OCR Text |
Show page 32 over the pot. "That's mama's r a b b i t ! " he shouted in his father's ear. Willie slapped at him with a greasy hand, John Green's t i g h t lips indicated a hard controlling of t e a r s . One hand, gripping his worn denims, felt the remaining shotgun shell in his pocket. He looked at the shotgun on the wall and then at his mother, Cora r e l a t e s. The mother sat bolt upright in bed. "No, no, son; no, no, John Greene," she said pleadingly. And then, her eyes x^idening, she said, " I t ' s the drought, son; the weather, only the hot weather. Let him have i t ." She sank back to the bed, exhausted. John Greene reached up for the shotgun and thrust his remaining shell in i t . He stared at his father. Then John Greene, almost crying, pushed himself to the door and out into the night. He retraced his steps along the t r a i l to the creek, crossed i t , and leaned again against the white oak t r e e. He waited for another rabbit. There in the dark countryside not far from our tcwn he waited p a t i e n t l y . . . . |