Free Once Upon a Summer by Janette Oke Page A

the men-folk got in from the fields. I jumped up rather suddenly and headed for the door.
    “Josh,” Great-grandpa called after me. I thought that he might be goin’ to mention the fact that I hadn’t asked to be excused, so I stood there feelin’ rather sheepish.
    “Josh, you are the chore-boy in harvest time, I assume.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Do you have many chores?”
    “Quite a few, sir.”
    He smiled.
    “Let’s see now.” He seemed to be workin’ on something as he tugged at one side of his mustache. “We should be able to come up with something better than ‘sir’ for you to address me by, shouldn’t we?”
    “Yes—Great-grandfather.”
    He laughed again.
    “Now that ,” he said, “is really a mouthful. That will never do. You could drown or starve at the table before you got my attention with all of that to say.”
    I smiled.
    “You call Daniel ‘Grandpa’?”
    I nodded.
    “Then it can’t be just grandpa or we’d never know whom you meant.”
    He worked on his mustache some more.
    “Grandfather is too dignified for me.” He wrinkled his nose in a humorous smile. “On the other hand, Grandpappy is not dignified enough. That leaves Gramps. What do you think of Gramps?”
    “I rather like it, sir.” I tried biting off the “sir,” but it slipped out anyway. He smiled.
    “Okay, Gramps it will be. Lou can call me Gramps, too, and then you’ll both know whom you are talking about.”
    I grinned. It would be nice to share the name with Lou. I glanced again at the clock. It was gettin’ late.
    “Now then,” said Gramps, “do you suppose an old man trailing around with you while you do the chores would slow you down too much?”
    “Oh, no, sir—Gramps.”
    “Good! You run along and get started, and I’ll get changed into the overalls that I bought in town. I’ll join you as soon as I can.”
    I was off on a run. I knew what needed to be done and what I should tackle first to get it out of the way; I worked as quickly as I could, feeling an excitement that I couldn’t put into words at the thought of Gramps comin’ to join me.
    Tonight my dog was a rusty brown with soft eyes and long droopy ears. But I had little time for her after explainin’ the reason for my rush.
    “Ginger, ya jest gonna have to stand aside so you don’t git tramped on ’cause I’m in a hurry to git as much done as I can before Gramps comes to help me.”
    The pigs must have wondered what had happened, the way that I ran with the slop-pails and chop. Then I took the grain and water to the chickens. On the lope, I left for the pasture gate to let Bossie down the lane. I didn’t dare to run her and I felt all agitated at her slow walk for fear Gramps would be waitin’ for me. He was, though he didn’t seem at all put out about it.
    His new overalls looked strange on him. He had rolled up the cuffs so that they wouldn’t drag in the dirt. He wore a new pair of farmer’s boots, too, and an old sweater that he referred to as his “gardenin’ sweater.”
    We walked to the house for the milk pail, then back again to the barn. He pulled up an extra stool and watched me as the white streams of milk filled the pail with foam. As I milked he talked to me. He even talked to Bossie, and I had the strangest feelin’ that at any time he might turn around and begin talkin’ to Ginger, too.
    We took the full pail of milk to the house, and Gramps said that sometime he’d like to give it a try—it looked easy enough. Did I think that Bossie would mind? I didn’t think so. She was pretty even-tempered and never really seemed to mind anything but the pesky flies that sometimes drove her runnin’ with her tail flyin’ high.
    By the time we were back from the house, Bossie had finished her chop. I let her out of her stanchion and we drove her down the lane and back to pasture. While we walked, Gramps told me how it had been for him growin’ up as a boy in a big city back east. No open pastures or acres of trees, but