"Please!"
His mother's smile broadened. "You little humbug," she said softly.
John wanted to smile, too. She always said that when she was relenting.
"Can I?" eagerly.
"Well, make a good job of the front lawn and I'll see."
He struggled to his feet and was on the front porch before the kitchen door had slammed behind him. Half-dried tears still streaked his face, but a smile shone through them like the sun after a summer shower.
"Got to cut the front lawn," he said exuberantly, "but that won't take long. She says I can leave the rest of it."
Silvey's face clouded. "They're waiting for us in the big lot."
"Won't take long if you help me," John hinted gently. "You run the mower and I'll follow with the rake."
He darted back into the house and down into the dark, badly ventilated basement. Silvey sauntered around to the side, just in time to hear him struggling with the rusty door bolt.