Once Upon a Summer by Janette Oke Page A

to set the pace. He played so differently that it was hard to believe we were playin’ the same game that he had first introduced me to. Round by round we studied, threw, took our paces backward, and retrieved our knives. Uncle Charlie and Grandpa came to watch for a while with anxious looks on their faces; but seein’ our deep involvement, they finally shrugged and went away.
    I’ll say this for Hiram. When he takes to a game he does it with his whole heart and soul. I’d hardly seen a man so keen about playin’ a game. Gramps was serious about it, too; he played slowly and carefully, but he seemed to have a calmness about him that Hiram was lackin’.
    All the rest of the afternoon we played. Pace by pace we stepped back until we were so far away that we could hardly see the circle—then we’d go back to start over.
    I moved backward and forward more often than the others. It was hard to believe that I had actually managed to beat Gramps in my first two games. Beginner’s luck—I guess.
    Hiram was in a sweat. It stood out in little drops on his forehead, and it wasn’t due to the pleasant fall day.
    Lou had long ago taken her leave. I had spotted her heading toward the crik with a book in her hand. Uncle Charlie and Grandpa paced back and forth on the back porch, scowlin’ and upset, but the game went on.
    Gramps and Hiram hung together pace by pace. Occasionally Gramps consulted his pocket watch, rattlin’ its chain rather unnecessarily as he did so; then he’d shake his head to indicate that time still wasn’t up and we’d go at it again.
    Frankly, I was getting rather tired of the game, but Hiram didn’t seem to be. Gramps was one pace behind him and Hiram seemed determined to keep it that way.
    Gramps looked at his watch again.
    “One minute to go. This will be our last throw.”
    Hiram chewed his lip. They were now both standing together at their record distance. If they both made it, it could end up a tie. Of course I was pullin’ for Gramps. I was so far behind that I didn’t even count anymore.
    Hiram almost looked in pain as he lined up for his last toss. I thought that he was never goin’ to let go of that knife, but he finally did; the blade flashed as it arced through the air. It hit the ground with a soft sound; it had cleared the stones—it quivered as it held upright. Hiram looked like he would whoop, but he didn’t. He whipped out his handkerchief and wiped his brow.
    It was Gramps’ turn now. He took his time and aimed carefully. A calmness still showed in his face. I would have loved to put a toe to Hiram’s knife. I was hopin’ for at least a tie—that would take the sting out of the situation.
    Hiram was almost jumpin’ out of his shoes; I was afraid that his agitation would disturb Gramps’ concentration. I sent him a scowl but he didn’t even notice.
    Gramps’ knife finally left his hand and made a clean, quick flight toward the circle. It seemed that the whole of me went flyin’ with that knife. No one stirred—or even breathed. I waited for the soft sound of the blade slippin’ into the dirt, but instead there was a sharp “clink” and a clatter. Gramps’ knife had hit the largest rock.
    Hiram whooped—I wanted to kick him. Poor Gramps— after playin’ so hard and so long. But Gramps was a much better loser than I was on his behalf. He turned to Hiram with a good-natured smile.
    “Great game for a novice,” he said, extending his hand.
    I didn’t know what “novice” meant, but I sure did know the meanin’ I’d put to it.
    Hiram was still so excited that he could hardly even shake Gramps’ hand proper-like. I wondered how a supposed grown man could get so riled up about winnin’ a simple little game— even if it did take all afternoon to play.
    “Congratulations,” I heard Gramps sayin’. “You sure are one terrific ring-knife player.”
    Hiram was still bouncin’ around and shaking Gramps’ hand vigorously.
    “How much did I win?” he blurted