He reminded me of someone who had just dropped a heavy load.
In a slow, calm voice, he asked, “Are you all right, Billy?”
“Yes, Papa,” I said. “Oh, I’m a little tired and sleepy, otherwise I’m fine.”
He slid from the mule’s back and came over. “Your mother’s worried,” he said.
“When you didn’t come in, we didn’t know what had happened. You should’ve come home.”
I didn’t know what to say. I bowed my head and looked at the ground.
I was trying hard to choke back the tears when I felt his hand on my shoulder.
“I’m not scolding,” he said. “We just thought maybe you had an accident or something.”
I looked up and saw a smile on his face. He turned and looked again at the tree.
“Say,” he said, “this is the sycamore you call ‘the big tree,’ isn’t it?”
I nodded my head. “Is there a coon in it?” he asked.
“There sure is, Papa,” I said. “He’s in that hollow limb. See—that one way up there.”
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