All he needed to do now was that whole math thing, and he'd be set. And he tried. Angelius went over formulas with him. He even did his homework for a while. But there was always something else going on: a game on TV to watch, a new record that one of the kids had—something.

By the time that early April sunshine was streaming through the window and Kell was feeling drowsy and wondering what time he could go home and what he'd eat when he got there and why the damn class wouldn't just end already, he'd come nowhere close to getting the B- he needed.

In frustration, he stared down at the paper in front of him. Numbers and letters swam around, and he had no idea what the hell to do with them. Gritting his teeth, he started to scribble things down with a pencil, so it at least looked like he'd done something. Next to him, a non-orphanage kid was doing the test in pen, and Kell hated him for that. He glanced over and saw the neat rows of figures and thought that if he had a house and parents and a dog, maybe he'd be better at this stupid stuff too. He checked the answer that he had for the first question against the answer that the other kid had. Then he erased his work and quietly scratched in the same as the other kid.

At first, a fly buzzing around the classroom, Kell told himself he was just checking his answers. And for that test, he did do some of the work himself. But the problem was that his answers were always so different to what the other kid had, and, by the time he'd seen the other kid's answer and worked out how the hell he'd got there, the test was halfway done.

May approached, and with it came longer, hotter days. Kell, sweating in his classroom, just wanted out. He didn't bother to write anything on the paper in front of him, waiting until the other kids started, then he just copied out what he could see. It was easier that way. Besides, he justified, it wasn't like he couldn't catch up later. Once he got into high school, he'd start a whole new year of math, and then he'd get it right from the beginning and do his homework and everything would be fine. This was a stop-gap measure—that was all. Like putting a bucket under a leak before you got 'round to fixing the roof.

***

"Wow, Kell, this is amazing!"

Angelius squeezed him in a big hug. He felt her ribs pressing into him, the delicate poke of her hipbones at the top of his thighs, and he blushed.

"It's not that amazing," he said, half-smiling.

"Yes, it is!" She brandished the test paper at him. "An A in math is amazing, and you should celebrate. I know you must have worked hard for this, and I'm so proud of you, Kell. I wish I'd known. I would have bought you something!"

It was too late to tell her now, but he'd had no intention of saying anything. He was just doing it (he never used the word "cheating," even in his head) until the end of the year. Then he'd be set, and it'd be over, and things would go back to normal. His stomach felt a little queasy when he thought about math, but the look of pure joy on Ange's face almost made it worth it.

"Ah! I know," she said suddenly, a small smile coming over her face.

"Know what?" he asked.

They were standing in the middle of the girls' dorm, beds stretching out on both sides, lining the walls. It smelled of industrial disinfectant and perfume, and Kell really wasn't supposed to be in here, but he'd had practice after school and rushed back to find Angelius to show her the test, and this was where he'd found her.

"What to give you to congratulate you, silly," said Angelius. "Close your eyes."

Right there in the middle of the curling linoleum of the girl's dorm, an early summer breeze coming through the open window and ruffling his hair, Kell closed his eyes. And he waited.

The soft touch of her lips almost tickled, and he was about to pull away when he felt the pressure increase. He opened his eyes and noticed that hers were closed and saw the soft down on her cheeks and the freckle next to her eye and the way her eyelashes were so long that they fluttered over her skin and how she smelled of salt and shampoo and gum, and then she pulled away.

"Wow," he said. It was the only word he could pronounce right now.

Angelius blushed, her pale skin becoming a soft pink.

"Congratulations," she said softly, looking down at the ground.

Kell felt a huge grin appearing on his face, completely outside of his control. He must look like an idiot, but he didn't care. He reached out and took Angelius's hand.

"Thank you," he said and pulled her into his arms for a hug.

They stood for long minutes, Kell just holding her, feeling her heartbeat and smelling her scent and letting time pass by them unnoticed. And then the bell for dinner rang and the moment was broken, but Kell carried it with him always. It was the most perfect moment of his life. Still was.

***

"So, she kissed you," the girl said, confused at the meaning of his story.

Kell nodded. He'd never told anyone that before. Never. And the words seemed to make it real, make it happen all over again, and he was happy, just for a second.

"She kissed me. It took me a long time to realise that I'd cheated to get that kiss, but in the end, I guess it didn't matter much. Not that part of it, anyway. What did matter was what happened a couple of years later."

***

"Mr. Mocking, come in."

The principal always spoke like that, with a fake formality that made him even more condescending than he already was. Kell picked up his book bag from the floor, stood up from the seat outside the principal's office, and went in. He sat immediately on another chair without waiting to be asked and looked down, studying his battered sneakers and wondering what the hell he was in trouble for now. It wasn't the first time in his high school career that he'd been in this seat, and he didn't think that it would be his last. But it was.

