bedraggled appearance and the dirt that literally covered her could not hide from Nat the beauty of her eyes. "Then perhaps thou art an emissary of the Evil One, though thou hast a kind look to thy features that seemeth not to come of the Devil."

This time Nat laughed. He had read the ancient records known as books but hearing someone talk in archaic book fashion was too much. "That was quite a speech, Pretty Eyes. But get it through your head that I'm a normal human who had a momentary lapse and did an abnormal thing. I used the paralysis ray on wide range, stopped the show and hauled you off the gallows. Right now we're in a time machine headed for ... I'm not sure where."

The girl forgot her fear in momentary puzzlement. "Paralysis ray?" she repeated slowly, "Stop the show? Time machine?"

"Oh, skip it," he said. "What we need right now is a chance to get you cleaned up—and I think I know just the place. There's a pretty beach in 18th century Mexico. It's warm, and there's a fresh water stream running into the ocean. You can wash off some of that prison grime."

The sun beat down on Nat's blonde head as he sat on a rock overlooking a river mouth and several miles of Mexican beach. Abby—he'd finally discovered that her name was Abigaile Goodyeare—was behind a clump of bushes beside the stream, vainly trying to wash her voluminous clothing.

Now that the shock and humor had passed, Nat was deeply worried. He couldn't take Abby back to his own time and announce that he hadn't the heart to see her hanged, on the other hand, he simply could not take her back to 17th century New England to be hanged for witchcraft. If he dropped her off in any other time, they'd think she was insane.

Nat had been making a routine historical survey, part of the work on his thesis about life in 17th century New England. And on his first venture into time, he had ended up committing one of the most serious crimes possible in his society—Time Meddling.

Earlier in the day, just before leaving Earth University in the 25th century, tall, ascetic Anton Bor, Chief of the Time Inspection Corps, had impressed on him the penalties for Time Meddling. Fixing Nat with cold grey eyes, Bor had recited the familiar warning in calculated tones: "At no time, and under no circumstance, are people in past ages to know they are being observed."

It was Nat's first solo adventure into time, and his indoctrination, 

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