The Thanksgiving Treasure by Gail Rock

oranges?” I asked.
    â€œYep. Your grandma’s almost as good at cranberry sauce as my wife was,” he said.
    Then he reached into the sack to see if there was anything else, and he found the lump of wax paper with a carrot and two sugar lumps in it.
    â€œWhat’s this?” he asked.
    â€œOh, don’t eat that!” I said. “That’s for Marble Cake!”
    â€œWho?”
    â€œYour horse.”
    â€œWhat do you know about my horse?” he asked, looking suspicious.
    â€œUh … we saw her …”
    â€œWhen was that?”
    â€œThe other day,” said Carla Mae without thinking. “When we were here.” I gave her a kick under the table.
    Rehnquist looked at us sharply. “You the two I caught sneaking around here the other day?”
    â€œWe had to sneak,” I said. “We were afraid of you. We’re not afraid of you now, though.” I gave him a weak smile.
    â€œYa sure?” he asked.
    â€œYeah,” I said, and Carla Mae nodded in agreement.
    â€œWell, don’t be so sure,” he said. “I might shoot ya yet, if I catch you sneakin’ around here again.”
    â€œWe have no intention of sneaking, now that we’re friends,” I said. “We’ll just come to your front door and knock.”
    â€œYou stay away from my front door! Who says we’re friends?”
    â€œWell, aren’t we?” I asked. “We brought you this terrific dinner, didn’t we?”
    â€œWhy?” he asked.
    â€œWell, because …”
    â€œBecause why?”
    â€œTell him again, Addie,” said Carla Mae. “You know, about the spirit of Thanksgiving …”
    I looked at him.
    â€œI’m a pretty smart old gink,” he said. “So don’t fool around with me, sister. Tell me the truth!”
    â€œI told you, it’s the spirit of Thanksgiving, and … I was worried about your horse.”
    â€œYou’re worried about Treasure?” he said, looking at me curiously.
    â€œTreasure?” I said. “Is that her name? That’s nifty!”
    â€œWhat are you worried about Treasure for?”
    â€œShe’s in awful condition, Mr. Rehnquist. She’s too fat. Someone ought to exercise her.”
    â€œI used to ride her when I had cows up to the north pasture,” he said. “Now I don’t have no cows, so she don’t get rid.”
    â€œWell,” I said, trying to sound nonchalant, “someone ought to care for her. Did you know that some people who have horses that need exercising actually pay someone to ride them?”
    â€œWell,” he said, squinting at me, “did you know that some people who got horses actually get paid for letting people ride them?”
    â€œThat sounds backward to me,” I said, “but I’d be willing to exercise her for a fair trade in tadpoles and a couple of turtles out of your stream, and it seems to me that you’d be getting the better part of the deal … if you want to know the truth.”
    â€œNot so fast there,” he said. “Turtles are worth money. They get as high as ten cents fer ’em down at the dime store!”
    â€œThat’s because they have paintings on their backs,” I answered quickly. “Yours are just plain.”
    â€œWhy don’t you get that father of yours to buy my horse,” he said, “then you can exercise her whenever you want.”
    â€œMy father won’t buy me a horse,” I said. “He won’t even let me ride one.”
    â€œYour father won’t let you ride a horse?” he asked, giving me a sly look.
    â€œNope.”
    â€œOkay,” he said.
    â€œOkay, what?”
    â€œWe got a deal,” he said. “You can exercise her if you don’t come around the house bothering me none.”
    â€œHonest?” I asked, not believing my ears.
    â€œYeah,” he said.
    To make sure he was going to stick