"So, Mr. Mocking." The principal walked around the desk, rolled back his chair, sat, and put his elbows on the table. "As you know, it's coming to the end of the school year, which is a time of review, a time to look back at the year and think about how far we've come. Or not come, as the case may be. Tell me, Mr. Mocking, are you pleased with your progress this year?"

Kell shrugged, not looking up. He'd been on academic probation since the year before and figured he had the same thing coming to him now. Sure, he'd started out with good intentions, but then, well, stuff had happened. Math, for a start. Seemed he hadn't got a new start at all, and from the first day he'd been as lost as he'd been in middle school. There was other stuff, though, stuff he didn't much like to consider right now.

The principal sighed. "You have nothing to say for yourself?"

Again, Kell just shrugged. He'd found it best to keep quiet when presented with authority. Partly because of the code the orphanage boys lived by to not turn anyone else in ever, but also because you were a whole lot less likely to talk yourself into more trouble if you didn't talk at all.

The principal lay his arms on the desk, and Kell finally looked up. The man was almost bald on top, and the sun from the window reflected off his head like a crystal ball. It made Kell smile.

"I'm glad you find this funny, Mr. Mocking."

That wiped the smile off his face pretty quickly.

"After reviewing your academic progress, not to mention your behaviour record, I'm afraid I have some bad news for you, Mr. Mocking. You will not be granted entry into next year's high school class."

At this, Kell sat up straight, his heart pounding and his mouth going dry. "But ... but you can't do that!"

"I think you'll find that I can." The man had a smug smile on his face that Kell wanted to slap away.

"You can't!" Kell protested. "I'm in school. It's the law—I have to be in school. You can't throw me out!"

Now it was the principal's turn to shrug. "You have to be in school, son, but you don't have to be in mine."

"But what am I supposed to do?" It came out almost as a wail.

"I suggest you go home and think about your options," said the principal. "Talk things over with your social worker maybe. I'll make sure that a copy of your record and academic reports are sent over to her."

Kell sat, unable to get out of his seat. Okay, he wasn't the best student. Okay, he wasn't the best behaved either. But this? Damn it. He hated high school, but he needed the freedom that came with taking the bus into town and doing as he pleased. He couldn't get thrown out now. Quickly, his brain ticked through all his choices. Then he thought of something, maybe a short-term solution, but it'd work.

Nodding gravely, he said, "I understand. And I'm sorry for letting you down, sir."

The principal looked pleasantly surprised at this, but he had been around teenagers long enough to be suspicious. He wasn't letting the boy back in for being polite. But he was surprised again when Kell didn't plead his case.

All the boy said was, "If I can pick up the records at the end of the day, I'll take them back with me. My social worker's coming tonight, and seems best if I get on top of this as soon as possible, sir."

The principal nodded. "Good thinking, boy," he said, wondering now if maybe he should have given him another chance.

"Thank you," said Kell, getting quietly up from his chair and leaving.

***

"Told you taking the easy way comes back to bite you in the behind," Kell said, plucking a piece of straw from the ground and chewing on it. The extra chicken and corn bread the girl had given him were long gone. "That's pretty much when my life went down the toilet, truth be told. And if I'd not cheated in that math class, not pushed to get into the place where I didn't belong, who knows where I'd be now? Probably a plumber in a little town downstate with a house and two kids and a dog." He laughed, sounding a little bitter. "But it was my own fault; I know that now."

It was completely dark now and starting to get chilly. The girl pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, but she didn't complain about the temperature. Instead, she asked curiously, "What did you do with the records he gave you?"

Kell sighed, leaning back against the side of the barn. "Destroyed 'em," he said. "Never told no one that they'd kicked me out. A few guessed, I suppose, but no one turned me in. I mean, none of the other kids did. Ange probably would have; she never bought into that whole code of silence thing. But she was in different classes than me, classes for the clever ones, so she didn't notice. I just got on that bus every morning and went to school same as anyone else and slipped out again before anyone could see me."

"And what did you do all day?"

He laughed again. "This and that. This and that. It's a story for a different time, I think. It only went on for another school year, anyway. After that, I told everyone I'd dropped out, and that was that. Got myself a job in town, or so I said. Most of the time I wasn't working at all, and, as long as I stayed in the orphanage 'till I was old enough to be signed out, they let me ride the school bus and go to work and left me alone. I was a big enough troublemaker by then that no one wanted to mess with me. Seemed the easiest way to control me, I suppose. I don't know."

It all seemed such a long time ago now, but the choices still hurt. And he knew that they'd been the wrong ones, had known even when he was making them. Well, most of them. The girl yawned, and he guessed she was tired and that they should go bed down in the barn. His bones were aching again; a lie-down would be good.