Free Song of the Trees by Mildred D. Taylor Page A

room. “You fought over that stupid stain yesterday. Now get moving, both of you. We gotta go pick blackberries before the sun gets too high. Little Man, you go gather the eggs while Christopher-John and me milk the cows.”
    Little Man and I decided to settle our dispute later when Stacey wasn’t around. With Papa away, eleven-year-old Stacey thought of himself as the man of the house, and Mama had instructed Little Man, Christopher-John, and me to mind him. So, like it or not, we humored him. Besides, he was bigger than we were.
    I ran to the back porch to wash. When I returned to the kitchen, Mama was talking to Big Ma.
    “We got about enough flour for two more meals,”Mama said, cutting the biscuit dough. “Our salt and sugar are practically down to nothing and ——” She stopped when she saw me. “Cassie, baby, go gather the eggs for Mama.”
    “Little Man’s gathering the eggs.”
    “Then go help him.”
    “But I ain’t set the table yet.”
    “Set it when you come back.”
    I knew that I was not wanted in the kitchen. I looked suspiciously at my mother and grandmother, then went to the back porch to get a basket.
    Big Ma’s voice drifted through the open window. “Mary, you oughta write David and tell him somebody done opened his letter and stole that ten dollars he sent,” she said.
    “No, Mama. David’s got enough on his mind. Besides, there’s enough garden foods so we won’t go hungry.”
    “But what ’bout your medicine? You’re all out of it and the doctor told you good to ——”
    “Shhhh!” Mama stared at the window. “Cassie, I thought I told you to go gather those eggs!”
    “I had to get a basket, Mama!” I hurried off the porch and ran to the barn.
    After breakfast when the sun was streaking red across the sky, my brothers and I ambled into the coolness of the forest leading our three cows and their calves down the narrow cow path to the pond. The morning was already muggy, but the trees closed out the heat as their leaves waved restlessly, high above our heads.
    “Good morning, Mr. Trees,” I shouted. They answered me with a soft, swooshing sound. “Hear ’em, Stacey? Hear ’em singing?”
    “Ah, cut that out, Cassie. Them trees ain’t singing. How many times I gotta tell you that’s just the wind?” He stopped at a sweet alligator gum, pulled out his knife and scraped off a glob of gum that had seeped through its cracked bark. He handed me half.
    As I stuffed the gooey wad into my mouth, I patted the tree and whispered, “Thank you, Mr. Gum Tree.”
    Stacey frowned at me, then looked back at Christopher-John and Little Man walking far behind us, munching on their breakfast biscuits.
    “Man! Christopher-John! Come on, now,” he yelled. “If we finish the berry picking early, we can go wading before we go back.”
    Christopher-John and Little Man ran to catch up withus. Then, resuming their leisurely pace, they soon fell behind again.
    A large gray squirrel scurried across our path and up a walnut tree. I watched until it was settled amidst the tree’s featherlike leaves; then, poking one of the calves, I said, “Stacey, is Mama sick?”
    “Sick? Why you say that?”
    “Cause I heard Big Ma asking her ’bout some medicine she’s supposed to have.”
    Stacey stopped, a worried look on his face. “If she’s sick, she ain’t bad sick,” he decided. “If she was bad sick, she’d been in bed.”
    We left the cows at the pond and, taking our berry baskets, delved deeper into the forest looking for the wild blackberry bushes.
    “I see one!” I shouted.
    “Where?” cried Christopher-John, eager for the sweet berries.
    “Over there! Last one to it’s a rotten egg!” I yelled, and off I ran.
    Stacey and Little Man followed at my heels. But Christopher-John puffed far behind. “Hey, wait for me,” he cried.
    “Let’s hide from Christopher-John,” Stacey suggested.
    The three of us ran in different directions. I plunged behind a giant old pine and