Amazing Grace by Nancy Allen Page B

caught a glimmer of a tear, or maybe it was the sunlight glistening in her eyes.
    Mom and Grandma tackled cucumber hills and rows for planting beans and corn as I hoofed it over to the toolshed where Grandma kept her garden supplies. Rummaging around, I found an old pair of overalls, faded and torn in more places than I could count. Grandpa wore them before he passed on. I searched some more and found an old shirt with half the back ripped out. “Perfect clothes for a scarecrow,” I told Spot.”
    Spot yapped. In dog talk, that meant he agreed.
    Johnny found an old worn-out basket for a head and a wooden box for a body. I hung the basket high on the fence post and the box on a nail a few inches below it. Next came the hard part: tugging the clothes around the box—first the shirt, then the pants.
    Johnny ran back to Grandma’s tool shed and found a smashed straw hat with the biggest part of the brim gone. He climbed the fence and tied the hat to the basket.
    I stuffed old leftover corn stalks from last year’s garden in the shirtsleeves and pant legs. Then I stood back to eye our work.

    â€œPerfect,” I announced.
    Spot yapped again in approval.
    â€œThat’s a fine piece of labor there, Gracie Girl, Johnny,” Grandma said. “I never thought I’d see your grandpa’s old work clothes put to use again, but it does my heart good to see them out here. It’s kind of like having him back with us.” Grandma smiled and grabbed a cup of corn to plant.
    â€œGrace Ann,” Mom called, “you can plant your pumpkins now.” She pointed to an area at the side of Grandma’s house where Mr. Wick and Moonglow had plowed.
    I spent the afternoon tossing rocks out of the plowed ground. Johnny was a big help, running around pretending to be a fire engine. He stayed a safe distance from me but close enough to whisper, “Scarecrow” every time I looked his way.
    Johnny kept jumping around, wanting to plant his carrot seeds and just plain being a pest. Finally, I’d had enough of his foolishness. “Johnny, did you know that rabbits set their mouths for sweet, ripe carrots?” I asked him.
    â€œThey can have your pumpkins, Scarecrow,” he said with a giggle.
    â€œYou know about rabbit dreams, don’t you?” I asked. I figured if my tall tales were good enough for Vickie, they were good enough for Johnny, too.
    Johnny shook his head. “No.”
    â€œIf you dream about a rabbit eating carrots,” I told him, “the dream will happen. It’s true. Last year, Janie dreamed that rabbits ate her carrots, and sure enough, they did. About a week later, Carolyn had the same dream. Guess who had no carrots?”
    Johnny looked at me.
    â€œIf you keep bothering me,” I said, “I’ll probably dream about rabbits and your carrots. I can see my dream already and the crunch, crunch, crunch of carrot-chomping bunnies.”
    Johnny wore a look of pure fear.
    I spouted off, “Yep, too bad about your carrots. Rabbits leave all other vegetables alone.”
    That brother of mine didn’t look too happy with the news. Served him right for calling me “Scarecrow” and making a pest of himself, but he settled down and played with a toy truck.
    I used the hoe to build big hills of dirt, and then I flattened the tops of each. I dropped six seeds, spaced way apart, onto each hill. I used my finger to poke the seeds down under the dirt. Mr. Wick left some of Moonglow’s dried-up manure to use as a fertilizer. I pulled on Grandma’s garden gloves, mixed some loose soil with the dried mule pies and sprinkled the stuff on top of the planted seeds. For good luck, I crossed my fingers and tapped each hill.
    I trudged into Grandma’s kitchen, tired but excited. I couldn’t wait for little green pumpkin plants to push up through the dirt.
    After supper, we listened to the wireless. Walter Winchell talked about