Children's Fiction
Something wasn't right, though. Nate Brown was still lying out in the middle of the field. Dr. Stevens was kneeling beside him now, watching him intently and checking his pulse. My chest began to tighten, and I started to sweat. Why wasn't Nate getting up?
Patrick was left alone with the backhoe. It looked lonely putt-putting away all by itself with Grampa no where in sight. Patrick felt very sad. He decided he had to do something for his old friend, even if it meant going somewhere he wasn't supposed to. Slowly he climbed up onto the seat of the backhoe. He looked at all the handles and levers and buttonsf and knobs and tried to remember which one he saw Grampa using to turn the motor off. The middle lever he knew was to lower the arm. Beside it was the one that turned the bucket. Beside that was the one that lowered the feet. As he looked at each lever a little thrill rose up inside him, and one little thrill piled up on another little thrill until his sadness went away.
