Brent didn't want to be mean to John or anything, but he always found it hard to paint while someone was hanging over his shoulder, particularly someone like John, who couldn't sit still for more than thirty seconds.

"Why don't you run along and find out what time lunch is," Brent suggested.

"Mom will give us a call when it's ready," John said.

"Great," Brent replied and tried to concentrate on mixing just the right shade of gold for the sun streak down the roof of the barn. The cedar shingles turned all hazy and soft in the sunlight and he wanted to get it exactly right.

"How'd you like to play a game down in the pasture, hun? We could look for snakes or something, Brent."

"No, thanks, John. I want to get this picture done."

God, why won't the stupid kid just leave me alone? Brent thought.

Suddenly John grabbed the brush out of Brent's hand. He ran off around the side of the barn.

"You got to catch me," John shouted back.

Brent jumped to his feet. The watercolor pad fell to the ground.

Damn that kid! Brent thought.

Brent chased around the side of the barn and saw John disappear through the large hay doors on the second floor. Brent scrambled up the ladder after him.

The inside of the barn was hot. The smell of hay and horse manure filled the thick air. The light was dim and particles of dust drifted through the sunrays filtering through the roof. A stray chicken fluttered out of the back loft door into the barnyard below. John was standing on a pile of hay waving the paintbrush over his head.

"You got to catch me," he shouted again.

Brent lunged for John's foot but the younger boy jumped back off the haystack and ran farther into the dimness of the loft. Brent scrambled up the side of the hay mound. He leaped off the stack and landed for a split second on seemingly solid floor which abruptly gave way beneath him. He saw the floor of the loft desappear above him. The fall seemed to take forever. Above him he could just see the dangling form of the open trapdoor, one hinge hanging loose and broken.