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stopped at noon to eat tinned beans, Lars admired the rising walls.
    “Perhaps you should start filling in the cracks,” he said to Erik. “Olaf can keep laying sod. What do you think, Olaf?”
    Erik looked up from his plate. Filling cracks sounded easier than hauling sods, but he didn’t want them to think he couldn’t do the hard work.
    “It doesn’t matter,” said Olaf indifferently. “It all needs to be done.”
    “What do we fill the cracks with?” asked Erik, trying to remember what Mr. Johnson had told them.
    “Mud from the slough,” said Lars. He glanced at his son. “Olaf can show you how to do it.”
    “I can figure it out,” said Erik. He didn’t want to ask Olaf anything.
    “Good,” said Lars, handing mugs of coffee to his silent brother and son. “Isn’t it great working together?”
    No one replied, but Lars didn’t seem to mind. He took a sip of his coffee and glanced at Rolf. “The slough water’s not bad now,” he said, “but later on you’ll want to get water from the spring.”
    “A spring?” repeated Erik. “There’s a spring around here?”
    “Surely is,” said Lars. “Couple of miles northwest. I’ll draw you a map so you can find it.”
    After they ate, Rolf and Lars stretched out on the grass and closed their eyes, appearing to fall asleep immediately. Erik looked at them, surprised that brothers, separated for so many years, could still be so similar.
    He gathered a metal pail and spade and headed for the slough. The cattle lay in a contented group; the chickens scratched in the dirt nearby. The calf bounced up as Erik approached, running to hide behind its mother. Erik held out a hand, talking softly, but the calf watched him warily, not moving.
    “Next time,” he said, dropping his hand. He filled the pail with mud, then lugged it back to the sod house.
    Olaf was at work already, lifting a sod from the wagon. He turned to glance at Erik. “Pack it tight,” he said. “So the snakes can’t get in.”
    Snakes? How could they keep snakes out? They lived in dirt.
    Erik sighed and forced the first handful of mud into the cracks between the layers of sods, determined to keep anything from creeping through.
    As he reached for another handful, he saw Olaf still watching him.
    He looked less angry, so Erik risked a question. “Have you built a sod house before?” he asked.
    “Ja,” said Olaf. He swung the sod onto the wall. “I’ve worked at many things. I build with Gunnar Haugen and my –” he stopped speaking as he positioned the sod perfectly, then started again. “I’ve built with wood and I’ve built with sod. Sometimes I dig holes for people, or I drive wagons. I do any work I can to earn money.”
    Erik looked at him with respect. “What do you do with your money?” he asked. “Do you give it to Uncle Lars?”
    “No. He says, ‘Keep the money, Olaf, and buy yourself some land.’” Olaf reached for another sod and glanced over his shoulder at Erik. “So I put the money in the bank in Hanley, and one day I’ll buy myself some land.”
    “When?”
    “When I’m eighteen, or maybe seventeen.” Erik looked at him, wondering how old he was now. “I’ll be sixteen soon,” said Olaf, answering Erik’s look.
    “In September,” said Rolf.
    Erik looked up in surprise. He hadn’t seen him coming.
    “September 9th,” Rolf added. “I’ll never forget that day.”
    Olaf carried the sod to the wall without looking at Rolf. Rolf watched him lay the sod in place, then turned away, his shoulders sagging.

    Two days later Olaf laid the last sods on the walls of the house. He made the front wall of the house two layers taller than the back wall, then sloped the sides toward the back.
    Erik dug handfuls of mud from his pail, trying to smooth the inside walls, keeping one eye on Lars and Rolf laying poles above his head. When Rolf spread tarpaper across the poles, the house grew dim.
    Erik refilled his pail with mud. On the way back from the slough,