Grandpa sensed how I felt about the ax. He waited in silence for my answer.
The excitement of the hunt was so strong in me, even the sight of the ax brought back only a fleeting remembrance of Rubin’s accident.
I said, “Yes, we will need one. Besides, it’s a good one and there’s no use in throwing it away.”
Grandpa laughed, reached over, and screwed my cap around on my head, saying, “That the boy, that’s what I wanted you to say.
Now, you better go to the barn and get some hay and make a bed in the buggy box for your dogs.”
“Aw, Grandpa,” I said, “they can walk. They don’t ever get tired; besides, they’re used to walking.”
“Walk!” Grandpa almost shouted. “They’re not going to walk. No, sir, not if I can help it. You want them to be footsore when we get there?”
Papa chuckled and said, “We can’t win a gold cup with two sore-footed hounds, can we?”
“Of course not,” Grandpa said. “Now, you go and get that hay like I said.”
As I turned to go to the barn I couldn’t help but smile. It made me feel good to have my papa and grandpa so concerned about my dogs.
I had taken only a few steps when Grandpa said, “Oh, wait a minute.”
I stopped and turned around. Walking up to me and glancing toward the house as he did,
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