The tax bill arrived two weeks later, the day that Dad, Billy, and Mark loaded the hogs onto the live-

stock trailer and took them all away. Most were going to the slaughterhouse. The ones too young and too small to bring a decent price were going to an auction for feeder pigs.

James watched through the vent at the front of the house as Dad drove by in the battered carriage with each load. Billy and Mark sat in the back of the carriage while Dad sat at the coachman seat, making sure the trailer stayed hitched right. Even three stories up, James could see Billy's hangdog expression.

Then when the three of them came into the house for dinner, after washing the last of the hog smell off their hands in the mudroom, Dad handed Mother the tax bill without comment. She put down the wooden spoon she'd been using to stir the stew and unfolded the letter. Then she dropped it.

"Why, that's—" she seemed to be doing the math in her head as she bent to retrieve it. Math wasn’t his Mother’s good point so it took her some time. "That's three times what it usually is. There must be a mistake!"

Dad shook his head grimly.

“No mistake. I talked to Walker at the auction.”

The Walkers were their nearest neighbors, with a house three miles down the road. James always pictured them with monster scales and fierce claws because of the number of times he'd been cautioned,

“You don’t want the Walkers to see you."

Dad went on.

“Walker says they raised everyone’s taxes because of them fancy houses. Makes our land worth more."

"Isn't that good?" James asked eagerly.

It was strange—— he should hate the new houses for replacing his woods and forcing him to stay indoors. But he’d half-fallen in love with them, having watched every foundation poured, every wooden skeleton of walls and roofs raised to the sky. They were his main entertainment, aside from talking to Mother when she came upstairs for what she called “my James breaks." Sometimes she pretended his room needed cleaning as badly as the bread needed baking or the garden needed weeding. Sometimes she just sat and talked.

Dad was shaking his head in disgust over James’s question.

"No. It's only good if we're selling. And we ain’t. All it means for us is that the Government thinks they can get more money out of us."

Billy was slumped in his chair at the table.

“How are we going to pay?” he asked. "That's more than we got for all the hogs, and that was supposed to carry us through for a long time-—-“

Dad didn't answer even Mark. Who normally had a smart-alecky comeback for everything stupefied.

Mother had turned back to her stew.

"I got my work permit today,' she said softly. "The factory's hiring. If I get on there, I can maybe get an advance on my paycheck"

James's jaw dropped.

“You can't go to work" he said “Who will--—-“

He wanted to say, who will stay with me? Who will I talk to day when everyone else is outside? But that seemed too selfish. James looked around. No one else looked surprised by Mother's news. He shut his mouth.