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swooped through the sky, oblivious to the weighty drama playing
     out beneath them. A squash-colored school bus screeched to a stop across the unlined county road, rumbling and smoking as
     the little girls from the house across the street boarded. A row of curious faces peered out its windows at the seemingly
     frozen man, knees slightly bent and arm raised like a statue of an old warrior, but Millard did not see them as the bus roared
     past.
    Still no sign of movement. He slowly lowered himself to one knee, using the shovel for support. Then, down on all fours, he
     listened. Perhaps if he put his ear right down to the earth like the Indians used to do to tell if the buffalo were coming
     . . . He lay flat out, his face on the cool, damp lawn. At first there was no sound other than the current of his own breath.
     Of course, his hearing wasn’t all it used to be. He waited patiently, closing his eyes to enhance concentration. This invasion
     was an act of war and he could be as stealthy as, if not more than, the enemy. After all, he was the one with superior intelligence.
     His mouth spread into a sinister grin as his fingers fondled the handle of the shovel. He was the master of the guillotine.
    Finally he heard something. Yes. The ground was definitely vibrating. He forced himself to remain still, as still as a cat
     hunting in the tall grass.
    “Mr. Bradbury!”
    His heart leapt to his throat. He sprung to his elbows, his head jerking toward the alarmed female voice.
    “Please, don’t move. It’s me, Sidney Walker, from across the street. Let me get help.”
    “No!” he stammered, awkwardly pushing himself to his hands and knees. She dropped to her knees, her hand on his back. “I’m
     fine.” He tried to stand but the blood rushed from his head and he abruptly sat back onto the shovel blade, causing the handle
     to spring upward, wobbling in the air.
    “Are you sure? Did you fall?” She reached out to brush something from his cheek.
    “No.” Confound it. Couldn’t a man lie down on his lawn without some female assuming it was because he couldn’t stand on his
     own two feet? He pushed the shovel out from under him. “I’ve got a mole,” he stated, as if that explained everything.
    His neighbor seemed confused at first; then her eyes fell on the pile of dirt near Millard’s head. She sighed in relief. “Too
     bad. Your yard usually looks like a picture right out of
Sunset
magazine. Makes me feel so embarrassed about mine. I keep meaning to do something about it, but it seems my days get all
     used up, what with work and the kids and all.”
    He suddenly remembered the sheriff standing on her porch a couple of evenings ago. He was not one to pry, but he might just
     lift up a loose board and take a peek under it. “What about that boy of yours? What is he, fourteen? Fifteen?”
    She averted her eyes to a pile of white clouds beyond his roof. “Fifteen.”
    “Well, why don’t you get him out there on that yard? A boy that age ought to be helping his mother. A woman was never meant
     to do all those outdoor chores. She’s got enough to do cleaning house, sewing, cooking, and the like.”
    She smiled a little, as if he had said something amusing. “Well, I can’t say that I do much sewing.” She toyed with the zipper-tassel
     on her blue cardigan. “Anyway, we don’t own a lawn mower.”
    Well, that complicated things. Millard glanced across the street, but from his vantage point there on the lawn, the view of
     her scraggly yard was blocked by the peonies along his fence. He still saw the hanging downspout, though. He
could
offer his lawn mower. But he had just sharpened the blades a couple of weeks ago. If the kid hit any hidden rocks or debris,
     which surely lurked behind every tuft of grass, it would definitely ruin them. On the other hand, it would be nice to look
     out his window without the annoyance of that tainted scene. He still couldn’t get over the fact that somebody knocked