The ferry left at dusk with nine passengers and a goat. "Count them again," said the captain, and the boy counted ten.

"Ten," said the boy again. The captain laughed and rang the bell. "Then one of us is a liar, lad, and it is not the goat."

The boy looked down the benches. Nine faces looked back. The tenth seat was wet, as if someone had just stood up from the river.

"Count the goat as two," said an old woman, and nobody laughed. The lamp at the bow went out.

The boy held up the relit lamp. A small wet girl sat on the tenth seat, wringing out her braid. "I only wanted to cross," she said.

The captain counted once more, aloud, and this time nobody corrected him.