“Old Pete ain’t gonna trap it, is he?” Andrew whispered. The two children were crouched on the edge of the beaver pond, peering at the yearling beaver feeding on the opposite bank.
“He says he needs a new hat, and beaver tail is mighty tasty,” Alma answered.
“He don’t need a new hat!” Andrew said loudly. There was a slapping sound on the water to their left, and the yearling turned and slid into the pond.
“I didn’t even see the other one,” Andrew said sorrowfully.
“Should of kept your voice down.” Alma stood up.
“How can you watch ’em like you do and not worry about Old Pete trapping ’em?”
She shrugged. “Everything dies. Mama says it’s all part of God’s plan.” She moved away, toward the rocky path that led up the Cimarron River toward home.
“Old Pete don’t need a new hat,” Andrew insisted as he followed.
Copyright © 2015 Loretta Miles Tollefson