Boweaver watched his mother put the little pieces of wood in the cookstove, and handed her the can. She spread a thin film of kerosene over the wood.
"I don't know how I'm going to keep cooking this winter if we can't get some dry wood, Boweaver," she said. "This stuff is so green you can't hardly cook with it."
Boweaver paced back and forth behind his mother. He had just come home from his first day at work, and he was keyed up about his new job.
"One day, mama," he said, "I'm going to get you an oil stove."
A smile flickered over his mother's face. "Time enough for that, Boweaver. Right now, we've got to have some supper."
"I mean it, mama. As soon as I get enough money I'm going to get you an oil stove. I might even get the electricity hooked up and we could have light bulbs, too."
Boweaver picked up the pitcher and held it under the pump. The water flowed in spurts as he drove the handle down.
"Mama, I'll be your main support now. Before long I'm going to be getting three dollars and a half a week. That's enough to feed us, ain't it?"
"Well, almost enough, Boweaver, but that'll need to be your money, with you working for it."
"Nah, I ain't going to be working just for myself. I don't need nothing. And weenies and potatoes are cheap, ain't they, mama? I feel like I could live right on eating nothing but weenies and loaf-bread and fried potatoes.
"Three dollars and a half will buy a whole lot of weenies and a big bag of potatoes, and we can always have weenies and potatoes for supper, can't we, mama?"
"Well, yes, Boweaver, but people have to eat something different once in a while. You have to have some vegetables and other stuff, too."
He frowned. "We'll be able to eat regular if I work hard, won't we, mama?"
She bent over the stove. "Yes, if you work hard, we'll be able to eat. And something besides weenies and potatoes, too. But, Boweaver, you have to keep some of your money yourself. It wouldn't be right, you working and never having a dime for yourself."
He sat at the table. "OK, mama, we can do it like this. I'll take a dime to go to the movie on Saturday, and I'll give you the rest. You can take that and buy groceries."
She smiled. "All right, Boweaver. But are you sure you won't want some popcorn when you go to the movie?"
Boweaver grinned. "Yeah, I like popcorn. But that's only a nickel."
"Well, I'll tell you, Boweaver. You give me what you make – all but a dime – and then I'll give you a nickel for some popcorn. I'll take the rest and buy groceries. How about that?"
"Great, mama, if you think you can manage on that. We'll get along good – real good."
"Boweaver," his mother said, looking away, "call the young 'uns. The potatoes are just about done."
Nora Pearce c. 1939
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