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"
I
hope
they
do
,
"
whispered
Douglas
.
"
Oh
,
I
sure
hope
they
know
.
"
Douglas
opened
his
eyes
.
Dad
was
standing
high
above
him
there
in
the
green
-
leaved
sky
,
laughing
,
hands
on
hips
.
Their
eyes
met
.
Douglas
quickened
.
Dad
knows
,
he
thought
.
It
was
all
planned
.
He
brought
us
here
on
purpose
,
so
this
could
happen
to
me
!
He
’
s
in
on
it
,
he
knows
it
all
.
And
now
he
knows
that
I
know
.
A
hand
came
down
and
seized
him
through
the
air
.
Swayed
on
his
feet
with
Tom
and
Dad
,
still
bruised
and
rumpled
,
puzzled
and
awed
,
Douglas
held
his
strange
-
boned
elbows
tenderly
and
licked
the
fine
cut
lip
with
satisfaction
.
Then
he
looked
at
Dad
and
Tom
.
"
I
’
ll
carry
all
the
pails
,
"
he
said
.
"
This
once
,
let
me
haul
everything
.
"
They
handed
over
the
pails
with
quizzical
smiles
.
He
stood
swaying
slightly
,
the
forest
collected
,
full
-
weighted
and
heavy
with
syrup
,
clenched
hard
in
his
down
-
slung
hands
.
I
want
to
feel
all
there
is
to
feel
,
he
thought
.
Let
me
feel
tired
,
now
,
let
me
feel
tired
.
I
mustn
’
t
forget
,
I
’
m
alive
,
I
know
I
’
m
alive
,
T
mustn
’
t
forget
it
tonight
or
tomorrow
or
the
day
after
that
.
The
bees
followed
and
the
smell
of
fox
grapes
and
yellow
summer
followed
as
he
walked
heavy
-
laden
and
half
drunk
,
his
fingers
wonderously
callused
,
arms
numb
,
feet
stumbling
so
his
father
caught
his
shoulder
.
"
No
,
"
mumbled
Douglas
,
"
I
’
m
all
right
.
I
’
m
fine
.
.
.
"
It
took
half
an
hour
for
the
sense
of
the
grass
,
the
roots
,
the
stones
,
the
bark
of
the
messy
log
,
to
fade
from
where
they
had
patterned
his
arms
and
legs
and
back
.
While
he
pondered
this
,
let
it
slip
,
slide
,
dissolve
away
,
his
brother
and
his
quiet
father
followed
behind
,
allowing
him
to
pathfind
the
forest
alone
out
toward
that
incredible
highway
which
would
take
them
back
to
the
town
.
.
.
