“On a short day,” said Papa.
The wind was up now, and Samuel knotted his scarf a little tighter around his neck. He and his father each ate a wedge of cheese and an apple.
“What if Mr. Everett doesn’t want the watch?” said Samuel.
“That’s possible,” said Papa. “Farmers and dairymen don’t cater to watches much. We know what time it is by the sun.”
Samuel looked up into the sky. Even though the clouds were thick and dark, he knew it was probably close to two o’clock. Maybe a little later.
He wasn’t sure that Mr. Everett would want a pocket watch.
When they came out of town, he still wasn’t sure Mr. Everett would want a pocket watch.
When they crossed the Wire Bridge, he still wasn’t sure Mr. Everett would want a pocket watch.
When they climbed Hurd Hill, he sure did hope that Mr. Everett would want a pocket watch after they had come all that way.
“Nearly there,” said Papa. “If it wasn’t snowing so hard, you’d be able to see the house.”
And Papa was right: soon they were knocking on the Everetts’ door, and Mrs. Everett was unfastening Samuel’s jacket and unknotting his scarf and asking if he’d rather have his hot milk plain or with cocoa powder mixed in and saying that he’d done well to come so far with his father when the weather was this cold and wet.
Samuel decided he liked Mrs. Everett very much. “With cocoa powder,” he said.
He surely, surely did hope that Mr. Everett would want a pocket watch.
Nine
Samuel was sipping his cup of cocoa—it was very hot—when he heard the word “pony.”
“Not much use to us anymore,” Mr. Everett said, “since Mariella grew up and got herself married. Mother drives the horses, same as me, when she needs to go to town. The cart hasn’t been out in ages.”
Samuel tried to sip his cocoa quietly. A cart!
“And the pony is a good little thing. She’d be gentle as can be with young Samuel.”
A pony and a cart! It was all Samuel could do not to say it was a good trade and they’d take it.
But Samuel’s father seemed to think it a good trade too. “I guess you’ve made us a fair offer. Do you agree, Samuel?”
Samuel nodded. He didn’t trust himself to say anything at all.
He imagined that when spring came and he was finished taking care of the merino for the day, he could drive the pony and cart over to the Perrys’ and play with the kittens. In summer, he could ride the pony around the fields, looking for blueberries. Maybe he could race Dr. Fulton’s mare—not that he’d win, but just to race!
“I think we have an agreement, then,” Mr. Everett said. “This watch is just what I’ve been looking for.”
Papa smiled. “Samuel, it’s time to be on our way. The sun will be down before we’re ready for it.”
Samuel nodded. “It’s a long road on a short day,” he said. He gulped the last of his cocoa and thanked Mrs. Everett. She helped him into his winter things, handed Samuel the mittens she’d been drying over the wood stove, and knotted his scarf around him.
“Be careful out in the storm,” she said.
By the time Samuel was ready, Mr. Everett had brought the cart and pony into the yard. “Her name is Dolly,” he told Samuel.
“Dolly is a good name for a pony,” said Samuel.
Papa gave him the last apple, and Samuel fed it to Dolly. Then he got in the cart and took the reins, and Papa walked by Dolly’s head.
Ten
When they came out onto the road, it was getting harder to see, since now the snow held steady and the sun was low. They looked up the hill toward Mr. Buxton’s dairy farm and down the road toward home.
Papa stopped and turned to Samuel. “Son, we have a decision to make. I’d like to keep this pony and cart, but they’re not what your mother wanted.”
Samuel looked at Dolly. He looked at the reins in his hands. “I could be more help around the farm with this pony and cart,” he said.
“That’s so,” said Papa.
“And I don’t suppose we’ll ever have a chance like this again,” said Samuel.
“That’s so as well. At least, not until you’d be tall enough to ride a full-size horse.”
“But that won’t be very long from now, will it?”
Papa smiled. “Not very long at all. And no one could dispute the fact that you’ve done a man’s job today.”
“Do you think Mr. Buxton would trade us a milk cow for Dolly and her cart?”
“We won’t know until we ask,” Papa said.
The road led up the hill and past a forest of tall white pines. The branches dipped under the snow that fell thick upon them, and sometimes they sprang up when a gust blew the flakes off into a whirlwind.
Dolly walked steadily on the slick road. Samuel felt her sureness through the reins, even when she tossed her head back and forth to shed the snow. She was a good pony, and Samuel wished again, just a little bit, it wasn’t a brown-eyed cow his mother was wanting.
Eleven
Mr. Buxton was in his barn, beginning evening chores. “Good to see you,” he called. “A welcome surprise. Stay for supper. Two more would be no trouble at all.”
Samuel’s hands had gotten cold on the ride over, even though Mrs. Everett had dried his mittens. He half hoped Papa would say yes.
“Thank you,” said Papa. “We need to be on our way. But we’re in hopes of a trade. We’ve found ourselves with a pony and cart.”
“Jim Everett’s?” Mr. Buxton said. “I’ve been meaning to ask him about that cart. My Peggy is almost old enough to drive it. It would be a help if she could get herself to school in the morning.”
“Yes,” said Papa. “The pony seems even-tempered.”
