The boy and his sister sat in the yard waiting. Today, their father had told them, they would see their mother who was being brought in from the city hospital to where they were vacationing. The doctor said the country air might even do her some good, that she might stay for a few days if she felt better.
     The farmer who owned the house where they were staying came into the yard with a large milk bottle in his hand and passed by them on his way toward the barn. The children, tired of their wait, walked up to him and asked what was in the jar. Laughing, the farmer showed them a bottle half full of watery milk with a half-drowned mouse inside, desperately trying to stay afloat. The mouse’s fur was all slicked down from the moisture, making it appear all skin and bones. Its eyes were terrified, and its legs flailed desperately against the side of the glass trying to obtain a foothold. Periodically, it would emit a sharp scream as it redoubled its efforts to survive.
     The farmer laughed at the look on the children’s faces.
     “It’s to scare away the other mice,” he said. “I catch a few each day and put them into the barn to warn the others that something isn’t right. So far, we’ve had a lot fewer of them invading the larder.”
     Just then, the ambulance entered the yard. The children ran to it, eager yet afraid to make any move to disturb the planned progression of events. Their father approached the doctor and the attendants, whispering to them. The woman on the stretcher was thin, pale, almost emaciated from the cancer. She grimaced in pain when the stretcher jolted along the rough dirt of the courtyard. Before they entered the house, she signed to the bearers to wait. Then she looked at her children who were watching her from just a few steps away.
      “Come…” she said, drawing back the blankets and extending her arms. The children went to her and felt her breath upon them for an instant before she was removed into the house. They remained in the yard, small, in the glare of the summer sun.