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"Grampa, how big are my melons now?" For a long time the man didn't answer. "Grampa, are you there?" "There were gophers in the garden," the man said. "They got the beans and the carrots, and they got your melon plants. They eat the roots and the plants die." |
| The boy's face was tight and his
eyes stung. He had waited for weeks, since the sun had turned from
warm to hot and the wind had gone from a howl to a whisper and the smell
of blossoms had disappeared from the air.
"I hate gophers," he said. "Gophers are a little like you, Scooter. They live in the dark, in tunnels under the ground, and their eyes don't know the bright world. They know what they smell and touch and taste." "Like me," said the boy, and his words echoed softly in
his
ears.
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