No Small Victory Read Online Free Page B

It’s not fishing season.”
    â€œI know that, Amy. But we have no meat to eat this winter—not even a chicken’s neck to wring.”
    Bonnie looked hopefully at her father. She wasn’t so sure she liked fish, but it would be better than turnips.
    â€œI hope the game warden wasn’t listening in. It’s a party line, you know.”
    â€œYes, but we talked the details over before. So I just needed the go-ahead now.”
    â€œWell, I thought you said plenty. And if you’re thrown in jail, what will Bonnie and I do?”
    â€œGo home to your parents. They’ll not put you out,” said Dad. His clear blue eyes twinkled. He seemed to know what his wife’s reaction would be to this suggestion.
    â€œI’d sooner starve than go crawling home!”
    â€œWell, you could always go on Relief. That’d pay the basics.”
    â€œStop! Stop!” Mum hissed—something like a snake, thought Bonnie. She shuddered as she remembered the long snake on the little spruce tree.
    â€œI’m not in this alone,” Dad said. “Johnson and Post and Hubbs cooked up this scheme.”
    â€œSure—and you’ll go to jail together. Or more likely alone. You won’t be able to pay the fine. They probably can.”
    â€œDon’t worry so much, Amy. The game warden seldom works on Saturdays, and besides, they leave someone as a lookout. I’ll slip right out of there if there’s any sign of the law.”
    Mum finished poking the fire and then banged the poker onto its hook behind the stove. “Well, I’m not comfortable with this. So far we’ve always trusted God to provide.”
    â€œYes, I agree, but we have to do our part. ‘Look to the ant, thou sluggard. Consider her ways and be wise,’” quoted Dad.
    Mum harrumphed. “I can’t stop you—just hope you can outrun the warden.”
    Dad turned to Bonnie. “Want to come along?”
    â€œThomas, are you out of your mind?” said Mum. But Dad had already disappeared out the back door.
    Bonnie followed and grabbed her old, blue knitted sweater and her black rubber boots from the back shed. Sitting on the steps just outside, she threw her old shoes off and pulled the tall boots on. Since she was short, the boots reached up to three inches above her knees. Then she pulled on the sweater and rushed, boots flapping, to catch up to her father.
    She ran along the pathway to the small gate and into the barnyard. Just then, Dad came out of the granary with two empty sacks flung over his left shoulder. “C’mon, Bonnie,” he said. “Keep up or stay at home.” He swung back the long, heavy gate that separated the barnyard from the laneway leading toward the western boundary of the farm. It veered over steep hills until it reached a woodland of oaks and maple trees. Then it sloped down steeply to the main road that went south and west into the hamlet of Lang.
    â€œAre we going to walk?” Bonnie asked.
    â€œOf course. It’s not worth taking the horses. Burnham’s Dam is just a bit to the southwest. We’ll be fishing in Indian River—the same one that runs through Lang.”
    Bonnie was concentrating so hard on keeping up with her father’s long strides, she could hardly hear him. She was puffing just to keep breathing. Just last year, she’d been away from school for six weeks with a sore throat and swollen glands. Since then, she had never completely lost her cough. But Bonnie didn’t let that ruin her day. She was so happy to be out in the fields on this crisp day in early fall. It was much better than being stuck in a house that smelled so strongly of Lysol.
    Bonnie and her father left the hilly laneway and headed across the steep fields. Before long, they arrived at a rail fence. Dad climbed over and strode on across the grassy field on the other side of the fence. “I’m going to be ploughing this field