"We've had breakfast," Mr. Simpson said firmly.
"Yes, we have," Pete seconded.
"Uh-huh," said Cindy.
"Silas!" said his father, who had turned red as a glass of crabapple jelly. He looked apologetically at his guests. "Truth is, we are a mite short. But I've got money, seven whole dollars, an' there must be a town where a body can buy vittles an' maybe get work too."
"Plains City is two miles east," Pete directed. "There'll be a grocery there soon if one hasn't set up already."
"I'll ride there tomorra," Silas Wentworth declared. "I'll go the minute I can leave my fam'ly. But a body who can ask more than his quarter section of land like this," he looked happily about his farm, "sure is hard to please."
"What we really came for," Mr. Simpson spoke up, "is to see if we can borrow a couple of spades."
"Sure thing an' welcome," Silas Wentworth said. He brought a couple of good spades from his wagon. "Anything else the Wentworths got, you can have."
"Thanks," said Pete, "but these are all we need right now."
They started back. Pete Brent and Mr. Simpson each carried a spade. Cindy carried her thoughts, which centered about the hard biscuits she had eaten last night. If she had one of them right now, just one, she knew she'd never ask for anything else. Her father touched her shoulder softly.