Mr. Buxton jabbed his pitchfork into a haystack. “I wonder if you might be interested in trading for one of the young calves,” he said. “Your boy could fatten it up for a year. She’d bring a good price at market.”
Samuel thought of taking care of a merino sheep and a young calf on top of all his other chores.
“That would be a good trade,” Papa said, “and Samuel would be a good hand at it. But we were in hopes of going home with a milk cow.”
“That right, Samuel?” said Mr. Buxton.
“Yes, sir,” said Samuel.
“You’re not wanting that pony?”
Samuel looked at his papa, then at Mr. Buxton. “I do want the pony, but we need a milk cow.”
“You have a baby sister at home, don’t you?”
Samuel nodded.
“Jonathan,” Mr. Buxton said, “it’s a joy to any man to see his child grow like your young Samuel. He’s taken a man’s part, and you should be proud of him.”
Papa nodded. Samuel knew he was.
“I believe I could part with one of my milkers,” said Mr. Buxton, “seeing that Peggy would dearly love this pony and cart. Come to the tie-up and choose one that pleases you.”
Samuel got off the cart. He wiped the snow off Dolly’s back and he kissed her once, on the nose. Then he followed Papa into the barn.
They looked at two long rows of cows, all mooing for their supper. “What do you think, Samuel?” Papa said. “Which one do you like best?”
“And Samuel,” said Mr. Buxton, “when you’re done, I’ve got something else for you to choose.”
Twelve
The snow was falling fast and the light was almost gone when Samuel and his father turned toward home. They walked down Hurd Hill, past the tall white pines, past the Everetts’ farm, toward the Wire Bridge and town. “Come, Bossy,” said Papa.
“Come, Ned,” said Samuel.
Bossy was the cow with the biggest and brownest eyes Samuel had ever seen.
And Ned was the border collie pup with the whitest collar around his shoulders and the whitest tip on his tail and the perkiest ears and the brightest eyes and the darkest coat Samuel had ever seen.
“We’ve had two litters this year,
” Mr. Buxton had said. “It would be a kindness if you would take one of these pups off my hands, young Samuel.”
Samuel had hardly been able to speak. He had knelt down, and one of the pups—the one with the whitest collar and the whitest tip on his tail and the perkiest ears and the darkest coat—had bumbled up to him and licked his face.
Now Samuel and his father and Bossy and Ned walked over the Wire Bridge, and the wind pushed to get under Samuel’s scarf.
“Bossy is hardly a proper name for a cow,” said Samuel.
“Why don’t you name her, then?” said his father. “You’ll be the one doing the milking.”
The snow swirled into Samuel’s eyes.
“Blizzard,” he said. “Let’s call her Blizzard.”
“A fine and proper name,” said Samuel’s father.
Back in town, the roads had already been rolled, so the walking was easier. They walked past Mr. Lewis’s store, where all the lights were out. “I guess he figures there won’t be anyone else out on this night,” said Papa. They walked past the Widow Mitchell’s house, and they saw her sitting near the lamp in the front window, reading.
Samuel and his father and Blizzard and Ned kept on toward home.
Out of town, the snow was deep again. They walked past the Perrys’ place, and Samuel hoped the kittens would stay warm—especially the kitten with the little bit of white around his nose. Then they walked past the Snows’ farm, and Hallie Girl came out to yip at them and wag her tail and nuzzle Ned.
Samuel and his father and Blizzard and Ned kept on toward home.
“I think I see the lights of our farm up ahead,” said Samuel.
“And just in time,” said his father. “This cold is more than enough for two men to bear.”
They started to walk a little faster through the gathering snow. Ned ran on ahead, then came back to bark at them, then ran ahead, then came back to bark at them, until they were at their own farm, where every window in the house had a light glowing. And there was Mama opening the door to look out for them, and Ned bumbling up to her through the snow, and Blizzard mooing when she saw her new barn, and Mama with her hands up to her face. “Oh my!” she said. “Oh my!”
Samuel and Ned took Blizzard into her stall, and they spread hay for her, and Samuel pulled out one of Star’s warm blankets for Ned to nestle into, and when he came back out of the barn, his father and his mother were still standing by the door, waiting for him.
“It’s been a long road on a short day,” said Samuel.
“Come inside and tell me all about it,” said his mother.
And that is just what Samuel did.
Visit hmhbooks.com to find more books by Gary D. Schmidt.
About the Authors
GARY D. SCHMIDT is the acclaimed author of middle-grade novels that include The Wednesday Wars and Okay for Now, as well as picture books, most recently Almost Time, illustrated by G. Brian Karas. Gary is a professor of English at Calvin University and lives in rural Michigan.
ELIZABETH STICKNEY is the pen name of Gary’s late wife. Anne Schmidt wrote essays, poetry, and several picture book texts, and was the co-editor of Acceptable Words, an anthology for writers.
About the Illustrator
EUGENE YELCHIN, a Russian-born artist, has illustrated more than twenty books for children, some of which he also wrote. Breaking Stalin’s Nose was a Newbery Honor book. He lives in Southern California with his family.
eugeneyelchinbooks.com
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