Sagegrass

Sagegrass by DELMAS W. ABBOTT The heat of the day had hung on after dark, holding off the evening coolness for a spell. In front of our house, Mamma and Papa and Billy and I sat with our chairs leaning against the edge of the porch. Mamma and Papa didn't talk. They just sat and looked as the dark got darker. But it couldn't get much darker, because the moon would be bulging out full from behind Morgan's Knob pretty soon. A fat toad hopped out from under the porch and plopped down beside Billy. He eased out of his chair and got a long stick to push along behind it to make it think a snake was after it. The toad hopped fast hops around the corner of the house toward the chimney. And Billy followed it. I was waiting for another star to push through the dark so I could quit counting. I had counted nine stars for eight nights in a row. This made the ninth. Tonight I would dream about the girl I was going to marry. The moon began to show through the trees on top of Morgan's Knob. And the hotness of the evening began to cool as a wind blew and stirred up a little swishing fuss in the weeping willow tree in our front yard. Across the moon, ragged clusters of clouds swam and sent shadows crawling across the cornfields. Mamma went into the house for a moment; then she came back out wearing the gray shawl that grandmaw had knitted for her. "I'm goin' to Miz Denny's and set with her fer a spell," Mamma said. "I won't be gone more'n a hour." She started down the yard path. "I'll walk with ye," Papa said. "You'd better stay here and look after these young uns." "They can go too. Git Bill and run and ketch up with us," Papa said to me, and he started walking down the path toward Mamma. Mamma turned around and started back to the house. "I reckon I won't go," she said, and she looked mad as she went into the house. In a minute I heard the back door slam. Papa stood still for a long time; then he said, "Git Bill." I fouEid Billy with his toad cornered by the chimney and punching at it with his stick, but it was sulled and wouldn't move any more. "Quit a-pokin' that toad." "Aw, I aint a-hurtin' it." "Papa wants ye," I told him. He dropped his stick and came with me when I said Papa wanted him. When we got back around to the front of the house, Papa was coming out the door loading his double-barrel shot-gun. "Where we goin'?" Billy asked. "Down to th' spring house to watch fer th' dog that's been a-gettin into th' milk." We followed him down the spring path 21 as the wind started to blow a little harder, making the sage grass in the field behind the spring house lean with it. The sage grass was tall and thick and dry, and the moonlight made it look white and quivery. Somewhere up on Morgan's Knob I could hear a whippoorwill and the lonesome trill of a screech owl. Tree frogs were trying to out croak the toads, and bullfrogs were bellering in the cat-o-nine-tails along the spring branch. One kerchugged into the water as we crossed the branch to sit behind some alder bushes and watch for the milk-stealing dog. We bent some sage grass over to sit on, and the rest of it leaned away from us the way the wind was blowing . "Don't talk," Pappa said. Billy scrouged up close to me, and we kept still. We sat there for a long time, but the dog didn't come. Papa seemed restless. He kept breaking sage straws into little pieces. Finally he stood up and said, "I reckon that damn dog ain't a-comin, tonight." He got his pipe out of his hip pocket and cupped his hand over the...