"Grandma, I can hardly wait to wear these new jeans and this straw hat,"  Emily exclaimed as her grandmother paid for the clothng  "I feel just Like Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.  She's this character in a book we read this year in fifth grade, and she . . . ."

"Yeah, Emily, I know.  Emily's younger brother Stephen interrupted.  "You told us the whole story  last night at dinner. Do we have t hear it again?"

"Now, Stephen, that wasn't polite of you," their grandmother said.  "Your parents told me you aren't looking forward to your visit this summer.  After you get used to the farm, you'll be surprised at how fast a month flies by."

 "Oh, Stephen is just mad that he can't play on the second grade summer little league team.  I can't wait to milk the cows and feed the chickens.  I'm glad we didn't have to go with Mom and Dad to Europe.  Staying on a farm is so much fun. . . . "

Stephen had stopped listening to Emily.  They had stopped to look at some puppies in a pet store window.  One of the puppies had looped ears, a sandy colored velveteen coat, which matched Stephen's sun-bleached hair, and had the most doleful  eyes. The puppy returned Stephen's gaze.  You look as sad as I feel, Stephen thought.

 "Well, at least that puppy will probably get a home," Emily said.  "You know what happens to puppies who don't have homes and wander the streets?  Why, if no one wants them, they're put to sleep.  That means. . . ."

 "Yeah, I know what that means, so don't tell me, Emily.  You can be such a know-it-all!"  Stephen stomped to their grandmother's car and waited with his arms folded for them to catch up. Stephen didn't hear anything more on the ride back to the farm.  He couldn't stop thinking about that lonely, sad puppy behind him and the boring summer ahead.  He had pleaded with his parents to let him have a puppy for his seventh birthday.   His parents had agreed that his grandparents wouldn't notice an extra small animal this summer.  But ____ his parents used that word a lot, who would take care of the dog when he and Emily were back at school and they were at work.   And, who would feed the dog everyday?  His thoughts were occupied with these arguments when the car swung into their grandparents' dirt driveway

After a lunch of applesauce and canned fruit from their grandparents' orchard, ham sandwiches made with home-baked bread, and freshly squeezed milk, Grandfather showed them what was to be their morning chore.  "I'll pay yo for the eggs you find, but not if the egg is cracked.  You have to be very gentle when you pick up the eggs from underneath the hens. 

"The problem is that old bandit racoon.  He's been sneaking into the hen house and stealing half the eggs.  If we don't stop him, we'll lose a lot of our egg business." Stephen didn't put much energy into looking for the eggs.  He hadn't felt like eating lunch either.  The extra half of the ham sandwich was in his jeans pocket.   It was easier to hide the food than to endure his grandmother's concerned looks.   He had picked at his food and thought of his friends  playing baseball when he returned in August.   By then it would be too late to sign up. 

After the egg search Grandmother introduced them to the two Morgan horses, both of whom looked too large for a seven-year old, or even Emily, an eleven-year old, to mount.  He then took them to the cow barn. 

"It's important to start at the top and squeeze and pull down at the same time to get the most milk.  Poor Betsy didn't have her usual 7:00 A.M. milking so that you could learn."   A stream of sweet-smelling milk gushed from the udder as Grandfather demonstrated. 

"This isn't as easy as it looks."  Emily insisted on being the first to try.  "I'm not going to give up."   After Grandfather had shown her the technique several times, Emily filled the pail half full.  "This is great.  I'm going to make pancakes for breakfast with this milk.  Now it's your turn, Stephen." 

"That's okay, Emily.  It looks as if there is none left," Stephen responded. 

"Why, there's at least a half-pail left.  Betsy gets cantankerous if we stop half-way through."  Grandfather placed Stephen's hands on the udder. 

"Emily, you're right, this is hard."   Stephen leaned over more and pulled on the udder.  At the same time he upset the pail of milk. 

"I've had it with you, Stephen.  Just because you don't want to be here, it doesn't mean you have to make things worse for everyone else.  If you don't like it here, you can get lost."   Emily was red with anger.  

 "All right, I will."  Stephen ran out of the barn.

"I'm sorry I said that, Grandpa.  I'll go get him."

Grandfather put his hand on Emily's shoulder.  "Let him cool off.  He can't get lost with a barbed wire fence around the farm." 

Stephen wouldn't have believed his grandfather's words if he had stayed to listen.  He followed the entrance road, cut across a field of corn,  and found himself beside a creek away from any sights or sounds from the main house. A swift flowing creek fell over a short embankment next to a large oak.  Stephen took off his shoes and dangled his feet in the cold water.  

His anger dissolved as he relaxed under the oak and listened to the birds twittering and felt the warm sun on his face. The shadow of the oak had lengthened since his arrival when Stephen sensed that he was not alone.  He felt a pull on his jean jacket and a wet, sandpaper-like movement on his arm. A small. gray, matt-haired dog, covered with birrs, had licked spilled milk off his arm and had started to consume his sandwich.  The dog allowed Stephen to pet him, then lay on his back to be scratched.   Poor guy, Stephen thought, you must be hungry, I hope we're both not lost.   Let's try to find our way back to the farm where there's more food. 

 Stephen's new companion was only happy to oblige.  Whenever Stephen lost the trail, the dog would take the lead until they came across a recognizable sound.  Where the road met the barn, Emily sat with arms crossed.  Stephen knew that, with his dog by his side, he could face anything or anyone, even a recalcitrant sister.